Hello there! Happy Writemas.
Have you ever experienced something so profound that it shook you to your core? That, after that moment, you cannot go back to living life the same way. That everything around you has changed. You have changed. Your family has changed. Heart, body, and soul.
As a writer, we tend to focus on details. We listen. We see. We experience and feel. And maybe it comes from this intrinsic need to record life as it is...to evaluate every small detail until we come away with the full knowledge of the event. Without guilt or malice. Brutally honest in the words we write down.
Just over a year ago, the Great Smoky Mountains were ablaze. I stood on my front porch and saw the flames, billowing smoke, and embers. I stood there in fear and horror, knowing my home...my mountains were burning. I did as anyone would in those situations. I packed clothing and essentials. I gathered them at the door. I got the cat bags together in case we had to shove them inside and run. The wind ripped at the house and the trees. It got so bad I stood inside the dark bathroom and stared across the space between our home and the fire, praying it wouldn't spread this way.
That night, I had to drive my husband to work in Downtown Gatlinburg. The smoke was so thick that I had to wear a mask over my mouth and nose. The owner and the manager of the hotel didn't bother or care to warn their workers. Fleeing from the fires, the owner picked up his mother and told my husband that he couldn't tell him what to do.
I remember being livid at his careless, selfish attitude. He worried enough for his mother, but not for those he employed. And unfortunately, that is the same attitude that existed and still exists throughout the employers in Sevier County.
In the days following, my husband couldn't go back to work. The town was shut down. There was still very little updates. And the fire still burned. That week, all it would have taken was a single ember to float our way to change the very base of our lives. Beyond what was already happening.
Looking back, I can say things happened for a reason. Even if at the time the fear and horror kept me rooted to hysteria. That fire...spurred a change in our lives. One that allowed me to spend the most amount of time with my dying mother and help care for her as she passed. It allowed me to give her the peace she needed to die. It also gave me the knowledge that greed...in any form...breeds some very nasty people. And that, while bitterness still tastes horrible, I know without a doubt that I stand on a higher ground than those who treated my family so horribly as my mother died. And that the good Appalachian people stand strong, mountain strong, without the help of corrupt, for profit corporations who swoop into emergency zones and rob people blind.
On this day....I remember those people who died in those fires. I remember the sounds, smells, and sights I witnessed. And I immortalize them in my writing. In my poetry.
Have you ever experienced something so profound that it shook you to your core? That, after that moment, you cannot go back to living life the same way. That everything around you has changed. You have changed. Your family has changed. Heart, body, and soul.
As a writer, we tend to focus on details. We listen. We see. We experience and feel. And maybe it comes from this intrinsic need to record life as it is...to evaluate every small detail until we come away with the full knowledge of the event. Without guilt or malice. Brutally honest in the words we write down.
Just over a year ago, the Great Smoky Mountains were ablaze. I stood on my front porch and saw the flames, billowing smoke, and embers. I stood there in fear and horror, knowing my home...my mountains were burning. I did as anyone would in those situations. I packed clothing and essentials. I gathered them at the door. I got the cat bags together in case we had to shove them inside and run. The wind ripped at the house and the trees. It got so bad I stood inside the dark bathroom and stared across the space between our home and the fire, praying it wouldn't spread this way.
That night, I had to drive my husband to work in Downtown Gatlinburg. The smoke was so thick that I had to wear a mask over my mouth and nose. The owner and the manager of the hotel didn't bother or care to warn their workers. Fleeing from the fires, the owner picked up his mother and told my husband that he couldn't tell him what to do.
I remember being livid at his careless, selfish attitude. He worried enough for his mother, but not for those he employed. And unfortunately, that is the same attitude that existed and still exists throughout the employers in Sevier County.
In the days following, my husband couldn't go back to work. The town was shut down. There was still very little updates. And the fire still burned. That week, all it would have taken was a single ember to float our way to change the very base of our lives. Beyond what was already happening.
Looking back, I can say things happened for a reason. Even if at the time the fear and horror kept me rooted to hysteria. That fire...spurred a change in our lives. One that allowed me to spend the most amount of time with my dying mother and help care for her as she passed. It allowed me to give her the peace she needed to die. It also gave me the knowledge that greed...in any form...breeds some very nasty people. And that, while bitterness still tastes horrible, I know without a doubt that I stand on a higher ground than those who treated my family so horribly as my mother died. And that the good Appalachian people stand strong, mountain strong, without the help of corrupt, for profit corporations who swoop into emergency zones and rob people blind.
On this day....I remember those people who died in those fires. I remember the sounds, smells, and sights I witnessed. And I immortalize them in my writing. In my poetry.
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