There was a time in my life when I didn’t think much of my home town. I considered it terribly backwoods in comparison to the metropolis of Denver. To my chagrin, I recall making disparaging comments about Parkersburg, and West Virginia in general to anyone and everyone. It’s a wonder they didn’t revoke my home state status and mark me down as “hatched from under a rock”. What can I say? I never rebelled as an adolescent. I saved it all for long after I should have known better.
I remember making such comments to one of my oldest, dearest friends. We went to high school together and we’re “sisters of different parentage”. As a matter of fact, when I went off to live outside London for two years then settled in Denver, it was my high school friend who kept a close, personal friendship with my mom. She was a much better daughter to her in those days than I was. When I spoke ill of my fellow Mountaineers and this Wild and Wonderful state, she had some pretty stern words to say to me.
“You just remember where you came from, missy. I knew you when you had nothing, just like me!”
Oh, she was so right. I was feeling pretty full of myself…a doctor’s wife and all. Like…small town girl does good. I was an ass. Plain and simple. And I’ve done my best to make up for it. As Maya Angelou said…”We do what we know. And when we know better, we do better.” These last three years, I’ve spent more time in West Virginia than I had in all of the forty years prior. I’ve grown to love and appreciate this rugged state filled with can-do, sturdy individuals. I still get frustrated sometimes when I see progress thwarted at every turn. But maybe staying a little backward is ok. Yeah, we have been hit hard with drug problems. Poverty, obesity, poor education run rampant. Plants and mines closing down. Towns with nothing for kids to do but make more kids that do nothing. But, at the base, there is this amazing depth of pride for coming up through the hard times and standing tall when they play the National Anthem at the Friday night football games at every high school in every county. The mountains run through our veins like the coal beneath our feet and we are a fiercely proud, fiercely independent, fiercely loyal group of people.
Last night, as Mr. FixIt and I sat and watched the sun set over the Ohio River at Fort Boreman Park, we looked out over this town we grew up in. You could see where the houses sat on Quincy Hill where Mr. FixIt grew up. You could see Ohio across the river. I snapped photo after photo, trying to capture for you the essence of West Virginia…of Parkersburg…of my home town. In the end, it is in the peaceful colors of the setting sun that I see the famous blue and gold…West Virginia’s colors. And I realized that we are the river and the sky, the mountains and the valleys, the wooded hillsides and the amber fields. We will always be here. Montani Semper Liberi…Mountaineers are always free. ❤️
“Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”
2 Corinthians 3:17 NIV
The view from Fort Boreman just does something to you. The setting sun from there is amazing. and yes you can see the stars. I too left for Texas and came back to visit family with distaste for old and dirty little town, Parkersburg. We moved back also, across the river in Ohio, and I am seeing it through the eyes of someone who finds the beauty and peace of small town life now. The sad thing is our children have the view of WV as many in this country do even to the fact that some still think it is just the western part of the state of Virginia. Of course, after college, they did have to go were the jobs were. We visit all those big cities and come back and breathe a sigh of “glad to be home”.
❤️
Love the pictures of our hometown and agree with your sentiments about the depth of pride in a Mountaineer.
Your post brings back so many good memories. My grandparents lived at 801 Quincy St. Back then, much of Quincy St. was a brick road (like present day Ann St. in the historic district). As kids, my cousin and I use to climb the hill and then run down the sidewalk with reckless abandon. We went to a kindergarten that was taught in a house on Quincy (believe it was 1101 Quincy). The kindergarten was run by the Catholic nuns, who resided at the former convent at the corner of 13th and Quincy. Occasionally, we walked to Quincy Park and then down the stairs to Avery St.
Read you post daily and always enjoy your humor, wisdom, and transparency. You provide a relevant, daily gift to your readers.
Give my best to Mr. FixIt. The next time we are back home, would enjoy seeing the two of you!
I would love that, Brad! Let us know when you’re in town and we’ll try to make that happen!!! ❤️