Passage of Time

A corridor of the Zhan Garden held large animal statues representing the twelve year cycle of the Chinese calendar. So much of the culture relies on these animals and their characteristics - from marriages to business to births to funny conversations about a person's character when a temper flares or shyness emerges. While Zach and I were looking at these statues, we discussed how it is a very tangible depiction of our time in China. We began in the year of the rabbit. We are currently at the end of the dog and on the cusp of the pig.

Eight years.

When we moved here, we thought a year or two.

Eight years later, we stand in awe of what we have experienced and are forever grateful for this journey.

Our hope is to make it is a full animal cycle. There is no guarantee, but having this moment to visually see the passage of time was a touching reminder of how far we have come.  

Importance of Cultural Context

Though nowhere near an expert on China, my status as a resident of this sprawling country for the past eight years has definitely allowed me to have a deeper glimpse into its wild and crazy societal layers. There are a lot of people, so many that some evenings a stroll through the supermarket feels similar to playing a rugby match. Over 200 dialects are sprinkled throughout - one person may not understand another person who lives in the village three kilometers east of them. Education is toted as the highest value, yet the classrooms are 1940s calibre and corruption runs rampant. It is a wild and crazy place, so fascinating and so maddening. There is a lot one can whinge about as well as laugh about all within the span of one conversation. I understand the flaws and the highlights because I live here. I walk the streets. I talk to the people. I have the privilege of having a bit of an insider view. Thus, there are two topics that tend to rile me when I see them in foreign news - the one child policy and working conditions. 

The one child policy is grossly misunderstood by foreigners who brandish their condescending words. Please come visit me and let me introduce you to the student who is one of seven children. Or the one who's father saved her from being sold. Or the one who's mother hid her in the washer and the brother in the wardrobe to hide them from the authorities (who, by the way, always announce beforehand the surprise checks.) Let's stroll through the village where most of the children playing in the alleyways are the second, third, or fourth in their family. There is a lot of nuance, a lot of depth, a lot of difference between village to village, and a lot of ways around that policy - post 90s, it was more a guideline than a law.

Today, my exasperation flared when I spotted this piece as I was skimming foreign news headlines. It seems this is an annual must-do for foreign media outlets, complete with the iconic sleeping photo. There are a lot of nightmares in China, but this is not one. Perspective is key. Please let me offer cultural context from one on the inside looking out, rather than a stranger gazing into this culture. 

I would guarantee that this sleeping picture was snapped sometime between noon and 2:30pm. China is a siesta country meaning everything shuts down for lunch (usually 11:45am to 2:30pm). Schools let out and children return home. Most stores close their doors. Shopkeepers may keep the doors open, but will be snoring outside on the stoop in their reclining camp chair. Look in the back of any office, you will see cots or metal bunk beds. Construction workers will be sprawled on the sidewalks with their hardhat as their pillow. Come to my house at this time and you will see me curled up on the flaming pink "brothel" couch or bed, sound asleep. The picture is a Chinese cafeteria, so after eating they sleep. Be jealous, this is one of the best perks about living in China. 

The second accusation within the article was about overtime. Since the journalists seem to not factor in the rest hours, I feel their numbers are skewered. Nonetheless, Chinese do work overtime often. There is an unhealthy work ethic that quantity is more valued than quality. Most work so many hours so they can say they work that many hours, not necessarily because it is mandated but that is the cultural expectation. My students will claim to study in the library for five hours, but four of those hours were spent on their mobile phones. 

A labor law is cited, but one must understand that laws are mere guidelines rarely enforced. Since our time of living in China, there have been at least four non smoking bans passed, but ride a bus, step into any public bathroom, stroll the hallways of a hospital, or enter a football stadium and a hazy, suffocating cloud of cancer will encase you. China smells like a perpetual ashtray. 

The third accusation was in regards to safety. China is nowhere near safe. Construction workers ply bamboo scaffolding in plastic shoes. Vehicles drive erratically. I truly believe workers do not get a safety training because safety is not taught in day to day life. If it is dangerous, a cute cartoon billboard is put up and everyone is told not to do it. Zach and I love the abundant signs around water ways that declare "dozens drowned here." Instead of teaching to swim, do not swim. 

The fourth complaint was employees were "provided with poor living quarters, which often housed eight people in one room with unsanitary facilities and no hot water." From a western perspective of massive homes that house a mere two people with sprawling lawns, eight people in a small room seems cruel and inhumane. However, it is the norm and it does not happen only at factory accommodations. A dorm room in America houses two students, in China, the same sized room houses between four and six. Our current apartment in its entirety is approximately the same size as most American living rooms. We have two occupants; two floors below us, a family of six occupies the same space. The perspective of space and size is very different here. 

As for sanitary, this is a very elusive term to apply to China. It is the land where very few soap dispensers can be found in a bathroom and flushing a toilet means filling a bucket from the in-bathroom well and throwing it onto the floor and into the squat toilet. People (adults and children) frequently defecate in public spaces. Snot rockets are often seen flying in public, as is the spit. If a piece of food falls on the table, one does not eat it nor even acknowledges its existence. Cleanliness is not a word to be associated with China. A great example is that a couple of weeks ago I was fed up with the filth in one of my classrooms, so I spent the break sweeping. This was the end pile. 

As for the hot water, I think the bigger question is did the facilities actually have running water. As we experienced last year at our school, running water can be an elusive thing. At this school, when our hot water heater died, we were even asked if we could wait until the cooler months because "it is so hot, no one really needs hot water to shower."  

Ultimately, the living norms of America versus China are so greatly different that whatever the perspective, the idea of the other is going to be abhorrent or ghastly. To many of my family and friends, my current hutong would be a severe hardship to them. To them, a shower and toilet in the same space is bizarre and unsanitary. To me, it is wonderful because I can clean the entire bathroom while brushing my teeth. To them, a moldy wall means moving or destroying the wall. To me, a full bleach bottle solves the problem for a while. To them, the outside of my building looks as though it is soon to crumble. To me, the outside of most Chinese buildings are ugly, it is the inside that must be seen. For my Chinese friends, they are baffled why Americans need so much space for so few people or why the kitchen is so large when one large wok is good enough to cook a meal for a family. 

This is not a rant to say that all is unicorns and rainbows within a factory, there are problems. There are problems and flaws in every work situation. My exasperation comes with the shallow content and cliche issues frequently quoted in association with Chinese working conditions. My deeper questions are: Where are these factories? What else do they manufacture within its walls? What is their policy when an employee is injured? How many of these employees are long term versus those who work for a mere few weeks before job hopping? How many of these employees are not from the area and have left a child or three behind in a village far away with a grandparent? Nightmares exist in this country and I can talk about those as well, but in regards to a depth-less media piece, I challenge those who are gazing from a far away perspective to be very cognizant of a culture and its norms before brandishing the superiority and we-know-better attitude. 

Zhan Garden

The Cathay Pacific in-flight magazine article stated, "The city is compared to one of China's prettiest towns in an old saying: 'The north has Suzhou, the south has Zhongshan.'" I raised an eyebrow when Roger sent me the message of this text, along with his exclamations of how such a place must be visited. My suspicions were even more founded when the second must-do activity in the article was to visit the TV town. That we have seen and it was a couple of hours of laughing at the absurdity and mish mash of cultures. The scary flower church is still a talking point for us. 

If there is anything I have learned in my southeastern travels, especially in China, is that the majority of must do things require a mental calculation of halving the expectation and then it is still a pinch overhyped. Should the location have a star or letter rating, definitely half it and lower one more level (for example, a 5A attraction will at most be at a 2A level.)

Did we go to the Suzhou garden of the south? Of course, because exploring is what we love and we must thoroughly investigate magazine claims of greatness.

The first steps into the garden were reminiscent of stepping into a brawling pub. The air was permeated with cigarettes and rowdy laughter. The stereotypical serenity and silence associated with Chinese has long fallen by the wayside. Already a little mad about the steep entrance fee of 60 yuan ($10 USD), such an abrupt and clamorous entrance incited foreboding. As expected, the beginning involved a lot of Chinese yelling 'hellos' and 'nice to meet yous' at us. As we strolled, muttering under our breath, "you did not meet us," we sought an inner peace and clung to the hope that they would follow the clock protocol of vacating a sightseeing location by 5pm.

They did.

    
Our story of the Zhan Garden is two fold. The first being forty-ish minutes of mayhem, the second being of calm and clean air. The paths emptied and the picturesque and meditative garden revealed itself. We wandered. We took pictures. We ran an ongoing commentary that for such a high entrance fee, the upkeep is definitely lacking. I fear the mother it was designed and created for would not be thrilled to see blue Styrofoam floating in the waterways or the rubbish stashed in the walls and beneath bushes.

 
As with most things in China, I imagined the grandeur it would have been at its beginning. I have learned to look past what is present and imagine what was. As I strolled, I could imagine a mother walking the pathways, thrilled with a son who created such an oasis for her. I could imagine a woman gazing at the surrounding rolling hills before there were tall, tacky tiled buildings snug against the garden walls. Instead of a paved parking lot and hordes of loud tourists, I could see the allure of spending days reading beneath pavilions or resting on the bridge to watch the boats ply the waterway.

In the dusk hour between the exodus of tourists and the closing of the gate for the night, the Zhan Garden was inviting retreat. Perhaps this was the time the article writer experienced, though we suspect a quick Google search was done and a few fluffy words added for good measure before the piece continued on to the highlights of Hong Kong and Macau. It was not a Zhonghan highlight for us, but in our quest to find it, we did see a handful of actual villages we want to explore. As with most of our adventures, it is not the destination that we talk about, but what we stumble across along the way. 

Campus Glimpse: Cats

There is a feral cat community living and thriving on our campus. These felines have staked their respective territories - the motley calico that resides by the tennis courts, the orange-white striped mama and two kittens who frolic beside the giant staircase, or the tabby who lounges in and around the water garden. While some are skittish, others are very adept at the art of ignoring the humans and bask openly in the sunshine. A stroll across campus typically involves a frolicking kitten running across the path or a meow wafting from beneath a bush.

These creatures lend such a soul to the campus and we are not the only ones to notice. Students often will crouch to pet or snap photos. A group of students have organized themselves to be the designated caregivers and dispensers of cat food, with the help of a teacher who seems to fit the crazy cat lady stereotype.

Though we know not their story and how they found a place on our campus, we are entertained regularly with their antics and are glad they are a part of our community.     

Photo Journal: Alleyways

Tucked around and in the shadows of the towering behemoth apartment complexes, the villages of Zhongshan are to be found. While China's quest to shroud everything in cookie cutter complexes and expansive overlays of concrete is quickly chipping away at the soul and its traditional ways of life, it is the people of these alleyways who are trying so hard to cling to a way of life going by the wayside. It is a life where the fruit vendor's truck is parked on the corner, the men gather at the local temple tree to play cards, and the grandmas sit on the front stoops, cackling and yelling at squealing children as they run past. A shabby dog saunters through the mayhem.

On the first day of the last month of the year, we strolled. No destination in mind, only with the purpose of meandering the alleyways and concrete nooks and snapping a few photos along the way.

How many oysters must one eat to turn an entire alleyway wall into a work of shell art? We did not take the time to count, but stood in amazement of such a find in the middle of the city.

Laundry drying in the most random locations is a constant sight. With towering apartment complexes being built, locals are having to create new ways to catch the sunshine.

A left turn into a covered alley with a slight right into a private entrance way, one finds the street sweepers secret rest area.

The clang of metal on metal followed by a bellow in the local dialect. We chuckle and say, "Bring out your dead," in reference to Monty Python. These carts endlessly ply the roadways in search of cardboard, plastic, and paper.

If I ever build a home, it will include a traditional Chinese courtyard as the entrance. They are so simple, yet so inviting.

The wild takes over so quickly here.

A turn that became a walk through the whimsical. I was saddened to not see a tottering old man or woman mucking about this garden compilation - from fake flowers to real plants to knick knack gnomes.  

As November Takes It Final Bow

November is to be a month of bookend posts. We began the month on a boat admiring a bridge, we finish it admiring the twinkling lights of our Christmas decorations. While the past four weeks were not void of activity, I felt we settled into more of a rhythm. Perhaps it was the semester becoming shorter or it was the bizarre amount of torrential downpours that forced us to find shelter in our hutong rather than explore. Whatever prompted a bit of calm, it was a pleasant month that included underwhelming fanfare as Zach and fellow teachers won the campus football championship, a weekend jaunt to Guangzhou to watch Crimes of Grindelwald with Emma and spend a lovely evening browsing IKEA, and many late, late nights captivated by Call the Midwife and quilting.

The greatest frivolity of the month was centered around Thanksgiving, which was celebrated on a Friday evening for us and our fellow teachers. With a spread including the staples of stuffing balls and mini pumpkin pies, we ate our fill all while chatting and laughing well into the night. For our two Brits, it was their first taste of Thanksgiving and it seemed to be a taste they greatly enjoyed.

The following evening, we had Thanksgiving part II with another couple that could not make it the previous night. It was another late night spent laughing, chatting, and devouring the leftovers.

Our last week of the month has been spent basking in bountiful sunshine for a minute only to be soaked the next by a monsoon. As November takes it final bow, our Christmas decorations are on display, the latest quilt is nearly finished, and we face the final four weeks of the semester all while trying to plot our winter holiday plans.  

The Very Long Bridge

To much fanfare and propaganda-laden celebrations, the Zhuhai-Macau-Hong Kong bridge opened at the beginning of the month. Heralded as an engineering feat, China has pulled out all PR gimmicks to promote this expanse of rebar and concrete. Never mind the whistleblower a couple years ago who reported that the wrong grade of concrete was used or China's not-so-good record of maintenance, it is a big bridge and it is to be celebrated.

Obviously, we are not so rah rah about the bridge, but we gladly joined the free day trip with our school for a boat tour to see it. A rather sizeable typhoon was churning the seas a bit east of our location, but that did not deter the quest to putter around Macau to admire the casinos and into the wider expanse of the sea for a few minutes of floating to appreciate and ooo-and-ahhh over the new waterline addition. It was overcast, windy, and rather grayscale, but we embraced the experience by taking lots of photos and laughing a lot. Truly, I will use any excuse to spend a few hours with the sea beneath my feet and the wind in my hair. 

What Has Transpired Thus Far

The lack of posts has not been for the lack of stories, but rather the opposite - the abundance of life and activities has swept us away. Our arrival to Zhongshan was the complete opposite of arriving in Shantou - we were met with smiles, welcomes, and an apartment that was practically pristine and furnished with IKEA furniture. Instead of wielding bleach spray bottles and mops, we were able to unpack boxes and begin the process of turning the apartment into our sanctuary of a hutong.

In the nine weeks since then, so much has happened. Life, laughter, gatherings, friends, adventures, meeting new people, explorations - all the pieces we so greatly craved in Shantou have come in abundance here in Zhongshan. Here are the highlights...

We have loved returning to the land of palm trees and abundant humidity. Our first days of classes involved a lot of improv and patience, like dealing with no computers in the classroom. (Seriously, there are moments I feel as though I have returned to the 1950s.) The greatest surprise and delight was seeing only 20 students per class. Having such a small group is something I have always wanted for a speaking class, so to actually experience it has been wonderful. Granted, the English is still rough and they really do not practice to improve, but dealing with 20 people rather than 60 is nice.

Thanks to Tony, Zach is gradually checking off Chinese football teams to see. While I stayed in Zhongshan to attend a work meeting/dinner, Zach cheered for Guangzhou Evergrande in their quest to beat Beijing Guon. That evening, I joined him in Guangzhou so the next day we could see friends and frolic through IKEA.

Our week three began quite blustery and wet with gigantic Typhoon Morgansteen plummeting Hong Kong and Zhongshan. It was one for the records, and left massive damage in its wake. Our campus trees bore the brunt; there were times I thought a massive banyan was going to be in my kitchen by the end. After it had passed, I was surprised and impressed that instead of sawing all the fallen trees to sell as firewood, the campus workers actually made the effort to return the trees to standing. Saving trees is not a common sight in this country, so for such an effort to be mounted made me happy. Granted, on the bigger trees, they hacked off the tops before standing them, but I must commend that there were steps made towards saving the environment. 

Our Mid-Autumn Festival was filled with activity thanks to our friend, Hins. A former student who has become a dear friend, happens to be a local Zhongshan boy. On our second day in town, he took us on an intensive walking tour around our campus. For this holiday, he came home from his master's work in Hong Kong to include us in his family's festivities. We joined a feast at a local vegetarian restaurant (which his mom is a shareholder), enjoyed morning tea with his grandparents - who were absolute bundles of happiness and hilarity, explored local parks and museums, and spent the holiday evening gazing at the moon while enjoying the traditional spread of fruit and mooncakes. It was the most quintessential Mid-Autumn we have experienced to date and we loved Hins' family. 

  

On one of our explorations with Hins, we discovered two of the local museums - the Zhongshan Museum and the Zhongshan Radio Museum. The Zhongshan Museum was hosting an exhibit pertaining to lychee - rabbits holding lychee, bowls with lychee painted on them, poems about lychee, fake lychee, dried lychee, lychee art, etc. It was a bit underwhelming but comical. However, the radio museum next door was a bizarre collection of radios through the ages. It was fun to see how such an iconic item has progressed through the years and its variances from country to country. Though the DeWalt radio did seem a smidge out of place. 

Our golden week holiday involved a very full house. 

We had the honor to cat-sit for a Turkish couple as they gallivanted about Sri Lanka. Anouk was a plump, furry, ever-shedding, gray cat who made us laugh so much, yet reminded us that cats are angsty teenagers as he would poop in random spots to show his displeasure. By day, he was a one-paw-to-touch-a-human feline, by night he was a wrap-his-body-around-the-human's-head-and-use-whiskers-to-wake-up-the-human-for-petting feline. His antics were bizarre and quirky, yet we loved his presence so much. 

Tony came to spend a mere 36 hours with us. His sole purpose was to eat my cooking and play football with Zach...hence why I have no photo to share of his visit. 

Tiger was the perfect partner in crime for our jaunt to the Chubang soy sauce factory. Thanks to a quick google search of weird things to do in Zhongshan, we learned that our village by the sea is home to one of the largest soy sauce manufacturers. It seemed fitting that on October 1, the day to celebrate all things China, we spent it learning about the iconic sauce of life in these parts. 

We actually expected the place to be closed due to the holiday, but were thrilled to discover it was open though the production lines were shut down. Nonetheless, we embraced the experience to it fullest, beginning with our shenanigans with the traditional soy sauce vats in front of the museum; which made the worker laugh and snap her own set of photos. (I suspect we may be on tourism material soon.) We were to be three of barely a dozen to visit at this time, practically giving us a private tour experience.

The beginning part of the tour delves into the traditional methods of soy sauce creation. In a well laid out museum, a variety of methods and tools are displayed. Though, with the lack of English, we had a grand time creating our own recipes based on the pictographs and tools displayed. I fear our soy sauce would have ended up being moonshine.  

The traditional turns into the modern with a hallway into the development, manufacturing, and bottling part of the factory. It was quiet, but nice. I was impressed by the effort the company had put into the details - flooring that mimicked the label, large windows for viewing, and brand consistency throughout the walk.

The grand finale is the opportunity to taste soy sauce ice cream. The first bite is strange, but by the third bite, it tastes like chocolate. Tiger and Zach enjoyed it so much, they purchased a second round.

Tiger and Emma overlapped by a night and day. On our one day as a quartet, we explored local alleyways and local food. 

With Emma, we enjoyed foot massages, Dongbei food, her birthday, and a jaunt to Sun Yat Sen's village area. We began the day by exploring a movie set - said to be one of the top ten in China for shooting movies. We quickly realized the lie and spent the time laughing and pointing out the discrepancies. The American street was hysterical - ramshackle buildings bearing Malaysian text and instant noodle shops. The church was scary - concreted windows complete with a huge mural including Caesar with Jesus and a dash of European royalty. We could not even fathom where the leaders could purchase such an artwork. 

After TV town, we strolled over to Sun Yat Sen's home village; it was insane and we quickly admitted Chinese overload and retreated. Chinese are masters at creating bottlenecks and mayhem. We said we would return one day, sans holiday crowds.

A couple weeks after national holiday, Zach and I split for the weekend. He remained in Zhongshan to play football, while I went to Foshan to spend a weekend with Amy, Alice, and Kento. I continually say that one of the joys of teaching and working with uni students is the privilege of seeing them graduate and forge their paths. These guys are flourishing and I am so honored to see it. 

Our weekend was so many things - touring, eating, laughing into the wee hours of the night. As a trio, we meandered the ZuMiao Temple and watched lion dancing. We ate Xibei food and sweet soup. We spent the evening in a spa so I could get my hair cut. We randomly met the leaders for the Coca-Cola collecting club of China - taking pictures and leaving with a goody bag. 

The day Kento could join, we walked the Ancient Nanfeng Kiln. It is the haven for all things ceramic, home of beautiful water features, the setting for a Chinese version of Heat Miser (from A Year Without a Santa Claus), and a labyrinth of some beautiful alleyways and shops. 

Hours could be spent meandering, and we did. We rested our feet that evening by enjoying Beijing hot pot and chocolate fondue. 

Our final morning involved morning tea and a jaunt to the flower market. The day ended in a bit of a snafu when I missed my train to Zhongshan due to traffic, but Amy and Kento relished the opportunity to drive me to Zhongshan as Kento is a local boy and they had dinner with his parents.

While I was gallivanting in Foshan, Zach was spending some hours on the football pitch. He was asked to join the teachers team for the fall tournament season. The team has done well, though I suspect some of that is due to them upping their game to keep up with the foreigner. Along with playing, Zach has been helping to coach the foreign language team. As expected, football brings people together and Zach is finding his niche once again among the footballers of this campus. 

We had our first outing with students last week. The nearby district of Guzhen is the mecca of Guangdong lighting manufacturing and distributing. The annual trade show coincides with a lighting festival, a time the town bedecks everything in string lights and places light features throughout the parks. It was a fun day, though we enjoyed the enthusiasm of the students moreso than the lights (as the lights were nothing more than the usual Christmas decorations of the west, still beautiful but nothing new for us.) Their excitement and exclamations of delight were the highlight for us.

We continued our annual trick-or-treat extravaganza this year. Dressed as Superman and a seahorse, we handed out loads of candy, took lots of pictures, and had a great time giving our students a small glimpse of American culture.  

One of the most unexpected experience of living in Zhongshan has been random encounters with former students. Over the years, we knew we had students from here, but never realized the abundance. William works in the campus supermarket, so we see him a couple of times a week. Early September, I was leaving the restroom when I heard, "Amanda!" I looked up to see these guys, Jerry and Lesgora. Hugs, happy dances, and a plethora of wows filled this reunion, especially when we went to meet Zach. Jerry even teared up as he was so excited (in two days he was to move to Saipan, which has since been ravaged by a typhoon and the government is saying it will be five months before electricity is restored.) This moment was such a tangible reminder that it is such a privilege to live this life. 

A: Appalachia Road Trip

My mom works for a company that has a network of programs attached to hospitals throughout the east coast who work with geriatric patients. My knowledge of the programs are limited, but I definitely know that their services are greatly needed as growing old in America is not for the faint of heart. With her position, every so often my mom has to travel to these programs and my summer visit to Kentucky coincided with a planned work trip to Eastern Kentucky. My parents are well aware of my love for road trips, so mom asked me to join her (though, in full disclosure, her recovery from knee surgery meant that I was the perfect candidate for chauffeur - which I happily did.)

Mom's itinerary was West Liberty, MacDowell, and Hyden, with us spending a night in Hazard. My plan for the journey was while mom worked, I would explore. Mom kept cautioning me that these were small communities, to which I replied that there had to be at least one cemetery to roam - everyone dies.

As we drove into West Liberty, mom told me that this community had been devastated by a tornado in 2012. Tornadoes in the mountains are extremely rare; when one does touchdown the damage is usually catastrophic because the twister becomes trapped within the valley and ravages anything in its path. Sadly, West Liberty had been devastated. Main Street was obliterated. Mom even spoke of a house that had been taken off the mountain top and dropped next to the hospital, where is remains to this day. Due to summer foliage, I did not get a glimpse of this home so far from its foundation.

After dropping mom off at the West Liberty hospital, I drove the car down the mountain into the valley and onto main street, which had been rebuilt with the common town buildings - a courthouse and city offices. I did the one pass, looking for a parking spot so I could leave the car and meander, but at the end of main street I found what I had predicted - a cemetery. The Salyer Cemetery covered the mountainside. To this day, I am still fascinated that coffins are not sporadically sighted in the roadside ditches after having slid down the mountainside. As I strolled through the headstones, I eventually had to take off my flip flops in hopes that my bare feet would grip the dewy grass better so that I would not end up in a heap in the ditch.

The cemetery was old with a dash of current residents. The oldest tombstone I found was for a James Wendall who was born in 1824 and departed this earth on 1864. One-year-old Billy Jr.'s gravestone bore the epitaph: He was the sunshine of our home. The Watson tombstone was a mystery for three people died on the same day - June 1, 1947. Rebecca A Henry's tombstone was the winner for most direct and funniest epitaph: Life's work well done, then comes rest.

The most perplexing thing about the cemetery was the hodge podge placement of the headstones. It was a bizarre maze, more than I had ever seen in any cemetery. It was only after I was reunited with mom that she figured it out - the tornado had moved the headstones. She told me that after the massive tornado in my hometown in the 1970s, weathermen were measuring the distance between the base and the actual tombstone in order to gauge the actual wind speed of the tornado. It seems the same fate had hit Salyer Cemetery, tombstones were left to lie, far removed from their initial placement.

After I had thoroughly examined the cemetery and had succeeded in not sliding down the mountainside, I found a parking spot on main street and meandered. To my delight, I discovered a hidden local museum tucked behind the home health building. The museum was eclectic - one part homage to William Barber (a local man who made a name for himself in the Marines during WWII and Korean War), another part for any locals who had served in the military, and the third part for the local lore. The museum attendant was chatty, which was delightful because, as she walked me around the local lore section, I learned about the local doctor's scandalous affair that produced an illegitimate child and my attention was directed to the primitive rolling pin carved by Daniel Williams sometime between 1763 and 1820 (which had a document beneath it showing the entire lineage of ownership.) It must be noted that at nearly every showcase, most explanations included the sentence, "...now this person was so-and-so in my family." I think she was and continues to be related to everyone in West Liberty. Sadly, my deadline drew near and I was unable to continue to glean all the scandals and family connections housed within the small stone building.

Upon retrieving my mom, the director was amazed to hear of my finds. She was shocked that I had been completely content the entire time. As mom and I stepped onto the elevator, she said, "Oh, I should have told you about the lady ghost who haunts this hospital." Thus, I left West Liberty on a cliff hanger.

Our next stop was MacDowell, which I will say was everything my mom had said - there is nothing there. The lay of the land was mountain, hospital, road, gas station, creek, all so closely nestled that I was amazed that so much could actually fit in that tiny ribbon of a valley. This community was so small I could not find the local cemetery, so I resigned myself to some writing and walking around the hospital parking lot. In my stroll, I did meet a Filipino family, who I did stop and inquire as to how they ended up in a no where town. They were shocked at my lack-of-mountainese accent and ability to chat about the Phillippines, just as I was shocked at their mere presence. They worked in the hospital lab, a work visa granted to those willing to stay in poverty stricken areas for a number of years. I was in awe. Mom came out of the hospital as I was chatting with them, and she said, "You can find anyone to talk to, even in a small place like this." I learned it from her.

With her day's work finished, we headed to Hazard, the metropolis of the area. While piddling in MacDowell, I had googled things to do in Hazard and the top choice was the Mother Goose House - a house with a goose on top. I told mom we had to go. After checking in at the hotel, I mentioned this number one Hazard site to the receptionist and asked whether is was worth a visit. She chuckled and printed out directions for us.

Our quest took us into the lower part of Hazard (the upper part being where strip mining took the top of the mountain and thus became the location of new development - the chain stores and restaurants.) The lower part is where the main street and dwellings follow the curve of the mountain base, a lovely drive with such a variety of architecture. As foretold, we could not miss the Mother Goose House. It was big and bold and very much situated on top of the house. It was the perfect weird for me, and I think mom even enjoyed finding something unique. (Upon further research, the Mother Goose has looked over lower Hazard since 1940. Its creation and completion were by George Stacy, a local man who worked for the railroad and one day had the bizarre idea to turn the roof of his house into a fowl. I am forever grateful for a man who could have such a vision and a great sense of humor.)

The next day, we went to Hyden. I cannot precisely say what caused it, but within the span of three hours, I was captivated by the charm of this small community. Unlike our previous two stops, this small community had an air of purpose and pride, especially concerning the hospital. The first people I met were the two ladies running the local program (my mom's appointment for the day.) Welcoming and ever-so-cheerful they were; one woman won my adoration when she said she loved to visit cemeteries after I told my mom I was off to discover things, like the local cemetery. This woman even took me to a window to point out the first one I should visit.

The Hickory Street pioneer cemetery was the first stop in my walk, a small grassy knoll filled with the founders of Hyden and their slaves (which were buried in the far corner.) The last person to be buried in the cemetery (so said the sign) was Margaret Combs Lewis (aka Peggy) in 1907. After about fifteen minutes of peering at tombstones and matching what I saw to the the posted map and history, I continued onward. I ended up on main street, garnering a lot of looks when I stopped to read a tourist sign outside the jail. Perhaps those peering out the windows were trying to understand why I was laughing out loud. I could not help myself after reading the following:

The two principal creeks, Cut-Shin and Hell-Fer-Sertin, supposedly received their colorful names from a disillusioned pioneer who tried to cross the swollen creeks after heavy rains. Among the towns, and villages in the county are Confluence, Cutshin, Sizerock, Smilax, Stinnett, Thousandsticks, Wooton, and Wendover.   

Any town that can embrace a creek named Hell-Fer-Sertin has my interest.

After leaving the jail and window gawkers, I walked into the local library. Librarians tend to be a fount of knowledge and the wiry woman who greeted me did not disappoint. She was gracious and delighted in my questions and quest for recommendations on local sites and reads. She was persistent that I should check out a couple books, but when I calmly told her that I lived in China and they would be horribly overdue by next summer, she agreed that checking out may not be the best option. She wrote them on a piece of paper for me instead.

After leaving the library, I did find another cemetery but could not linger long for the mosquitoes moved in hordes among the tombstones.

I strolled into the School for Bluegrass Music, but after waiting for five minutes in the lobby to inquire whether a museum was located within the school, I realized I could have absconded with the electronics for the workers were having a grand time somewhere down a hallway.

I returned to the hospital via the main entrance so I could admire the statue at its corner with the main road. Mary Breckinridge is the local heroine, revered by locals and rightly so. In 1925 she began the Frontier Nursing Service, a midwife service to the mountains. In 1939, she opened the Frontier Nursing University (FNU), a midwifery school. Her story is fascinating - working alongside nurses in France during WWI, training to be a midwife in England, forsaking a life of high society to ride on horseback through the hollers of Appalachia. Her mark on the health of mothers and children in the area was great. Because of her, babies survived. Mothers survived. Families could thrive. On horseback, she and fellow nurses traversed far and wide. When the paths were inaccessible, people were floated down the creeks in canoes. Throughout the hospital (which is named for her), pictures depict her life and work. On the street corner, a statue stands in her honor. One of the best statues I have seen created and erected for a local hero.

At this point, I was due to meet mom. To my surprise and delight, we took the two ladies to lunch which provided a great opportunity for me to ask questions about the area. Plus, I learned they teach a local culture class for nursing students who must do a rotation at FNU during their studies at out-of-the-mountains universities. Mom even shared that when she was a student, she too went to Hyden and stayed in Wendover (Mary Breckinridge's home) during her two week rotation.

After lunch, mom and I went to the FNU campus. I had to catch a glimpse of such an iconic part of the community and mom wanted to retrace some steps from long ago, which involved seeing the brick from Florence Nightingale's home that was placed in the dormitory's fireplace mantle. Sadly, we learned there are plans to move the FNU campus closer to Lexington.

As we drove away from Hyden, I felt as though I had barely investigated it. Perhaps I was enamored as one who gets to visit, but does not have to live the day to day, but I sincerely hope I will return.

Our drive through the Appalachia region was at its end and we wove our way into the foothills bound for a reunion with my husband, Stephen, and McKinzee.