Fragments From Floyd: Floyd: By Birth or By Adoption, Home

In the fall of 1995--exactly a decade ago--our kids had fledged, our nest was empty, and we couldn't wait to get back to Wytheville. We still had friends there from twelve years of having called that place home. But two years later, to our surprise, we had returned to Virginia, but to Floyd County, not Wythe. Why and how in the world did we end up here?

About fifty percent of today's Floydians are here by adoption, not by birth, and could tell you their own version of 'finding Floyd.' One theme that would run through these tales would be the him-versus-her divide: one of each couple is relentlessly pulled here, the other not at all certain. My wife and I had this very debate ourselves. I've heard it often, and as a matter fact, I overheard it just a few days ago in downtown Floyd.

Café del Sol was crowded on Friday afternoon. Slumped back in my chair, I nursed a cup of coffee and unavoidably eavesdropped on the conversation at the table behind me. The couple was obviously from somewhere else. Their conversation made plain the fact that they'd been riding around the county all the rainy day, trying to imagine it as their future home. Their impassioned exchange left no doubt they had not reached a final consensus on the matter of rural immersion.

Him: "I would go bananas living here" he said. "I know you love it-the lack of noise and traffic, the country charm and all that. But I'm a city person, always will be. I need the energy, the variety, the convenience of a city. I'd wither and die here. There isn't anything to do!" he declared with certainty.

Her: "You'd be surprised. We'd make friends here. And there's plenty to do, and getting to Roanoke for dinner doesn't take any longer than we spend now driving across the city to the theatre or stadium, you know. We could have our privacy or quiet here when we wanted, or drive to Blacksburg for a play or football game. It would be the best of both worlds" she gushed, as if her sincere conviction might win him over to the Floyd side.

I just pretended to be reading my newspaper oblivious to their relocation melodrama. But oh, how I wanted to turn around to these complete strangers and proclaim to them how, exactly ten years ago my wife and I were standing at the edge of the same precipice of uncertainty. Would we be happy here in a pleasantly smaller pond? Would we find friends and community where people live at the ends of long lanes that wind through the pleasant hollers of the blue ridges? Moving anywhere is a life trauma; moving to a place far different from where you're used to is a scary leap of faith. But in the end, the decision for my wife and I to move to Floyd seemed somehow not entirely ours.

"If you're meant to live here, something about Floyd County is likely to draw you here" I wanted to tell these strangers at the next table. "It is an energy or inspiration beyond mere logic and cold pragmatic choice. You will choose to live here or not, but here must chose you as well. You'll know it when the fit is right." But of course, I said nothing, and watched them leave, get in their car and drive away without the benefit of my uninvited soliloquy. Something makes me think that I will never see them again.

Next month marks the beginning of my family's ninth year here. We know for sure that in all the world, this was the right choice for us. But rural living-in Floyd, or Willis or anywhere-is not the right choice for some people, even if on one rainy October afternoon, they think it might be. Many who leave metro areas for the lesser crossroads of more remote places give up their hopeful, assumed lifestyles after a year or two, and go back to cities and suburbs that are familiar and crowded with the things they couldn't do without. It's a fact that the costs and benefits of small town life can be hidden or distorted by the rosy glow of love-at-first sight infatuation.

I know quite a few native Floydians who have family roots here that go back for generations. I envy their family memories and their long history here; I am growing to understand and hold their strong sense of place. But I also appreciate the stories of 'chosing Floyd' that other neighbors have told me. I can't help but think of the mother who explained to her small son, that no, he wasn't her child by birth. But he was very special: out of all the little babies in the nursery, she could tell that he was the one that should live with her and be her child forever.

By birth or by adoption, we all love where we live, even if it isn't always easy to explain to ourselves or others exactly what mystique makes this geography so dear and special to us. The pull of place makes those of us who live here together determined to stay and grow deep and lasting roots. In the end, it is just home, and for all of us, there's no place like it.

I wrote this rough draft with the thought that it might become a Floyd Press piece, but it was nixed by the local censorship board (of One) as 'controversial', as well as the justifiable mention that it was not yet very tightly constructed. Maybe I'll dust it off and tighten it up someday.

Comments

Drive to Blacksburg for a play, HAH! I lived in Blacksburg for 10 months and there were only a handful of plays. There are probably more professional productions in Roanoke in just one month then there are in Blacksburg through the course of an entire year. I was amazed at how few plays Virginia Tech produced. Hopefully that will improve over time.

Yes, country life is SO boring. Hmmm, let me recall what I did yesterday. First thing after breakfast I cleaned seven horse stalls and put several out in pasture for the day. Next, I drove to Rocky Mount on an errand, and on my way home I stopped by Southern States and bought 100 pounds of annual ryegrass seed. When I returned home, I set up sprinklers in three locations to water newly emerging grass. Next, I spent two glorious hours on my John Deere 37HP tractor hauling topsoil into our north pasture. Then, I came in for lunch at 1:30pm, and after eating, I spent time with my wife and daughters (ages 3 and 5) outside working on a halloween display - a family of several scarecrows. At 4:00pm, my wife drove our youngest to ballet and tap class in Rocky Mount, and my oldest daughter and I hiked through our north woods following deer tracks. When we reached the end of our property line, we headed back in the direction of our horse barn, stopping by our 85' massive white oak tree to gather a bucket of acorns. Next to our barns along a ridge we buried a whole bunch of acorns, just for fun, so we could watch some of them take hold and grow in the coming years. Then, we did evening horse chores, and enjoyed dinner together. Once the girls were in bed I cleaned the garage, and then our car. At about 9pm I was finished being productive and enjoyed some leisure time before turning in for the night.

Sheesh, that guy is right, there is absolutely nothing to do in the country!

Sean

Posted by: Sean Pecor | October 19, 2005 7:35 AM

I confess the Blacksburg plays were a figment of my imagination. I've been to ONE there in 8 yrs and only because the author is a personal friend.

Yeah, bored here as well (with far fewer tools and chores than you.) At this very moment, there is not a thing to hear from the porch but ravens calling above the gurgle of the creek; not a thing to see but a soft fog moving visibly along the pasture floor; and no smells of any petroleum products whatsoever! How unnerving! only the potpourri of autumn leaves and wet earth. This is driving me absolutely sane!

Posted by: fred1st | October 19, 2005 8:07 AM

Having lived in Las Vegas for over forty years, I am leaving. Hopefully in the next six months. If I can push this 'train of crap' in front of me out of my way. I'm moving to Taos, NM. It is similar to the old Vegas in many ways.

The current Las Vegas is not the one that I loved when younger. Had horses, rode all day, didn't have 118* heat because we weren't a sink-hole of cement. Could drive to work in my little sports car in 100* heat and not STOP on the freeway. And, it wasn't HOT. The same 20 minute drive to work is now a 50 minute drive if I were still making it. Hotels were family run; now they are just another corporation. Most people here are now from California or Mexico. We have 1.5 million people living in LV with 36 million annual visitors. The water company bitches about 'residential' water use while we can't get our 3 million monthly visitors to think about using the same towel twice. Then there are the 'water attractions.' Great idea, huh?.

Taos seems to be, in all my visits, someplace I just can not get out of my mind. It is right at that break of Artemisia Tridentata that meets Juniper and Pinon' Pine, about 7500 feet. With a mix of heat and snow....green chile.....people that recycle things. True farmers market every Saturday. Enough normal people and then enough people on the 'edge' to make the culture attractive to me. I'm definitely not Las Vegas material anymore. I'm a desert person. And Vegas is not desert anymore.

My good friends, Helen and Jim, live one hour away, north, in Colorado, on a ranch, off of the grid. They built it in 1989 and they are smart in many ways of living in a 'real' way to me. Too far for a daily commute to Taos in snow and ice, but close enough to know they are there. It used to take me an hour to drive across Vegas when my parents were alive. So, not much difference to drive to visit at all.

Love Taos. Thinking I'm going there. Rural. Earthships. A way of living that makes sense to me. NO neon. They have 'other' phony stuff I'm sure. But it will not be plastic driven. I'll be in a minority, but it is very much that way here in Vegas also. I'm a loner so I don't require lots of 'stuff' to do in a city. And the move would afford me a new 300 mile area of exploration! WOOT!! Excellent herb gathering too.

"No High Adobe" and "Adobe Doorways" by Dorothy L. Pillsbury are excellent reads on the 'old' Taos. Taos is no longer as she wrote from the 1950's, but it still has a touch and much of the heart. I can't seem to get it out of my mind or my feeling heart. It smells right too. The thing I always notice when I'm in my 'right' spot, I do this physical and notice 'exhale.' There is always the point in a desert drive or hiking spot where there is the 'exhale.' I think that says something too. Carlos Castaneda wrote of that, finding one's spot.

Glad you found your spot Fred. Blessings.

Posted by: Kim | October 19, 2005 1:55 PM

Rural areas are good for those who are independent and more or less loners. This eliminates a great portion of women who need more social interaction than men. Just try to convince your woman that barnyards and pickup trucks are where it's at and see how excited she gets.

Being someone with at least 6 generations from Floyd, I have been told that many of the original Floydians did not want to be around "outsiders". Shortly after the Civil War the local people held a meeting to agree to not sell land to "outsiders". However, similar to OPEC, there was an incentive to cheat and now Floyd has many "outsiders". Also, note that Floyd county does not have a railroad running through it courtesy of the old locals. A railroad would have no doubt changed the character of the county toward the less bucolic.

I have seen Floyd, like many rural areas, change rapidly by becoming less scenic as more houses go up and traffic increases, but it's still beautiful and still cheap compared to urbania and suburbania.

Posted by: Jim | October 19, 2005 2:13 PM

Posted by: OpoRaDIYMZ | October 23, 2005 12:40 AM

Fragments From Floyd

Personal journal of Fred First from a remote valley in the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia

Floyd: By Birth or By Adoption, Home

TrackBack

Comments

Post a comment