As you may have seen in the paper, our family home is being threatened by a local developer, and we need your help. Brent Hayes is laying claim to an abandoned township road that runs through our property in order to access a parcel of his property. The road will have a forty-foot easement with a 22-foot road width – requiring the removal of 50-100 trees and a large amount of earthwork to be done. Mr. Hayes has an alternative route into the property, along with opportunities for less destructive private easements, but this route is cheaper, so he has decided to destroy our property. The roadbed in question has never been paved or used for car traffic, and did not appear on the title search or pin survey conducted at the time we purchased the property, October 2007.
We have requested that the County Commissioners vacate our portion of the old road bed and halt Mr. Hayes’ attempts to destroy our property. A public hearing was held last Tuesday and we are awaiting the decision. The Commissioners stated that their role was to determine if re-opening the road was a “public good”, and it was evident that they believe it to be so.
There are many other details of this story, but in the interest of time and space, here are the facts:
Send your letters to the editors of local papers telling them you are NOT in favor of predatory development, and that commissioners who vote to allow this will NOT be re-elected.
If you know the commissioners personally, call them and tell them your feelings. Remind them they are elected officials, and the public good must be just that – not a decision to benefit a single private developer. Allowing this to go forward sets a very dangerous precedent for Athens County. If you know Mr. Hayes, just tell him "shame on you" when you see him.
Meet Click. He's the newest addition to the Big Yellow House family, and while he has arrived to us with a sordid past, once again the Big Yellow House opens up her heart for something in need of a little love and security.
This past February, two tiny black chihuahuas appeared on our road. One neighbor reported that one of the little dogs was wearing a sweater when they were dumped. They quickly took up residence near the railroad tracks and spent time in a neighbors paddock area during the sunny days, huddled up together. Together, these two little dogs weathered the worst part of the winter - snow, ice, rain, and sub-zero temperatures. People left food for them on the tracks every day, and despite many attempts, the two little dogs remained uncatchable. Even the dog warden couldn't catch them.
Each time we drove down the road, we looked for the little dogs. We named them Click and Clack for their love of the railroad tracks, as they were often spotted running down the center of the line, tails and ears up, ready to defend their territory against anyone who thought they needed a better life. Click barked at anyone who got near, but Clack always seemed curious - as if he might want to come closer. But, a couple of five-pound barks from Click and Clack would go running back to him. During one effort to catch them, Stan and I managed to get them separated, and cornered Click on the banks of Margaret's Creek. We left the scene muddy, defeated, and faced with the realization that the little dogs would remain wild by choice.
As the weather began to warm a little, the coyotes started making their nightly trips out again. Stan and I laid in bed listening to them at night, wondering the fate of the little dogs. It made me sick to think that these little dogs were out there, maybe surrounded by coyotes, with no place and no one to run to for protection.
As I drove in to work one morning, I searched for Click and Clack, expecting the worst. I spotted Click in his usual place, but a quick scan of the area revealed no Clack. Once again on the way home, I saw Click, but no Clack. Over the past two months I had never seen Click without Clack. They were like Peanut Butter and Jelly. The Smothers Brothers. Coke and Diet Coke. Pete and Repeat. But, here was little Click, all alone. It was one of the saddest things I had ever seen. Fate had not dealt Click a good hand, and now, despite everyone's best attempts, he was more fearful than ever. Still, every day I saw him I called out to him and told him to get on down the tracks to the house.
During this time, our pound rescue dog Angel, had somehow managed to befriend little Click. We would often see her down the road checking in on him. Ace wouldn't be left out, and managed to sneak off the property and spend time with Angel and Click before being caught and hauled back home. Strangely enough, Angel was the spitting image of Clack - albeit much larger. But, she was black, with a large white spot on her chest, exactly like Clack, and loved to run the tracks, too.
By Easter Weekend, Angel had managed to lure Click down the tracks to the Big Yellow House. Seems the BYH had onced extended her arms to another little dog in need of some love, and Angel must have known that she would once again do the same for Click. Easter Sunday, we returned home from brunch to find Click and Angel laid out next to each other in the yard, soaking up the sunshine. Stan and I took a seat on the steps and watched for the next several hours as Click passed from one side of the yard to another. First, he was hesitant and cautious. But, as the second hour began, Click became more playful in his passes - skipping, hopping, hiding. But, any attempts to approach him were quickly met with a retreat to the woods. Mary Paige donated on of her Easter eggs to the cause, and he quickly returned from the woods to eat it. Licking his chops, we finally began to see fate take a new direction for Click.
Over the next week, Click got closer and closer to the house. He didn't like us, but Angel was clearly his new best friend. She was patient, playful, loving, and motherly with him. He hung out in the yard, following her every move. Saturday morning, before heading out to the Sandlot Baseball Parade, Stan set a live trap for him. When we returned home a few hours later, there was Click and Angel in their usual spot in the yard. Only Click was inside the trap.
He was even smaller than we originally thought, although not terribly malnourished due to all the eggs and sausage Stan had supplied him with during the prior week. Still, he was scared, and mad, and untrusting. Despite Stan's best efforts, Click would not warm up to him. I always say babies, animals and women flock to Stan like moths to a light. He has this gentle sort of approach to things in need that make them feel assured that everything will be alright. I should know.... But, Click was a tough nut to crack. Whoever had this little dog before dumping him must have been horrible to him. Click couldn't even look at Stan, shaking in fear of the perceived loss of freedom.
Last night, we brought the trap inside the house and set it on the floor. I opened the back door and gently began petting Click. He was not happy, but never tried to bite me. After a little while, I opened the door all the way, and within a few minutes, Click emerged and curled up on the towel on my lap. He put his head down, took a deep breath, and finally gave in. More than two months had gone by since he was first dumped out. He had lost his home and his best friend. He had lived in fear, in snow, in rain, and near coyotes. And it was finally over.
Click spent his first night in more than two months inside, sleeping away his fear and troubles in Ace's kennel. He only wimpered a little before falling asleep, and was delighted to wake up and find Angel this morning. There is much work to be done with Click. He's scared, beat down, and untrusting. But, as I watch him sleep on the kitchen floor, wearing his new red harness, I hope he feels a sense of relief. Here, there is food, water, shelter, Angel and Ace, and a whole family to love him while he gets back on his feet. I'm just sorry Clack isn't here to enjoy it with him.
So, what is it about the Big Yellow House that makes it a haven for those in need of a place? I can't explain it. I doubt any of us could. All I know is the first time I drove up in the driveway I knew it was home for me. Angel found her way here shortly thereafter, and her love of the Big Yellow House is so strong she lured another wayward soul here. Bobbie, too, found her way here as a tiny kitten, scared and in need of a place. And now, Click. It makes me wonder - did we pick the Big Yellow House, or did she somehow pick us? How did she know we were all in search of a place when we didn't really know it ourselves? I don't know the answer. All I do know is that she keeps luring us here, even the tiniest, most fearful of creatures, and making it all better. I hope one day I am able to return the favor. Welcome home, Click!
UPDATE: Click is settling in to his new family very nicely. He loves to sleep between me and Stan, and while he has some sincere trust issues, he is thriving and happy. He weighed in at 7lbs, and proudly wears his new blue rabies tag. We suspect he has an imaginary friend, as we often find him playing alone in the living room, barking and rolling and jumping and growling. Maybe it's just Clack.
What lasts 3000 miles, includes the stream of consciousness of a four year-old, and requires the use of more public restrooms than you care to remember? The Alost Family’s Annual Pilgrimage to the Homeland. And in all honestly, it was a trip I wasn’t sure I wanted to make this year. For almost 12 years, I have referred to Louisiana as “home”, but this year I began the trip with a genuine struggle – is home Louisiana? Or, is it the BYH? When I’m in Louisiana, am I 1500 miles from home? Or, when I’m at the BYH, am I 1500 miles away from “home”?
First, let me say that I love traveling, especially with my kids. Especially in a van. Where else can you listen to a CD of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy while enjoying an extemporaneous song about the American Flag that included a finish big enough for both Liza Minnelli and Ethel Merman? Christopher eventually took to using ear phones, while Mary Paige continued her verbal spewing of everything her brain was thinking. It was like The Hitchhikers Guide to Mary Paige’s Subconscious. At one point, while scribbling on a drawing pad, we heard her say “Dear Diarrhea”…..and we now know she can count to 10 in Spanish, has a completely separate set of parents who live in Africa, and has more questions than the Encyclopedia Britannica could ever answer. (“Mom, tell me the story of how the van was made.”) This is multitasking, pre-school style.
People here always ask me how long it takes to get to “home”, and I’m always vague when I answer. Truthfully, we never really arrive home on our pilgrimage, but instead float from place to place. Even though I have thought of Louisiana as “home”, the truth is I don’t really have a home there – at least not the place where my family has lived for years, where my piano certificates and horse show ribbons still hang on the walls, where I can still find embarrassing pictures of my brothers when they were young. This place doesn’t exist for me. And this is why I didn’t want to go this year. I was tired of not having a home to go to.
On Saturday, Todd took all of us out on his boat, towing my children at high rates of speed on a supposedly “unflippable” giant inner tube. Fortunately, Todd shares my complete and total distrust of any water deeper than a shower, and I knew we were in cautious hands. I didn’t vomit when MP ventured off the back of the boat into the lake with no bottom, nor did I faint when she yelled to Uncle Todd to go faster while she rode in the unflippable tube of death. Progress, indeed. We were joined by Todd’s friend Terry and his family, who welcomed our aqua girl aboard their boat, supplied her with chips, and then proceeded to drive her all over the lake at a rate of speed that I’m sure far exceeded that of our boat. (Todd kept telling me how fast their boat was….apparently I didn’t look like I was close enough to throwing up.) But, she arrived back to the shore with a fist full of Pringles, a wind-blown hair-do, and her classic gap-toothed grin. Seems we both stretched our boundaries that day.
I will remember this day for many reasons, but the most important one was the least expected. After recovering from the boat ride, we gathered around Melanie’s beautiful dining room table with Terry and his family. I can see why Todd enjoys Terry so much – he’s hilarious, and has a family that may equal the Drury’s in “character”. At one point I asked Terry where he was from, and he replied “all over”. Seems his father’s job required them to move quite a bit while he was growing up, and his job has required the same of his family, although to a lesser degree. His wife had always lived in the same place, and she described their first move as devastating. Terry then recounted how his father handled it when they moved - he simply told them that home was where ever their family was at the time. The physical place was irrelevant. The people, the family, their togetherness defined the home.
Funny how people you barely know can so easily solve a 20-year old issue. We talk about it endlessly with our closest friends with no resolution. We carry a chip on our shoulder about it for years, not knowing how to knock it off. And then, without warning, someone walks into your world and brings a point of view, a simple set of words, that you may have heard before but never really listened to, and suddenly you see things so incredibly clearly that you feel stupid for not realizing it before. It’s like looking for your sunglasses all over the house when they were on the top of your head the whole time.
So, where’s home for me? The Big Yellow House, of course. I know this for sure now. I knew this after Terry’s comment. I knew this when we finally reached the driveway after 3000 miles. For reasons I continue to try to understand, I somehow really belong here.
But, for one week out of the year, my home can also be found on Unadilla Street, or Horseshoe Drive, Posey Road, Mister Ed Lane, New Chapel Hill Road, our church in Woodville, or my hometown favorite, Corby Drive. No, my ribbons and certificates don’t hang on the walls of these places. No, the oak tree my mother planted when I was 12 isn’t growing in the front yard. No, it’s not a singular place that holds all my childhood memories. Instead, it’s a collection of addresses, of places, of homes that hold those people most dear to me.
The question remains, am I 1500 miles away from home now? Or was I 1500 miles away from home last week? The answer, obviously, is yes. But, I hope for every trip home I take the Big Yellow House will roll out her driveway to greet me when I return, and I hope one day she does the same for you.
A Staycation. This is what CNN.com refers to as a vacation where you don't actually go anywhere. And that's exactly what happened at the Big Yellow House this past week. As the saying goes in our family, "Where'd you go on your vacation? I went to Walmart!". Seems our efforts to "Think Globally, Act Locally" always fail during vacations as we routinely make at least one late night run to the world of everything you never
needed.
For Mary Paige, when I told her we were on vacation, she immediately screamed "THE BEACH!! Just what I always wanted!" Yes, even four year-olds can experience devastating let-downs in life. But, once she recovered, things were fine. Not going to the beach left more time to ask all the questions that have been building up in her mind for the past four years. And, just in case you're wondering, the best time to ask these questions is 1am, when you can't sleep, which causes your mother to be awake as well. "How do you make a baby? When am I going to have a baby? How do birds fly? Why is your bottom so much bigger than mine? What do ducks eat? What are bones made of? What is marrow? How do you breathe? What is the heart made out of? What is a muscle? Ew, that's gross."
After you answer a question with somethings as thrilling as "When a man meets a women and a women meets a man and they fall in love and get married, from that love comes a baby", then that opens the door for all kinds of other questions, requiring equally as romantic explanations. It's hard to give the process of respiration much finesse, but I tried, and she seems satisfied.
So, on her Staycation, Mary Paige got a new bike courtesy my friend Andrea Lewis. She's just two wheels away from freedom now - you can just see it written on her face as she peddles down Ervin Road, seemingly on her way to save the world. She also picked lots of flowers. The daisies are in bloom, and if there was enough time, she would pick every one, bundle them up into a "boo-kay", and deliver it to me with the sweetest grin on the planet. She has always had a flower-picking problem, so I'm glad the BYH produces an abundance of them for her choosing. She caught tadpoles (the first batch didn't last the day), and moths, walked down the freshly mowed path in the back pastures, and got to see a few snakes. All in a week's Staycation.
Her Staycation was so fantastic Mary Paige was inspired to capture the week in an original work of art. We've titled it "Closet Door #1: Fingernail Polish Isn't Just for Nails". And when pressed for an explanation of her mischievous act, for once the girl of a thousand questions had an answer all on her own: "It's our family at the Big Yellow House and it says Welcome to our Happy Family to everyone who sees it." Now that's finessing an otherwise difficult question to answer.
Like Mary Paige's art, maybe we should keep our vacations simple from now on. Stay home, ride bikes, pick flowers, paint your nails, go to Walmart and ask all the questions you just haven't had time to ask yet. You're still exhausted at the end of the week, but instead of creating an emotional attachment to a place far away, you've rekindled your love of home, and wonder why in the world you ever thought of going any place else.
needed.
Her Staycation was so fantastic Mary Paige was inspired to capture the week in an original work of art. We've titled it "Closet Door #1: Fingernail Polish Isn't Just for Nails". And when pressed for an explanation of her mischievous act, for once the girl of a thousand questions had an answer all on her own: "It's our family at the Big Yellow House and it says Welcome to our Happy Family to everyone who sees it." Now that's finessing an otherwise difficult question to answer.
