Y’all remember I came to West Virginia in October of 2014 to live on the family farm and help my elderly aunt. That lasted ten weeks and she decided she didn’t rightly think she wanted anyone extra around and I graciously bowed out. That’s when I moved around in my camper…first at the river then out to Colorado, South Dakota, Tennessee and all parts in between. I spent the better part of two years as a gypsy of sorts…writing, speaking, and healing my broken heart.

That same aunt gave me a fiddle after my grandma died in 1999. She left it on the bed without fanfare. When I went to bed that night and saw the fiddle, I sat on the edge of my bed, cradling it, running my fingers over the worn wooden frets…tears streaming down my face. I remembered that fiddle well. I was a very little girl. My great grandfather, a moose of a man, was at the farm. He and my uncle and my Pop-Pop built the basement and rolled the old house down over the foundation on long well casing pipes from an oilfield. My uncle loves to tell me that story and I listen and laugh every time as if it were my first hearing.

They had to jack the house up to put the pipes under. The new basement was slightly downgrade and they didn’t want it to take off and get away from them. They wrapped a chain around the pipe and attached a huge pipe wrench for leverage. Murphy’s Law tells you what happened next. The house did indeed start rolling and the only thing that stopped it from shooting off the other side of the basement was that wrench. The handle had been driven about two feet into the ground and worked like a brake.

My great grandpa had gone down in the basement to monitor things from below and tell my uncle when the house was over the new foundation. When it took off, Grandpa start yelling to “Make ‘er stop, boys! Make ‘er stop!” There weren’t any steps in place yet, so as soon as my uncle had the house secure, he ran to the basement doorway and hollered for my grandpa. “I stopped ‘er!” Grandpa cried. “By golly, I stopped ‘er, boys!”

My uncle shinnied down a ladder into the basement and there was Grandpa, wedged up between the floorboards of the first floor and the pipe! Seems he deemed it a good idea to tie a stout rope to that pipe and tie the other end around his waist so he could “stop ‘er”. Well, the rope wound up around the pipe and drew him right up like a bucket from a well. Thank God that wrench caught or that would have been the end of Grandpa!

Soon after the house was secured to the new foundation, the stairs were built, and they added a front porch and poured a concrete slab for the back porch and the new bathroom that was being added. One summer night, after all the work had been done, my Pop-Pop pulled out the old fiddle and played “Turkey in the Straw”. My great grandpa grabbed a walking stick, stuck his bowler hat jauntily on the top is his head, and started flatfoot dancing on the porch. I will never, ever forget the deep thrill I got watching that scene unfold before me as I clapped my hands with the beat.

I’ve always wanted to learn to flatfoot dance…also called clogging, or Apache dancing. I’ve watched countless videos but haven’t seemed to get it right. One of these days I will take a lesson and finally learn. This is the week I am hosting a Sisters on the Fly event here in West Virginia and I am so excited to showcase our state and its fine traditions. We’re having an old-fashioned weenie roast and we’ll churn ice cream. We’re going on a sternwheel ride on the Ohio River. We’re touring two mansions and an abandoned oil and gas boom town. And, we’re having a catered barbecue. Our entertainment is a young banjo player named Jake Eddy. He’s bringing some friends for some Old Time Jammin’…that front porch informal style typical of performers who sit around after shows and play for the sheer enjoyment. At this point, he hasn’t been able to find a fiddle player but he’s hoping he can get one. So do I!

I’ve added a link to some great flatfoot dancing if you are interested. This is going to be a tremendously busy week for me so you may not hear much from me till the 10th or 11th. I’ll touch base but probably won’t have time to write my usual daily essay. This is going to be great fun so hang on for pictures, video, or quick stories. ❤️

“You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness,”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭30:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬