Appalachia - Tumblr Posts

No actually, Michigan is quite beautiful. Even the UP can have periods of having lush farmlands when it is warmer. I like the plains and have been out in both the Appalachian mountains and Rocky mountains before. Both beauties even though I'm still scared of heights.

appalachia is devastated. towns i loved, towns i visited all the time, are gone. not damaged, GONE. they are leveled to the ground. there is nothing left but rubble and ruin. people are dead. appalachia is poor to begin with and relies on tourism for a lot of its income, and multiple of those tourist locations are just...gone.

my town is okay, but it's flooded and wrecked. trees are blocking all but one way out of our neighborhood. power lines are hanging limp in the roads. we've been without power for over 24 hours and will continue to be without power for likely another 24+. disabled people and poor people are GOING to die from this. gods save appalachia.

Finally, a Miku from my culture. Yee haw let’s gooooooo!!!!

Appalachian Miku

The terror is so real. It was fall of 2022. Leaves everywhere the rain from the morning was mostly dry. I was going up this 45 degree mountain slope and a women in a truck was coming down. it’s narrow I pull off the side in my fucking 2002 Toyota camery as far as I can. I can see down the mountain until a vanish point I can’t see the bottom of.

The lady (in a truck with four wheel drive facing the direction she’s going) rolls her window and yells “can you get over! I can’t make it like this!” I say “I’ve got no room I can’t my car won’t hold this long please go along”. The shoulder is covered in wet leaves that have become a mush under my tires. She’s trying to argue with me that I could just scoot uphill a bit then to the side more.

I feel my wheels start sliding DOWN HILL BACKWARDS

as she tries to convince me. As kindly as I can while still terrified I say “MA’AM MY TIRES ARE SLIPPING PLEASE. PLEASE. GO.” and I jolt back slightly with my car trying it’s best to not go down hill. She sees my eyes as I jolt and finally moves along. She doesn’t have to get off the road at all in this. She’s gone great. now to get myself out of this.

I turn hard to try and get off the wet leaf mush and my engine grinds. My brains like “this is it this is how I’m gonna die. A zigzagging road downhill into a pit I can’t see the bottom of.”.

Then it sputters and I slowly start moving up hill. The hill goes with some less steep patches for maybe 15 feet at a time. I get to the first one. My engines unhappy but made it. then we get some momentum at the second that helps us make it to the top. I literally pull over at the next flat stretch to just breathe and cry a bit. The closest hospital is 30 mins away and if my car had any less power in it I literally could have slid off the mountain with no guard rails.

I’ve seen glowing eyes in the darkness of the woods weird noises etc. just like any animal though you don’t mess with it and 95% of the time it has absolutely no interest in you. If your in a house your really just fine in almost any scenario. The driving is so much scarier. You had no choice but to sign up for that gamble. Town is a 30 min drive it says two hour walk but it’s all mountain side. You gotta drive *something*. It’s still brutal in nature. Serve civilized we’re smart but Mother Nature always wins.

“I’m going to drive through Appalachia, should I be scared of the inbred hill folk and the cryptids? 😱😱😱😱” no bitch, be scared of sliding off a mountain into a valley and not being found for months or years.

appalachia is devastated. towns i loved, towns i visited all the time, are gone. not damaged, GONE. they are leveled to the ground. there is nothing left but rubble and ruin. people are dead. appalachia is poor to begin with and relies on tourism for a lot of its income, and multiple of those tourist locations are just...gone.

my town is okay, but it's flooded and wrecked. trees are blocking all but one way out of our neighborhood. power lines are hanging limp in the roads. we've been without power for over 24 hours and will continue to be without power for likely another 24+. disabled people and poor people are GOING to die from this. gods save appalachia.

What do you mean by That's Not A Deer in the mountains near you????

Anyone who spends decent amount of time in Appalachia knows the Not Deer. If you’ve gone on the Blue Ridge Parkway at night, you’ve probably seen him.Now: keep in mind if you don’t live in an area with a lot of deer, deer are freaky bastards on their own. They’re really big, extremely agile, move surprisingly quietly, and are extremely durable. It’s not unheard of for someone to hit a deer and total their car. Once I heard a story of a man who hit a deer on accident and decided to take it home and least get some good meat out of a bad situation. On the drive home the deer woke up and absolutely shredded the inside of this man’s trunk. They’re very cute but you definitely don’t want to mess with one. Just keep that relationship in the back of your mind. Anyway, the Not Deer is more or less what I’d call a folk cryptid. Everybody has their story about it. They’re all somewhat similar. You’re in a car at night, in a rural, heavily wooded area, and probably a bit lost. It’s not wildly uncommon to see a opossum crossing the road, see blips of little animals with your headlights. You see a deer. So you/your friends go “Oh! Deer!” and slow down in case it leaps in front of you. Then you see it more clearly. There’s just something wrong about it. There’s something about its eyes. You feel your stomach get heavy like a rock, the hair on your neck raise. You sense intelligence that you shouldn’t. It doesn’t move like a deer, it moves like a… oh god, what is that thing? Whatever that thing is, it’s not a deer and we need to leave. You hit the gas and get the hell out of there.A group of my friends got lost on the Parkway once and reemerged with a chilling story. They aren’t the kind of folks to lie or over exaggerate. Among other freaky stuff that happened, the driver claimed she saw a deer in the road. Then she noticed the deer was on two legs. 

meteorology is amazing.

it must be a dry thunderstorm, but I live in the northern appalachians, not texas. lol . it is currently lighting very much outside. no rain and no thunder. just constant flashes of light. its eerie but incredibly beautiful.

Appalachian Orthodox Chant

Just a fascinating video description I found, written presumably by an American Orthodox Christian. Well worth the read:

"A snippet from "God Is With Us," an ancient Orthodox hymn based on the prophecy of Isaiah, chanted here in traditional Appalachian Bluegrass style. It's wonderful because it sounds ancient yet has an authentically Americana sound. Orthodoxy never subverts the cultures it comes across, but rather grafts the wholesome elements of those cultures onto Holy Tradition to give glory to God. In an age where Protestant and Catholic churches in America are hemorrhaging people, Orthodoxy is slowly growing, and this particular hymn provides a hopeful glimpse at what genuine American Orthodoxy could be. This actually makes me feel really patriotic. America has a great sin; a kind of prelest born out of its rejection of monarchy. The forefathers had their reasons and their good intentions for rejecting it, but they had an ignorance of the Orthodox understanding of the symbolic need for a submission to monarchal hierarchy, and the Protestant individualism that ensued has led to the present relativism, which could potentially be our demise. America stands in a quite ambiguous place. But God, who mercifully "desireth not that the sinner should die, but turn from his wicked ways and live," sees our good intentions and knows that America, despite our long-foolhardy ignorance of the Orthodox way, has always called upon the name of Jesus Christ. And maybe, for that, He could forgive us."

Here's the video if ur interested:

I particularly love the respect and love for good parts of American culture (which absolutely do exist), and the hope embodied in the overall message. I'm not orthodox and certainly no monarchist, but I think anyone can see that rampant individualism has made us angry, divided, and lost people. I hope you can take something away from it even if you don't agree with it all. Some beautiful and relevant prose there. Despite everything, God is truly with us. He is slow to anger and rich in love.

The Pheasant's Eye or Melodrama Part 1

I wrote this story last year. I have decided to start posting it on my Tumblr. Expect about one post a week.

The Pheasant’s Eye

Prologue:

One thing that centered this small town was the church. Around 300 people lived here, and all of them followed the same religion. The town was focused around one thing: God.

About a year ago, a family moved in; they were atheists; the father was an evolutionary biologist and the mother was a social worker. One afternoon, they had dandelion coffee with the pastor. (Dandelion coffee was a locally grown substitute that the townspeople drank, because they did not trust imports.) The preacher was appalled to discover the man’s profession. The next day at church, he instructed his congregation to shun the new family, to publicly reject them as friends and neighbors.

The townspeople were rather good at making other people feel unwelcome, it was a skill they had acquired before they could walk. The ways they did this were separated into three different categories: techniques for men, women, and children. The men would throw dirty insults at the unwelcome neighbors, the women would whisper rude things in front of the people they were trying to drive out, and the children would combine their parents’ tactics and make it a heaping double dose of trouble for anybody unfortunate enough to meet them while walking down the street.

It didn’t take long for the townsfolk to persuade the family that they were unwelcome. They eventually packed their bags and left.

Chapter 1:

            “Is it true that you might get engaged?” asked Karen as she stretched her long legs on the plain wool rug in Mildred’s bedroom; she looked younger than her age of 19.

            “I don’t know, but my father approves of Thomas,” replied Mildred, as she was taking off a dress that had gotten soaked when she fell into the creek while Karen and she had gone for a picnic in the woods to see the witch hazel blooming. Mildred looked rather mature and was a medium height with a plump figure.

            “Will you go through with it?” asked Karen, holding her breath for the reply, and she got up to sit near Mildred who had just plopped herself on the bed. It was an old four poster chestnut bed.

            “I don’t know, I’ve been thinking and thinking about it. I’m not sure but I’m leaning toward a maybe not.” Then she went over to the mirror to fix her bonnet that was crooked.

            “Why couldn’t it work?” asked Karen, while she got off the bed to walk over to her friend. “You know, a sparrow in the hand is better than the pheasant that flies by,” pointed out Karen  

“I don’t know, I’d rather think about other things,” and Mildred walked to the window to look outside.

            “Like what?” asked Karen, but she was interrupted by a knocking on the door.

            Oh, I am tired of having this conversation, she keeps pouncing on me until she gets an answer out, thought Mildred. “Come in,” answered Mildred.

            In walked Gladys. She was the youngest of her six sisters, but the brightest one, and was a servant to Mildred’s family’s house. She was in her early sixties and still had her auburn hair with her pale complexion.

            “Gladys, what do you think Mildred should do?” asked Karen.

            “I think she should pick up the clothing she threw on the ground, that’s what she should do,” replied Gladys, smiling. She was connected to the family, so it wasn’t a big deal for her to make a sarcastic remark.

            “Not about that, but whether or not she should get married to Thomas,” said Karen, annoyed.

            “Oh, personally, I have never married, but a sparrow in the hand is better than a pheasant that flies by,” while she recited this Mildred shot a fake, playful eye roll to Karen. “I wouldn’t let him free if I were you, but it is you and your parent’s choice, most definitely,” she said this as she was picking up Mildred’s clothing to go and wash it. And then she gave Mildred a kiss on the cheek and whispered into her ear, “Choose the path that God gives you,” and then she shut the door tightly.

            “Oh, Mildred, I better leave, it’s about 4:30!” she said, pointing at the wall clock next to the door. “I’ll probably see you around 6:30 when the party starts,” Karen hesitated.

            “What do you mean by probably?” asked Mildred; this party would be boring, except for Karen.  She would be the glue that binds the wood together, at least for Mildred.

            “My parents are so dreadfully vague,” Karen said, waving her hands in the air.  Now comments about elders like these (which probably would earn a tanned hide) were unacceptable, but Karen and Mildred could both trust each other. “They say something about God, I don’t know…but they are so dreadfully trite sometimes and take their ‘duties to the Lord’ too seriously!” (This remark would certainly earn a “Bible beating”, an event that consisted of the Bible being used as a whipping stick while the person who was giving this screamed, “Out, you devil!”) Mildred, however, only laughed as Karen went over to give her friend a quick hug, grabbed her bag, and left.

The Pheasant's Eye or Melodrama Part 2

Chapter 2:

The town was situated in the Appalachian Mountains. The church stood in the very center, a symbol of their faith that would ring every quarter of an hour. It wasn’t a very grand building; more like an old-fashioned country church painted white. A kitchen and a large dining hall were situated in the back. Every Sunday and Wednesday, the town would gather after the church services and socialize while savoring whatever hot meal, seasonal meal that was prepared.

Outside the church bloomed Pheasant-Eye Daffodils, planted what seemed forever ago. Daisies and Queen Anne’s lace would also bloom during the summer along with Christmas Ferns and Irises. Six large apple trees circled the church; the branches would be filled with apples in the fall that would be used for making apple butter and applesauce.

The houses were spread near and far from the church. They were small bungalows, about two or three bedrooms with an outhouse out back.

Not the minister’s home though; Bob’s house, besides the church, been one of the most imposing structures the town had to offer. It was an old plantation style house, abandoned along time ago because of the debts the old owners faced during the reconstruction era. By then, the diocese had grown, but faced persecution amidst the big cities. The diocese found freedom among the mountains to practice their religion.

Right now, the weather was turning cool into autumn leaving the glittery light of summer behind. The leaves would turn gold, purple, and along the road a mass of orange and red. The folks would gather trees to celebrate the coming Christmas, and these would be the few masses of green left after autumn, during winter’s chill. Not until the peatoots chased winter away with their croaking, would spring come again.

The minister was a man named Bob. He was a tall man with a cleanly shaven face who smelled of roses. His voice was a thick baritone. It was his town, and nothing could be done about it.

“No, no, use the dinner plates with the holly leaves, not the flowers; summer’s ended,” said Bob called in an impatient tone (he was a rather meticulous fellow) to one of the Elstree girls (although they’re not girls any more). They were six sisters, born and brought up in the church, and most had not married or had been widowed. Instead, they gave their lives to the church and helped cook large meals at celebrations like this in his home.

Bob and his family lived in a rather large, traditional, plantation house of three stories, with a large front porch and freshly painted, white columns. He had inherited it because of his position in the church. He was lecturing one of the Elstree sisters in a condescending tone on how to place the flatware on the table. (Although he was not doing it right).

He turned to speak to his daughter, Mildred, who was sitting on the window box of the parlor, watching men walk to their homes as the sun set (as she was half dreaming what life outside town was like). In this religious driven town, most of the men worked on the big, sharecropping farm that fed the town. They all wore brown pants and a white shirt, except on Sundays, when they wore all black. It was getting colder now so they had started wearing their wool coats, tailored lovingly by their wives. “Mildred, will you sit next to Thomas tonight during the dinner?” said Bob turning around to Mildred.

“Why?” asked Mildred.

“Well, it will make our family look good. I don’t want to be impeached from my job. You always sit next to Karen and you are at that time when relationships bloom and die like dandelions; we don’t want to spread even the idea of sin around. You understand, don’t you?”

“Dad, Karen and I are just…friends,” sighed Mildred.

“I know honey, but could you please just sit next to Thomas?” begged Bob. It was common for the parents to decide marriages in this town.

“Yes, father,” replied Mildred, sighing again.

“I love you, honey,” said Bob: patting her on the back. But then his attention turned to the curtains that were getting hung backwards. “No! Don’t hang the curtains that way,” yelled Bob to one of the old women hanging the curtains up.

“Move out of my way,” muttered one of the old women to Mildred. “Kids these days!”

“I need to go put on my dress,” Said Mildred as she ran up the stairs, almost running into Margaret, her mother.

“Millie, you ought to be careful,” said Mildred’s mother in a very caring voice. “Sorry,” said Mildred, in a half hurried tone.

“That’s fine.  The guests will be here soon, so go and change into something appropriate.” “Yes,” Said Mildred quietly. Then she perked up, and asked, “Is Karen coming?”

Chapter 3

“Thomas, it’s so nice to see you, won’t you sit next to me?” said Mildred with smile on her face; she and Thomas were friends from childhood. “Yes,”

“What a lovely day it was,” said Mildred, doing her best to create a conversation.

“Yes…” he said while looking down at his hands, trying to forget about the boring stuff he had done that day, and maybe come up with a statement that would wow Mildred.

“Yes, Karen and I went on a walk in the woods and…” but she saw that Thomas

could care less about what she and Karen had done. Oh, Thomas has turned so unexciting these days! I hope the older I get, the more interesting I become. Maybe it’s just a phase… thought Mildred.

“May I have your attention, please?” asked Bob trying to project about the loud guests, the lasts who were just piling in the front door.

He didn’t have many people’s attention, though. Ann, the organist, called down her daughter, saying, “Karen, be quiet.” Harry shot his wife and daughter a look, silent and firm.

Bob continued, “I would like to thank Thomas’s parents for their generous donation to the church; unfortunately they couldn’t come tonight because they are sick,” He began clapping. Everyone else joined in (stricken with boredom, the party hadn’t started just yet). “You may now take your seats,” he directed.

Out came the old Estree girls with salad for everyone. “Thank you, Gladys,” commented Margaret.

Unfortunately, the other more righteous children of God had dropped all their manners with the exception of Mildred; Karen had almost forgotten but Mildred elbowed her, “Oh, thank you, Ms. Gladys.” And then she bowed her head for grace.  It was an autumn salad with a homemade dressing and crushed almonds tossed on the top. Everything came from the gardens around the town because they feared that other people would poison them, for the congregation believed they had many enemies.

Five courses later (and four different wines) everyone started yelling and got a little wild. Plates were crashed (making the rug very dirty), the drapes were ripped off the windows and everyone acted silly and confused.

“Mildred, you’d better leave,” Margaret whispered urgently to her daughter; Margaret rarely ever indulged in alcohol, and was one of the few sober adult members of the party.

“Hey, you women!” yelled Bob to one of the Estree girls as they ran out the door. “Get us a drink, will ya?” “Are you sure?” said Gladys. She was scared half to death of Bob, particularly in this state.  “You’ve had enough,” she bravely told him.

“Gladys, just serve him water, he won’t notice,” Margaret very quietly encouraged her, so other people wouldn’t hear. Margaret wasn’t born in the congregation, but had learned their ways and had become a good friend with Gladys, although Gladys was a ‘mere servant’ in the others’ eyes.

“Yes ma’am,” said Gladys as she walked out of the room to fetch the water.

“Karen, let’s go out into the hallway,” whispered Mildred, her father was about to smash the wine bottle as a ceremony for the opening of the new section of the church.  (On Gladys’s head, in fact.)

“Good idea.”

The Pheasant's Eye or Melodrama Part 4

Chapter 6:

             I love my sisters, but they can talk about the most boring stuff, thought Gladys while she walked. She was heading for the home of her eldest sister, Victoria, to have supper. All her sisters were great spinsters and knew almost everything about the citizens in the town (although they didn’t tell God). They were known in town as the Elstree girls. 

            When she arrived, her elder sister, Mary, demanded, “Where have you been? The food’s gonna get spoiled,” Mary was old and frail, but had lots of energy (something her husband had found out the hard way).

            “I was walking,” answered Gladys calmly.  She was quite used to the constant nagging of her sisters. Five older sisters were enough to beat up someone’s patience. Gladys used to have six sisters, but the sister closest to her in age, Theodora, had died.  Yes, that was all the past now.

            “Well I’m older than you, and I can manage to arrive twenty minutes early. Don’t you roll your eyes at me!” until all her older siblings were dead, she would still have her own fair share of (thought to be) parents.

            The food was simple, but that’s not why Gladys was here. Before her mother had died, she had told Gladys to keep her sisters from starting any trouble.

            “Did you hear about Yvonne?” asked Theresa, leaning over to dish the gossip, that little scoop of pleasure that the sisters (with the exception of Gladys) had made their joy of their existence.

            But she was interrupted. “Oh, who cares about her.  But now listen to this,” said Gloria while elbowing in. Of course, Gladys wasn’t tuned in, instead staring out the window, watching the leaves fall, waiting for the clock to chime the hour of eight so she could leave.

            “Humph,” sulked Theresa.

            “May I resume?” asked Gloria. “Thanks. Anyways, Bob…”

            Oh! Gladys had to hear this. She turned with a start and interrupted her sister again.

            “Oh, even you’re interested then?  Well, you know that new girl, Kathy?” asked Gloria making an excellent introduction, while everyone nodded their heads yes. “Well, I saw her…and Bob…kissing!”

            “Oh my,” whispered everyone, including Gladys.

            “What should we do,” asked Victoria. “How did you find this out, though?”

            “Theresa told me,” answered Gloria.

            “But you said you saw her,”

            “Well, Theresa told me though,” answered Gloria.

            “Don’t you think that maybe Theresa wanted to share it?” asked Victoria in a condescending tone. “Gosh, Gloria.”

            “She never said anything…” defended Gloria.

            “Yeah, Gloria,” said Mary, ganging up on her sister with Victoria.

            “Mary?”

            “What?”

            “Shut up,” answered Victoria, while she pretended her hand was a mouth and mimed shutting it.

            “Victoria! Mary! Stop it!”  Celia, who was the oldest, demanded. 

            “Gee, thanks Vicki!” pouted Mary to her sister Victoria. “You got us in trouble.”

            But her sisters ignored her. “You know what we should do,” commanded Celia, who had been mostly silent until now, “We should tell someone in the family, it’s not our affair, you know and there is nothing we can do it.”

            Now Mary, who had recovered relatively quickly got back into the conversation, “He is the minister, you know, we wouldn’t want to spoil his reputation, I’m sure that that ugly blonde,” (referring to Kathy), “had a hypnotic trance on him, and he can’t help. It’ll take his family to save him,”

            “She must be right!” exclaimed Gladys. Of course, her sisters had forgotten about Gladys until now.

            “For once,” muttered Gloria under her breath; she was ignored.

            “Well, what do you think we should do Gladys, since you are closer to that family?” asked Victoria.

            “Well, the daughter, Mildred, we should tell her,” answered Gladys, blushing at the sudden attention and deference from all her sisters. “She’s responsible and thoughtful.”

            “Wouldn’t we want to tell Margaret?” asked Celia, frowning. “She is the wife, you know.”

            “I understand, but younger people think about these things different; they’re much bolder.”

            A sense of excitement spread through the room as they looked at each other, deciding who should be the bearer of bad news.

            “Let me tell her!” screeched Gloria.

            “No, Gloria, you always are dishing out stuff! Let me do it,” demanded Mary, standing out of her chair.

            “This is not a question of dishing out stuff, this is our moral duty,” answered Celia. “Personally, I think Mildred knows us all very well and we are like her mothers, but Theresa is most distant from her. And, you know, people don’t like getting advice from people better known to them, it is human nature.”

            “I agree with Celia,” said Victoria as if making a decision. “Theresa will tell her tomorrow.”

Chapter 7:

            On Wednesday nights, the town held a long meeting, which ended with the town finding out who would be deemed a 'heretic' and thrown out of town. It was uncommon for someone to be accused of heinous crimes such as adultery, or rape, or murder, but a very common crime was being deemed a radical. These people included people who were in favor of equal rights for women, instead of the double standard; allowing same sex marriages; or cherishing evolution instead of the six-day creation.  Some were guilty of ridiculous chatter or goofing off in church.  A few accidentally recited a Bible verse wrong, changing the meaning.  The case tonight would be very memorable.

            Mildred was walking to the church with Theresa, one of the Estree girls.  “Millie, your father…” started Theresa.  Mildred and Theresa were carrying bread to the Wednesday night meeting.

            “What, Theresa?” asked Mildred shortly, forgetting that Theresa was one of her elders.

            “I was a'walkin' home last night and you wouldn't've believed what I saw, you probably wouldn't even care,” said Theresa, trying to get Mildred more interested.

            “You can tell me, Theresa,” said Mildred, half-interested, as she was walking over the treacherous gravel road to the church.

            “Well, I was walking home, and I saw that new girl… What’s her name?”

            “What does she look like?”

            “She’s tall, and her hair is an awful color of blonde.”

            “Oh. That’d be Kathy.” Kathy’s dyed-blonde hair had made quite the statement in the town.

            “Well she was at the back of the church, near the pile where we dump our scraps.” Theresa lived right next to the church in the upstairs-level of a very old and rickety building.

            “And you’ll never guess who she was with. Their arms wrapped around each other.” And this is when Theresa leaned forward to tell of Kathy’s Jezebel like qualities. Like her sisters, she too was a spinster. “It was your father!” she whispered excitedly. She rocked on her feet with excitement, for the town could get dreary.

            All her calm drained away. “Kathy? Unbelievable, just unbelievable,” said Mildred as she stormed off. Kathy had betrayed her, even after she had told her that her father was off limits. “There’s nothing I can do about it,” she said to herself. “It’d be different if mother was to run off with someone else. That’s it, I’m going to talk to Kathy, after the meeting, and if she doesn’t consent to stop, I’ll throw her in the scrap heap.”

            “Mildred, wait up, my legs aren’t what they used to be!” yelled Theresa to Mildred off in the distance. After Theresa had finally caught up with Mildred, she finally said, “Let’s sit and we’ll talk.” She tried to muster up a motherly voice.

            “I don’t want to talk about it. Honestly, I don’t care,” lied Mildred.

            “Honestly, you do care,” she said pointedly. 

            “Fine, it does bother me,” insisted Mildred, “But let’s get this bread to the church before it gets cold,” said Mildred, hoping that Theresa would drop the subject. The walk to the church was silent, except for the clopping of their shoes and the leaves falling; there were very few leaves on the trees now.

                                                            .   .   .   .   .   .

            Later, at the church, the program was in full swing.

            “Why did you cheat on your husband?” Bob asked a middle aged woman named Yvonne while he was standing in front of the podium, as the judge. The seats where the choir sang were the jury, made up by older men, no women, and the audience sat in the pews.

            “The only reason I did it was,” said Yvonne taking out a handkerchief, “He was cheating on me, with Frances,” yelled Yvonne pointing out to the audience.

            “Frances, please come up to the stand,” said Bob. When she got up their Bob said, “Were you ever with Yvonne’s husband?”

            “No, I was not,” denied Frances.

            “Yes you were,” yelled Yvonne, shaking her finger at Frances. “I was walking into my home, and I saw my husband with her in his arms.”

            Silence fell over the room.

            “John, please come up to the stand,” said Bob. “Were you committing adultery, breaking one of the Ten Commandments?”

            “No I was not. My wife was drunk that night.”

            “I was not dru…” yelled Yvonne, before getting cut off by Bob.

            “You will get your turn to talk!” shouted Bob to Yvonne.

            “I was helping her,” said John, making things up as he went. “I helped her put her coat back on.”

            “Why were you helping her put her coat back on?” asked Yvonne, cross-examining John, her husband.

            There was a long period of silence, not even Bob had told Yvonne to be quiet. Yvonne was grinning because she had thought she won her testimony.

            “She was umm…” said John, snapping his finger trying to think up something.

            Now Frances, who had no part in this argument, finally invented a response for John. “I was bringing back the needles Yvonne loaned me.”

            “I never loaned you needles…” denied Frances.

            “You did, too. Two years ago. I forgot to bring them back.”

            “I have a question, for Yvonne” said one of the mock jury members, a short man with thinning hair. “Who were you cheating on John with?”

            “Bill, the old bachelor who walks through our town everyday,” admitted Yvonne. “He seemed like such a nice man, and it would teach him a lesson,” said Yvonne pointing to John.

            “So you used sin to teach someone a lesson,” said Bob.

            “Well…” pondered Yvonne.

            “Case closed. I order you to leave our church, you are an endangerment to others,” said Bob, dishing out his punishment to Yvonne.

            “But, I’ve lived here for my whole life. I’ve been good for this community,” pleaded Yvonne. “I’m a Sunday School Teacher!”

            “You were, but you will only poison our youth with your bucket of sin,” yelled Bob. “Now leave this community before you poison the rest of us. Now.”

            Yvonne calmly stood up, walked to the door, trying to hold back her tears.

            “Next case,” said Bob, as if the banishment of Yvonne had only been a dream.

            All through the three other cases that would follow that one, nobody said a word and afterwards proceeded to the potluck.

.  .  .  . .

            “Kathy, may I see you for a minute?” motioned Mildred.

            “Why?” demanded Kathy, sneering.

            “Please meet me outside, now.”

            “Fine, but don’t…” She was cut off, as Mildred ran outside to meet her match.

            When they were outside, Kathy asked, “What do you want, anyways?”

            “I want you to stop your business with my father!” insisted Mildred. “He already has a family; and I don’t need you to spoil his reputation.”

            “He is mine, and you can’t take him away! Do you think I want to be here?”

            “Well…” pondered Mildred.

            “No!” refused Kathy. “He’s my ticket to freedom. One day, I’m gonna blow this dump.  I can convince him to steal all the money this town has; he’ll do it for me.  And if he won’t, I know where he keeps it.”

            “You have no right to use my father!” declared Mildred.

            “You little hypocrite! I know your game,”

            “What do you mean?” asked Mildred, caught off guard.

            “I know that there are sparks flying between you and Karen; it’s so obvious.”

            “How would you know?”

            “I might be a lot of things, but I’m not stupid. Except for just about everyone here, anybody in his right mind could tell that you two are together.”

            “You Jezebel!”

            “Don’t you think it’s also his fault that he accepted my invitation of flirtation? Is it always a woman’s fault for what a man does?”

            Mildred was speechless.  She’d never considered things that way before.

            The tables turned on Mildred for Kathy had found her weak spot. “I’m not the only sinner. “If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them, Leviticus 20:13.”

            “How would you know that?”

            “Being dragged to church for the past 19 years…and boy, will it pay off here! You better keep quiet about me stealing your father, or else I’ll tell every one about your ‘abomination’, as Leviticus would call it.”

            Mildred wandered off. The urge to throw Kathy in the scrap pile was gone. Oh, how helpless she felt! It was like being sucked into a whirlpool with nothing to hold on to. How long would she have before everyone found out her secret?

The Pheasant's Eye or Melodrama Part 5

Chapter 8:

            When Mildred came home, after everyone else, she found her mother on the couch reading a book that wasn’t the Bible. The privilege of being the minister’s wife was too great to be overthrown by ‘God’s word’. She was, by far, one of the most radical persons of the church’s followers. One of the philosophies of the occult was to not socialize with the outside crowd, a rule she never followed.  She had just finishing a letter for an out-of-town friend as Mildred had left earlier. 

            She looked up, and asked, “What’s wrong, Mildred?” while putting her book down and moving over to make room for her daughter.

            “It’s nothing,”

            “Really?” she asked, concerned.

            “Mother, what can you do to stop something when you have no power?”

            “Let the wind take it, things will fall into place. History has shown time and again that if you meddle with something, it will usually fall apart.”

            “Thank you, mother,” said Mildred gratefully, and she ran off to go to bed, wondering where the wind would take her.

            After Mildred had gone off to bed, Margaret looked to Gladys, the maid, and said, “Will you get my coat please, Gladys.”

            “Yes ma’am.” She went to retrieve the coat.

            When Gladys came back with the coat, she helped Margaret into it. “Gladys, I’ll be back in an hour. Evelyn invited me to her house after Wednesday service for a duck her husband shot.”

            “Yes ma’am, I will tell your husband when he gets back.”

            “Thank you, Gladys. You’re a huge help,” and she left.

            A few minutes later, Bob came home with Kathy.

            “Gladys, get some wine from the cellar,” demanded Bob.

            “But sir…” she hesitated; she felt very loyal to Margaret.

            “Now!”

            “Yes, sir,” sighed Gladys. What else could she do?

            After coming back with a bottle of Rhubarb wine, Bob ordered her, “Gladys, pour.” After she poured, “Gladys, go to bed.”

            “Yes sir,” but instead she disobeyed. She spied on the conversation through the keyhole of the dining room.

            “Oh, Kathy, I love you!” said Bob enthusiastically, deeply in love.

            “Oh, darling!” said Kathy. “You are like the wind beneath me. Let us run away and get married.”

            “Gee, I’d like to, but…”

            “But what?” asked Kathy sitting up on the table, taking her arm from around his shoulders. “You think I’m the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden, don’t you?”

            “No, I do not. My love for you is like a thousand nightingales, singing in the breeze.”

            Kathy had to really work to restrain her laughter, but she was (fortunately?) distracted by a door slam. “Who’s that?” she asked with alarm.

            “My wife! You better get out! Until the ‘morrow, my darling,” he said passionately.

            After she was out of the door, Kathy snickered. “Idiot! I have that fool under my thumb now.”

            Bob scampered off to bed, throwing the rhubarb wine under the cupboard so his wife would not discover it.

            Meanwhile, Margaret and Gladys were talking in the entryway.  “Gladys, could you help me get my coat off?” asked Margaret.

            “Yes ma’am. Oh, may I tell you something?” whispered Gladys.

            “Yes, of course you may.”

            “We’ll have to go somewhere more private, though…”

Chapter 9:

“Bob,” said Margaret as she was walking into her husband’s office. 

“During the sermon you were looking at Kathy with longing eyes.”

“So? During my sermon I always look at everyone. It's to bring the message of God to those poor souls.” said Bob trying to cover up the facts so his wife would leave him alone.

“Don't lie to me! Tell me the truth; are you dating Kathy right now?”

“No, I'm not! What makes you think that?”

“Bob, everyone knows! You shouldn't lie; you obviously do love Kathy.”

“Give me an example.”

“Well, when she ever talks to you, you gaze at her… like she is the joy of your life,” Margaret said, wistfully.

“That doesn't make any sense. You can't just judge an expression!”

“How come when I got home last Saturday, she was at our house? You never told me that you were having dinner with her.”

“I told you; you probably weren't even listening to me,” said Bob, trying to act pitiful.

“I always listen to you, and I want your relationship with Kathy to END! Do you know how sinful it is to have a spouse and love someone else? That is considered adultery.”

“I know about sin like the back of my hand, you know nothing about sin. Look at the way you lived before you met me. You were wild and uncontrolled.”

“At least I'm not a…a…HYPOCRITE!” shouted Margaret, her face turning red with anger and jealousy.

“You just don't know what Kathy has that you don't,” Bob said, nastily.  Bob had finally given up on hiding his affair with Kathy.

“Youth?” Margaret answered sarcastically.

            Bob was shocked. Although he had been married to his wife for many years, he had always misjudged her cleverness.” You’ve never loved me! You, you...!”

“I've always cared for you, but you seem to have better things to do than practicing what you preach,” said Margaret.  She was calm now, and a little sad.

“I've always practiced what I've preached,” said Bob trying to think up a comeback. “Thou shall not kill!” exclaimed Bob with a burst of confidence.     

“Oh, and you think God is going to let you get away with that?” There was a long silence. “I thought so.  I demand a divorce! I am tired of all your silly stories.”

            “A divorce, huh,” chuckled Bob, not taking his wife very seriously.

            “Yeah, when I first met you, I had it made: a good job, a faithful boyfriend. And then I met you. You really won me over.  You convinced me to come to this…this awful place…and I’ve hardly been happy since. Except for Mildred: she is my hope in this dark world. And now whenever I send my family cards, they never answer me back because they haven’t forgiven me.”

            “You must not have a very good family.”

            “Actually, I don’t blame my family for not forgiving me,” said Margaret wistfully, “I left when my grandmother was dying from cancer, I felt restrained, bossed around, and I felt like more of a burden to my family…”

“Sorry,” said Bob without pity in his voice, “we are not getting a divorce. God will never allow that!” said Bob shaking his head. “You are committing a thousand sins at once.”

“I think God would sympathize with my not wanting to be with a DISHONEST man.” Her sadness had vanished and once again turned to anger.

“There will be no divorce. My reputation will be spoiled! I could be impeached.” Bob was desperate and afraid of losing his power.

“Well then I'm leavin' so your reputation WON’T be ‘spoiled’!”

“You'll come back. You always have,” said Bob, doubting Margaret would ever leave.

“No, Bob,” said Margaret, with tears in her eyes. “I am serious this time.”

The Pheasant's Eye or Melodrama Part 6

Chapter 10:

“I can’t believe it,” said Mildred holding back the tears. “She just left.  Whenever I ask my dad about it, he won’t say anything. His drinking has become worse.”

            They were sitting on the back porch of Karen’s home. It was a modest craftsmen style home with a generous porch on the front of the house. They talked as the frost was settling upon the plants; the plants were wilting away, giving their last goodbye ‘till spring.          

“Its fine, Mildred,” said Karen, giving her friend a hug. “Your mother will be back.”

            “No, it’s not okay. It’s been three days. She has never been gone this long. She probably left because she doesn’t love me.”

            “Don’t say that; your mother loves you,” reassured Karen.

            “Then why would she leave?” asked Mildred, choking on her own tears.

            “She probably left for a more complicated reason. You were a wonderful daughter. Maybe your father knows why she left.”

            “Every time I ask him about it, he tries and changes the subject.”

            “Well, maybe he’ll answer you, if you try again,” said Karen. “He must just miss her, too,” she reasoned.

“I guess I can try,” said Mildred, with doubt in her voice.

            “Good,” said Karen, giving an affectionate pat.

.  .  .  .  .

            “Father,” Mildred asked as she shyly walked into the study. “Why, are you…um…” she hesitated to continue.

            “What do you mean?” asked Bob, looking up from a bible passage he was going to nail into the attendants as if they were a wooden board on the sermon next Sunday.

            “Well, everyone is gossiping about it…” hinted Mildred.

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now if you can excuse me…” said Bob, half concentrating on his Bible.

            “Why did mother leave?” demanded Mildred, finally finding her courage.

            “I don’t know. It was her choice. She’s always been difficult. Will you let me get back to work?” he said, shooing her like a fly out of the room.

            Of course, she wasn’t that easy to get rid of. “No, I will not leave!” Mildred shouted.

            “Excuse me?” he looked up with her, like a botanist with a new species of plant, taking off his spectacles that hung from his neck, giving him a dignified air (that he sorely needed).

            “You heard me; why did mother leave?” she yelled, as Gladys rushed into the room.

“Not now, Gladys; I have to talk to my father,” said Mildred firmly, as she ushered her out of the room. Of course, Gladys would hear everything from the next room, for the walls were thin.

            “I beg your pardon,” challenged Bob as he stood up.

            “You heard me, why did she leave?”

            “Because she couldn’t handle it here! And…” He stopped and turned away abruptly. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

            “Why couldn’t she handle it here?”

            “I’m not going to deal with this,” Bob stated, wearily.

            “No, now you listen to me! It is my turn to do the talking. It’s bad enough to have mother leave, but now my father is having affairs with some…some scarlet woman!”

            “Why, I’ve never been talked to like that in my life! You impertinent brat; your mother taught you how to behave from day one.”

            The door banged as it was flung open, and Kathy sauntered in, saying, “You tell her, honey-pie.” She sneered at Mildred and made her way across the room, stopping to stand at the right side of Bob’s chair as an eagle flying to its perch.

            “Why, you little wench! What are you even doing here?” snapped Mildred, as she stamped her foot down on the old, creaky oak floor.

            “Mildred, you ought not to talk to your father like that. Or me.  You know, I have the ring, and once it gets documented, I’ll be your mother.” She flashed her left hand in front of Mildred’s face.  Mildred was shocked, but quickly calmed down.

            “You know, I don’t care anymore. Why do I have to live in this town anyways?”

            Bob reeled, taken aback.  “You live in this town because it is our home!”

            “I don’t like it here, and I don’t think Mother did either.” She paused, pondering, then asked her father, “Why did you make us stay?  Why were so you selfish?”

            “I cannot believe this girl.  Can you believe what you’re hearing?” Bob asked Kathy. 

            “Well, I’m not surprised.  Boy, I could tell you a lot about her! This is tame compared to… well, like, did you know…” Kathy turned and looked Bob straight in the face, “Your daughter is a lesbian.” She said it like it was a dirty word.  “And do you know what else? Karen, that organists daughter, is her little partner in hell. Soon, she’ll contaminate all of us!” Kathy dramatically pointed at Mildred then waved her hands around wildly, trying to scare Bob. 

            Bob was speechless, for a brief ten seconds, he stood their with his mouth open, looking as though he’d been hit with a pan. Both Kathy and Mildred tried to rush to him to revive him, but Bob held his hand out to indicate that he was fine.  He looked at his daughter, but she made no move to deny the allegation.  He realized his lover was telling the truth. 

            “I…I can’t believe you would do this to me!” he shouted, angrily. “Satan has been whispering things in your ears,” he accused. 

            “Honestly, I think God created me the way I am. You always taught me that ‘All of His creations will join God in the kingdom of heaven’.”  Mildred was calm now, and looked him straight in the face.

            “Don’t shout like that in my face with…with all these liesssssssssss! Leave my house! Leave it!” he shouted and waved his fists, as his face turned a deep plum color. “You have dishonored your family.  May you burn in hell!” He gestured rudely to her. 

            Mildred was taken aback, but remained calm and asked, “Why should I burn in hell? God loves me as his other creations. You said God loves all his children.”

            “No, I am a man of God; I know his word!”

            “You try to convince me and your brethren, but your lies burn the souls of your brothers and sisters.” Mildred stated, sadly. 

            “How dare you spout this nonsense?!  You are possessed by the devil! You are not my daughter. You’ll never achieve righteousness, with Him,” he pointed to heaven, as his eyes became foggy and faraway.

Gladys who had heard the whole scene unfold, walked in with a simple bag of stuff for Mildred, so that she could leave.

            “Come, my child, and you will experience righteousness.”

            “Where are we going?” asked Mildred, completely dazed and overwhelmed as she took Gladys’s hand.

            “You will find your mother and you will take Karen with you. It is your duty to learn about the world outside.  You will find your place in the world. God has given you a path.”

            “Yes,” and she followed Gladys outside where she gave her a farewell token of good luck.

            “Karen,” Mildred said as she walked towards Karen’s house and beckoned for her. “We are to go to the land of the holy, where people are accepting.”

            “One moment; let me get some things,” and then she rushed inside the house to get food and some seeds; she loved them and had nurtured them always.

When she came out, she asked Mildred, “Can we make one last stop? We have to get the white daffodils that bloom near our church. They are what make me smile brightest in the spring.”

Together, they walked towards the church, gently took as many bulbs as they could grab quickly, and started out for a new life.

                                                The End

Art by Nicola Samori and Ivan Stan

Looks like the town in my novel — Dayton, WV

up some holler in red jacket, west virginia

Alternate US: Potential Succession of West Virginia Poll

So, below is a map of some of the current countries in this project, but I'm considering a potential succession of West Virginia and some of it´s surrounding areas (mainly western Pennsylvania and part of Ohio from the Republic of Ohio, and a portion of Virginia and Kentucky from Appalachia).

If Ohio were to be thrown into the succession, Illinois might join into a country with northern Missouri and Iowa. Not so sure about Indiana at the moment.

PLS ONLY ANSWER THIS POLL if you've lived in areas from the Republic of Ohio or Appalachia (outlined and labeled below), OR have referenced someone else who has, OR have lived anywhere in Pennsylvania, OR have studied/learned enough about the area that you feel at least semi-confident in making a decision, thank ye kindly!

The Mother Goose House of Hazard, Kentucky dates back to 1930 and operated as a bed and breakfast. In 2021, the goose’s head fell off after being damaged due to a heavy fall. It has since been repaired and reattached but the bed and breakfast operation remains closed for now.

This is gonna sound kind of insane but if any of you have any technology in your workplace or home that is working sub-optimally get it fixed or replaced within the next four months just in case. I’ll explain a little.

So in order to make the silicone needed in processors they have to refine it from silicone dioxide also known as silica to get just the silicone out. Silicone dioxide is most abundant in a mineral called quartz. They’re basically one and the same except quartz is a rock and like most rocks it usually isn’t just made of one thing. Most quartz has inclusions or other contaminants in it from other minerals. If you grind up the average kind of quartz you’re not gonna get pure silica you’re gonna get some other stuff mixed in which makes it insanely difficult to get just the silicone out. Spruce Pine is special because it is the only source of the purest quartz ever found. It has almost no contaminants. There is no other known site on earth with quartz this pure. Having to source less pure quartz from other mines will take a long ass time and then an even longer ass time to refine it thoroughly enough to get just the silicone. Basically if our government doesn’t stop sending money to Israel for five seconds and go fix up this tiny Appalachian backwater quartz mine, the entire world is going to slow wayyyyyyyyy down.

That means new processors will become scarce. And considering the strain that cryptocurrency and now generative AI is putting on our electrical grids, we’re needing even more processors than usual.

So basically if we can’t get this mine fixed the world’s infrastructure is gonna collapse just a teeny bit and a lot of people are gonna lose access to water and electricity because a bunch of wealthy idiots are using it all for their fake money and stolen artwork.

Now you may be thinking that it’s not as big a deal as it sounds. Semi conductors aren’t in everything. Mostly just communication devices.

You’re wrong. This is a big fucking deal and we should all be terrified. Semiconductors are used in pretty much every communication device. This includes satellites not just your phones.

But the loss or slowing of communication isn’t the only scary thing.

This is an opportunity for permanent censorship of vulnerable communities

Right now the only reason we know what’s going on in the world is because we can all talk to each other instantly through this little rock in my hand. That plus satellites. If semi conductors become scarce the priority is going to be for governments and specifically militaries. If we can’t bomb children with drones connected to satellites then Uncle Sam will be very sad and we can’t have that now can we? Basically, the people most vulnerable to censorship will lose their ability to communicate because they will not have access to communication devices. That’s the long term consequence.

Now if the poor people can’t speak on the world stage then naturally some of the more privileged who will still have access to devices will become the voice for the voiceless. This is where the big scary future doom comes in.

The recent targeted attacks in Lebanon were all on communication devices. Pagers, phones, walkie talkies, and even car radios. Basically anything that had a processor. And we all know that the Middle East is where the West likes to test their new war crime toys. Now, if some of the privileged start speaking out, the wealthy elites and the governments of the world will have the capability to permanently silence those individuals.

I know I’m doomsday preaching again. I know I sound like a raving lunatic. I know I’m describing a dystopia that would make a very successful book trilogy and potentially a franchise, but I have yet to be wrong.

I may not be an expert on all this, I may be just a small voice on a very big platform, but I will scream doom from the mountain tops if that’s what it takes to save even one person. At the very least I’ll be able to say that I tried.

My final message is this; prep for the worst, hope for the best.

Cherokee Miku from my home state of North Carolina!