Unsweetened T - Grab a Gallon or Two

Trinny's Unsweetened T

Wow, all I can do is deeply curtsy to the Mistress, Mistress Trinny that is. Go treat yourself to some real-life writing about ruro-urban West Virginia. I dare ya.

Here's a link: Unsweetened T

Thank me in the morning . ~~GH

At The Carnifex Ferry Battleground

My grandpa took the family for rides every Sunday afternoons as long as the weather was good. There were more than a dozen destinations in the rotation. Sites where Civil War battles had taken place were his favorites.

About eleven years ago, my then-husband and I visited the Carnifex Ferry battleground. I joined a small group of visitors who stood silently on a high point overlooking the crucial convergence between two rivers -- the precious strategic real estate the opposing parties struggled to control. 

I was inspired to write the following verse. ~ GH

At The Carnifex Ferry Battleground

I could not hear the dying and injured men's moans,
nor did I smell tangy gunpowder
or the coppery blood spoor
that had saturated the feracious earth.

We stood together in a silent semicircle,
unidentifiable Southerners and I alike,
gazing down at the precious convergence
of two rivers which so many warriors
had died in order to control.

I did not see homesick, starved, 
and freezing young men
shivering around a campfire,
nor taste their moldy hardtack and chicory coffee.

Instead, I listened to the roar of whitewater
and breathed in its life-sustaining essence
while a stand of ancient hickory trees
crowded around us,
curious to see what we found so important.

   

~~ Ginger Hamilton

Clean Water - Who Needs It?

I have largely avoided posting my political or social agenda, but the issue of availability of potable drinking water is universal. In Appalachia, many people's water is ruined now due to fracking and/or residual problems from mining. 

Below is a lovely essay written by Becky Park who went for a walk on a spring day and sampled various "freshwater" sites along a waterway, and recorded her findings. 

Please take less than one minute, sixty seconds, and sign the petition asking that the people of Appalachia receive what first world nations take for granted -- clean drinking water. Thank you. ~~Ginger

(CLICK HERE FOR PETITION)

Originally emailed Tues. May 7, 2013:

What an interesting day we had yesterday in the great out-of-doors. I knew we were in for 100% Doug Wood when the first thing he said was, "There's a reason I don't have any eyebrows." Doug had been with his 18th century friends on the weekend and in his American Indian persona he has only a warrior's lock of hair at the back of his head. I'm so used to seeing Doug with a bandana on his head that I don't notice it anymore. And his eyes are so bright and his face such a one-big-smile that eyebrows for him are not an issue.

What is at issue here is drinking salt water. Doug poured us a round of regular tap water and then a round of water that he demonstrated was drinkable, but when we ladies took a swig--BLEH! Sippable maybe, but yuck tasting, no thank you very much!

Now let's think about the critters we just saw from stream #1. When the rain comes down and filters through a site where the soil has been disturbed, an array of elements and compounds enters the streams and increases the level of ions. This can be detected by a meter and read as "conductivity" of electrical current.

These critters are the proverbial happy clams in water with a reading of 100 to 200 micro-siemens.

Now imagine you don't just sip water occasionally, but your entire existence is in water. Their water is like our air. Yuck! The little baby insects and worms and larvae cry out to their mommies "This water is nasty Mommy! Help me!"

The conductivity reading in Davis Creek, above human dwellings, was 117. Much like it would have been in the 1700s.

Then on to the streams draining a watershed whose ridges have been blown to rubble and dumped in the headwaters: Four-mile Fork of Lens Creek--664.

Further upstream and up Bull Creek--982.

It was here in Bull Creek that Doug took our second set of samplings of the Critters Who Live in the Creek.

The first stream with the reading 117 held a fascinating array of crawly squirmy tiny things. We were looking for benthic macro-invertebrates (visible bottom-dwelling critters without backbones) but in addition to that we enjoyed finding salamanders and their babies. Worms, crayfish, mayfly and stonefly nymphs, and my favorite--the crane fly larva I could see through. Its guts looked like another creature moving inside of it.

These are the organisms that break down the fallen leaves and themselves become food for the larger critters, including fish. For a full 30 minutes we were spellbound by this community, knowing this was a small part of the big picture of life in a woodland stream.

Then, as Doug turned out the samplings from Bull Creek where the conductivity reading was 982, we began poking through the sand and leaves, waiting for the wiggle of life. There were a few nymphs and a tiny water boatman but the difference in this community was dramatic. We kept poking with twigs, examining leaf fragments and flat rocks.. after 10 minutes the toll was clear. It seemed to be a mass of rocks and leaves where only a very few resilient babies can live. Like that salty water. No good!

I knew I was with the right group when it started to rain early in the day and no one mentioned it. Thank you, Ladies, for a priceless time together and thank you, Doug, for giving your day to us.

The difference in our samplings presented an image--a lesson--the truth--that is inescapable. I feel like a stonefly nymph running and wiggling to get away from what we must face.

It really is that bad.

West Virginia: A Poem

Hills embrace everyone

Valleys snuggle all

Rivers course through our veins

Wind, our breath

Love, our song

Nature was born here

West Virginia 

~~GH

East Kanawha County

East Kanawha County

Cookie cutter houses

On narrow winding roads

Nestled between a ridge and a creek

The siding man's been here

With his silver tongue

And easy payment plan

Leaving a legacy of low

Maintenance monopoly

And coal-begrimed aluminum

Get Your Motor Runnin'

"No true-blooded West Virginia boy would ever do less than 120 mph on a straight stretch, because those runs are hard won in a land where road maps resemble a barrel of worms with Saint Vitus' dance." ~~Breece D'J Pancake, "The Salvation of Me"

I am here to testify, that goes for girls, too. 

My older daughter complains bitterly that I routinely drive 20 mph over the speed limit. 

Totally untrue! 

. . . Probably.~~GHC

Nature, Grace, Redemption

(In honor of the first day of Autumn. ~GHC)

West Virginia roads suggest dancing. There is an innate rhythm to the undulations formed by lanes carved to shadow waterways that gently curve down the mountains. A sensuous sway of Nature's hips; she is a Mountain Woman making her way down the path with an apron full of walnuts in Autumn.~~GHC

Nature, Grace, Redemption

Each morning, Sun's light darts through thick foliage, seeking his mountain woman. He issues a clarion call to awaken and join him in the forest. He watches over her throughout the day even when she feels alone. She is courted by both Sun and Wind. The jealous suitors vie for her affection in an eternal battle.

Sun soothes her spirit, warms her body, lights her way in the gloom. Sun breaks the dark grasp of Winter, heralds the promise of Spring. Sun beats her in Summer, smothers her with his passion, lashes her with his harsh rays. His heat coaxes her musky essence; it drifts on the breeze. Mountain Woman lies panting and sweating in a verdant valley, drained and spent when he leaves her. She cries out from her spirit to Wind to come and bring relief.

Rivulets of perspiration trace the curves of her countenance and she dreams of Wind's sweet touch. Sensing her scent in the zephyr, Wind joins Mountain Woman. He whispers against her cheek, smoothes her hair. He strokes her everywhere at once. The hairs on her arms stand up as he wraps around and over and under her, finding his way into tiny crevices that Sun never discovers. Mountain Woman shivers from the sensation. He brushes her nipples, causing them to reach for his touch. He obliges.

But Wind is as cruel a lover as Sun. In Winter, he causes her hair to lash her face. He chaps her skin, chills her to the bone. In Winter, she sometimes weeps for Sun, wondering if he will ever return. Wind leaves as suddenly as he arrives, without warning every time. He is capricious, unlike faithful Sun who soars across the sky each morning and stays until nightfall when he settles into the trees like a bird returning to its nest.

Mountain Woman has a third lover: Night. Night too is faithful but undemanding. She waits until Sun leaves, gracious and patient for her turn. Her gentle fingers soothe Mountain Woman's tired spirit and restore her soul. She pulls Mountain Woman to her bosom, murmurs into her ear to rest, sleep, renew, and refresh.

Sometimes Wind comes while Mountain Woman lies within Night's arms. He rails against the walls, his jealousy evident. He howls outside her window, impotent and incapable of forcing her to unlatch her door and allow him in. He warns of Night's deceit.

Glittering diamonds emphasize Night's dark beauty. She offers gifts to Mountain Woman: the Moon and Stars. Night's jewels are sempiternal but cold and distant. They sparkle with false brilliance. Their light is mere reflection; their lives forfeit long ago. Like Mountain Woman, they cannot be possessed.

Mountain Woman wakens and makes her way down the hillside to the River. River is her true Love. River fills her every crevice, gentle and insistent, patient, persistent. Thorough. River caresses and treasures everything Mountain Woman offers and nothing more. If she deigns to only dip a dainty foot in, River caresses it, worships it. When Mountain Woman chooses to disrobe away from the prying eyes of Sun, Wind, or Night, and offers herself entirely into River's embrace, River welcomes her. River always accepts, never judges. River extends an invitation but never presses. Steady yet never stagnant, faithful yet not fawning, loving without lusting, River is the keeper of Mountain Woman's heart.

My Bio

Ginger Hamilton Caudill is a college student who lives and writes in the Plantation State of West Virginia. Her work has been published in Mountain Voices: Illuminating the Character of West Virginia; HerStory: What I Learned in My Bathtub and More; Cup of Comfort books; Horror Library, Volume 2; StorySouth; The Front Porch, and dozens of other publications. She was the grand prize winner of The Binnacle Third Annual International Ultra-Short Story competition. Hamilton Caudill is, of course, working on a novel -- like the rest of the Free World. You can follow her at (blog) or (Facebook)