Fragments From Floyd

Fragmented. Pleasantly fragmented. If conversation--from before breakfast until long after supper--burns calories, there'll be little left when I get home to Goose Creek. It only gets worse (in a most wonderful way) the more folks I meet and with whom I find common ground, or new ground altogether. We are all bound to words, we are all bound to these mountains. After feeling a 'rank stranger' for the first day (as I had expected), I am feeling a part of this family reunion.

Access to the internet isn't easy and the connection speed reminds of 28K modem days. But I guess it doesn't really matter. I wouldn't be able to get in a 'blogging' state of mind if I had DSL from my room. Thanks for emails that keep me feeling connected to that other life I can still recall on the banks of Goose Creek--so far away, never out of memory.

The week has been so very full. I'm especially finding resonance with the memoir class, which I audit each morning after my 'enrolled' non-fiction class. There is an Appalachian Literature "class" from 1:15 to 2:30 each day, followed by participant readings at 4 and staff readings at 7:00. So far, there has been music on one porch or another from 9:30 until. Not much time for writing, or even processing--a personal debriefing that will go on for weeks after I return.

Well, the sorry ergonomics of this library workstation is taking its toll, so I'll end. I'm looking forward to sharing vignettes of Hindman, and to where this very rich experience leads me. See you soon! -- Fred