I started this blog to write about my new experiences living down here in southwest Virginia. Well, on Wednesday I had the new experience of testing positive for Covid.
I dodged that stuff for three years! I’ve gotten every shot and booster I could get my hands on. I even kind of wondered if I was possibly Covid-proof, like one of my friends at work (his story is actually kind of amazing).
But alas, no. I started feeling run down on Tuesday, with a scratchy throat that got worse as the day went on. I woke up a little stuffy on Wednesday, and chalked it up to a cold, until I heard the radio news saying that Covid cases were up in Roanoke. And surprise, surprise! I got those dreaded double lines.
I have a mild case, where it has just felt like a doozy of a cold for the last couple of days. And as I write this on Saturday, I’m feeling much better and very, very lucky. I’ve got a nice set-up in the basement to avoid infecting Jim, and the cats LOVE Camp Covid.
And the benefit of having it this late is that everyone knows what I’m going through. It could be much, much worse.
The first morning of 2023 dawned a little bit misty over Smith Mountain Lake, and it’s always a good look.
This mist wasn’t so cute last night, though. It derailed our family’s flight into Roanoke’s tiny airport, so much so that our rattled American Airlines flight crew diverted the plane full of rattled passengers to Richmond, Virginia, which is three hours down the road. After some back and forth and a hasty reboarding, the whole thing was canceled.
Instead of decamping to a hotel to try again this morning, the Reynolds crew was rescued by the kind folks at Enterprise Rent-a-Car: we piled in a Camry and drove home, arriving about an hour and a half into the New Year.
On the bright side: we did NOT wake up with hangovers this morning.
And seriously, it’s hard to complain, because we were coming from an amazing destination. Jim and I had enticed our grown-up kids to spend the week after Christmas with us on a trip to Cancun, Mexico.
I took a trip to Cancun back in 1992, right after I’d started my first grown-up job. One of my college friends had just graduated from business school, and she and four friends were going to Cancun to celebrate. My buddy invited me along. While waiting for out taxi to the hotel, one of the friends started talking enthusiastically about playing pinochle during the trip. Trying to be a good sport, I enthusiastically said that I’d love to learn how to play.
“It’s a four-person game,” she replied coolly. And that was just about how the rest of the trip went.
But that was then, this was now. This time around, we absolutely delighted in spending time with the grown-up kids.
And Cancun was lovely. We stayed at the Wyndham Alltra Cancun, an establishment that probably has the nicest people in the whole field of hospitality working for it.
So, lessons for the new year: travel companions make all the difference, a Plan B can save the day, and fog looks a whole lot better in daytime than in the dark.
Since it’s Friday, I decided to treat myself to a fancy, store-bought cup of coffee this morning. As I might have mentioned, our nearest Starbuck’s is 35 minutes away in Vinton (at least until they finish the much-anticipated store in Rocky Mount, bringing that classic cup 15 minutes closer!), and the drive-through at our nearest shop had a line, so I visited the fine folks at the Smith Mountain Lake Coffee House, where I decamp when our home wifi is iffy. After having lived here for more than four years, I shouldn’t be so surprised at the absolute quiet of the post-summer season here at the lake, but the contrast is pretty stark at the Coffee House, which is really hopping from May – September. More dark roast for me, I guess…
Driving home, too, I saw a welcome sight: it’s going to be a bagel day tomorrow! For all the New Yorkers we have living around here, you couldn’t get a good bagel and it was a darned shame. Until this summer. The Bagel & I is a new-ish bagel shop up in Lynchburg, and hallelujah, they bring a pop-up to the lake on Saturdays! These folks are super nice and the bagels are extremely delicious. They’re really popular; on any given Saturday, you can see a line form outside their tent. And it looks like they’re adding a Friday bagel day to their line up this week.
Tomorrow’s breakfast is sorted. Hope you have a great weekend!
Jim and I took a road trip last weekend to visit our boy in Lexington, Kentucky.
We love Lexington but don’t love the journey there from our home in SW Virginia. It’s a long haul up I-77 in West Virginia. Don’t get me wrong, the highway is a smooth conduit that connects Rt. 460 in Giles County, VA, to Charleston, WV, where we catch I-64 west out to the Lex. The problem is, all the trucks love it, too. So this time we thought we’d mix it up.
Google Maps option #2 took us deeper into the western tip of Virginia to the (beautiful) town of Abingdon, at which point we turned hard right and headed straight into southeastern Kentucky, with no venture into West Virginia at all. We were looking for mountain vistas, smaller roads, and fewer 18-wheelers.
Southeastern Kentucky is famous for its coal mines; I read that coal has been mined there since 1790. But on Thursday, July 28, the day of our trip, it became famous for flooding. Days of unprecedented, powerful rainfall brought devastating floods that wiped out houses, roads, bridges, and at the time of this writing, has killed 28 people. We didn’t see that news early Thursday morning as we set out. We hauled down I-81, stopped for coffee in Abingdon, turned right, and headed up over the mountains.
The views over Clinch Mountain were stunning. As we crossed into Kentucky, we could see waterfalls on the towering stone walls that border northbound route 23. But as we turned west onto 119, we started noticing the water in the creek next to the highway was very, very active. Churning and brown. Then we went through a town and saw folks in camo who were clearly National Guard, and not hunters.
Not long after that, the traffic stopped. The bridge on 119 had washed out. Like our fellow drivers, we turned around.
I was navigating, and at this point, I didn’t want to completely retrace our steps, but instead tried to find an alternate route north, along those picturesque mountain roads. This was the wrong choice.
We muddled north; every road seemed to follow an overflowing creek and we started seeing houses and bridges in ruins. Mud and water filled yards. At one house a car was wedged up against the front porch like it had been thrown there by a huge, angry toddler. We drove through the town of Fleming-Neon, whose Main Street was under water; we followed a side street with a stream of pick-up trucks and ATVs (y’all, so many ATVs) to get to the road on the other end of town. That road was blocked by a mudslide.
For two hours we drove back and forth like a rat in a maze, trying multiple routes that turned out to be blocked, before we finally worked our way back to a clean highway. We drove through the branches of trees that had fallen across roads, and skirted blacktop that was cracking because the dirt underneath it was washing away. We drove through water that was deep enough that we could see that other cars had been swept out of their path (by the time we got there, it had receded: “If that Subaru can do it, we can, too”).
It was a disaster. We had no business being there.
We should have backtracked immediately at the first closed road. We easily could have been stuck in Pike County. And you know what? We would have been stupid tourists draining the resources of an area that already has plenty of stress of its own. We found ourselves in a natural disaster and I thought I could be clever and find a work-around on mountain roads that I do not know. Jim’s driving got us out of that mess. And I hope I’ve learned my lesson that I need to respect bad situations a lot better.
Now I sit here safe and dry at home, fully knowing that our experience is nothing compared to what these folks will be dealing with for the next few years, at least. If you are able to donate to help, Kentucky’s Governor Beshear’s office has set up a site where you can do so. It only takes a minute. I’ve never seen any situation like what we saw on Thursday and hope you never do, either.
We had the excellent experience last weekend of going to our nephew’s high school graduation. It is more fun going to a beloved nephew’s event because as an aunt and uncle, Jim and I can enjoy being supporting characters. Also, we didn’t have to put together the post-graduation brunch.
Our nephew went to a very large high school up in Northern Virginia. Like many local high schools, his commencement exercises were held in the arena located at the university where I work, so it felt a little bit like deja vu from a couple of weeks ago.
The ceremony itself was well organized. There was an interesting speech from a member of the school’s security team (“I didn’t know he ever said anything other than ‘Why aren’t you in class?'” remarked Nephew later), and some sincere reminiscences from one of the graduates. As all 680 graduates made their way across the stage, I had time to think about the work that goes into an event like this, as the school tries to balance the students’ (and parents’) desire to get that diploma and get out of there with the need for some solemnity to make the event meaningful. By the time they’d gotten to the second bank of students, some in the stands were leaving their seats and coming back with popcorn.
Afterwards, my sister and brother-in-law hosted the family at their house, and visiting with those folks was obviously the best part of the day.
Nephew is a bit younger than our two kids and the day felt like we were saying goodbye to the kid part of our lives. But despite being (typically) Anne-nostalgic for some of those memories, it really does feel like a commencement. That guy will soon be off to a large university with large adventures ahead. I can’t wait to see where it takes him.
I’ve written here before about running out of words for the past year or so. Not knowing what to write, and even wondering how much the world needs my voice, given all of the people who need to be heard, seen, understood.
That’s a thought that has been poking me as we start 2022’s Pride Month. At my day job, I had the opportunity to write about my university’s Lavender and Women and Gender Studies Graduation, which is an opportunity for the university’s LGBTQ+ community, allies, and the Women and Gender Studies program (which supports LGBTQ+ resources at our school) to celebrate as the the university prepares for commencement exercises. A chance for a group of people to rejoice in the loving community that they themselves fostered during their college years, a haven for when they might have felt marginalized or ignored by the larger university environment.
The article was a chance for me to talk with a number of the really incredible people who support the community at our university. They are people full of kindness, honor, and respect, and they helped me — I hope — to impart that same kindness, honor, and respect in the folks I wrote about.
And that right there is why I’m writing this today, nudged further along by the poke I got from the blog post of a terrific writer I admire, Melissa Ostrum, who wrote today about why she writes. What resonated with me was the discovery of “surprises, epiphanies, and keenly felt feelings” that came up when she put words to paper (or computer screen).
We’re living in interesting times, for sure, with bad news all around us, people in dire straits all around the world, and friends saying things in social media that oh, I didn’t like to know about them. What can one middle-age lady living in the country say that has a bearing on any of that?
I’m not sure, but I am over here doing the best I can, and I bet you are, too.
When I start to type “Wordle” into my browser, the predictive text sends me to “WordPress” instead, and many times, I’ve thought, whoa, I should write a blog post! But then I override the suggestion and go to Wordle instead.
And the funny thing is, I really don’t like Wordle. Despite the fact that I know a handful of five letter words, I find this game really frustrating and immediately get that panicky feeling that I am wasting time I should be spending with work. Or on anything else. I know I’m likely in the minority here, but there you go.
So if I am saving all this Wordle time, how have I been spending it? Good question.
Today’s Daily Stoic email asked very much the same question, but in terms of the two years we’ve been living with the pandemic. Do you have any W’s? or big L’s? Some definite food for thought, but I’m going to count this blog post as a W.
The week between Christmas and New Year is probably my favorite sneaky week of the year. It’s sneaky because I forget how much I like it until it rolls around again, all quiet and peaceful after the frenzy of trying to get ready for the holiday and the big day itself. I’m doubly fortunate because my employer, a university, closes its administrative offices for two weeks surrounding Christmas, so I can loaf almost guilt-free.
This year is quiet, too, because our New Yorker daughter, who spent a nice long break with us last year, realized that New Year’s Eve in the city was going to be more fun than New Year’s Eve in Franklin County. (Can’t blame her for that.) Her younger brother, our Kentuckian son, is going to mosey back to Lexington early next week.
It’s so quiet that I almost welcomed the tooth I broke last week that occasioned a trip to the dentist this morning.
We have a good dentist, but he’s a solid 45 minutes away, on the other side of Roanoke. I saw him at the beginning of December for my regular check-up, which was uneventful except for Tammy the hygienist loudly announcing, “She’s doing MUCH BETTER on her flossing this time, Dr. ______,” when Dr. ________ came in to poke around my teeth. That’s judgy, Tammy. There is nothing wrong with my flossing, nor was there anything (all that) wrong back in June.
This visit was uneventful, too, with just a little bit of filing on the chipped corner of the rebellious tooth. I was out of the office with plenty of time to stop in to Target, Barrel Chest, and Starbuck’s (which are also 45 minutes from our house) and home before the Lexingtonian woke up.
After a wonderful May and June when it felt like we were bounding into a wide-open summer, here came that obnoxious Delta variant to move the goalposts on getting back to “normal.” At Smith Mountain Lake, we saw that play out last week over the SML Wine Festival.
The wine festival has been going on for over 30 years, a very popular event held annually on the last weekend of September. In 2019, it took place at Crazy Horse Marina and Jim and I got to enjoy the event with our friends the Marstons, chauffeured by boat by their son, Luke (thanks, Luke!). There were loads of wineries represented, a variety of food options, live music, some interesting artwork for sale, and a crowd of happy wine-sippers.
Last September, of course, it was cancelled for Covid.
This July, the local chamber of commerce made big waves by changing it up. No longer would it be at the Crazy Horse, but at a new venue, Mariners Landing, a golf community perched at the end of one of the lake’s creeks. But what really rocked the boat were the prices: individual tickets were now going to start at $65 per person (more than double the previous price), with VIP options and boat slips raised accordingly. The chamber explained that “the timing was right to elevate the experience,” and stressed that some popular musical acts would be playing in the new, “more intimate” setting.
This change did not go over well with my neighbors.
The residents’ Facebook page got so heated that the admin turned off the comments. An alternative event was set up for the same day, called the Knot-A-Festival, where individual tickets are $15 and everyone brings their own wine.
In the end, though, the festival announced last week that they would postpone for a year because of the Delta variant. Some in the residents’ page are surmising that it’s because they couldn’t sell those pricey tickets, but the Mariners Landing community is also very mindful of masking and distancing in the face of the new Covid threat.
While I wouldn’t think such measures would be controversial, a trip to the local Kroger (or any other lake-local business) proves that we mask wearers are very much in the minority. Sigh, here we go again (and without our Virginia wine).
This summer is better than last summer, can we agree?
We had houseguests last weekend – two sets! This is not an unusual state of affairs for most of our neighbors; if you’re lucky enough to live on the shore of a lake, you’re lucky enough to have some folks want to visit.
But what a change from last summer.
When we moved to southwest Virginia, we shrugged off our former suburban existence and bought a home on Smith Mountain Lake. Every morning when I wake up and see that water, I can’t believe we’re here.
The folks who sold us the house also sold us their tiny boat (we call it the Tempest because it’s about the size of a teapot). It’s a perfect boat for us, since neither Jim nor I knew anything about boats or boating. We do not fish. We do not ride on wakeboards. As soon as we moved down here, though, I took an online boating safety course and then we ignored the Tempest for, well, almost two years, while we did other things.
But then Covid hit and we were faced with a locked down 2020 summer. So I called up Bittinger Marine Center, recommended by our neighbors, and Jahleel and Luke came out to look at our boat, which by now wouldn’t start. They towed it to their shop and brought it back spiffy a week or so later. “When you bring it back,” I asked, “could you all hang out for a minute and give me some pointers?”
“Ma’am, that’s just what we had in mind.”
Jahleel’s previous experience had been teaching boating basics to tourists at the boat rental spot, so he knew how to talk to a nautical newbie. Within a few minutes, I could work that throttle and putter semi-comfortably. We were in business.
So with few guests last summer, that boat opened up a whole new world for us. Jim and I ventured out early on weekend mornings to avoid the bigger, faster boats, with Google Maps to help us navigate the many coves and creeks that make up the lake. We learned to steer around wakes and partiers (there are some jolly pirates out here for sure), and the whole experience will make the summer of 2020, even with the election craziness and the Covid consternation, a very good memory.