I’ll confess that the first four months of retirement have been hard. “Hard” may not be a strong enough descriptor. Sleep has been one of the major challenges. When one spouse has been living in retirement for 10 years and the other finally joins this new season of life, habits, interests, and wellness become more differentiated. That is especially true when one’s retirement passion keeps him up very late at least three nights a week. That’s been the case for years, but I’ve been able to sleep my way through, knowing that I had to get up for work. Now, I find myself wide awake when Steve comes to bed. Oh, how the rhythm of life changes!
So here I sit, early this Thursday morning, cup of herbal tea in hand, deciding maybe it’s time to take this blog seriously again. My writing has been sporadic over the last few years. Maybe this is not only the result of being awake so many early mornings but also having a mind that is spinning at times about my own inconsistent spiritual practices as the Soul Feast initiative is about to kick off for the Virginia Conference UMC. This blog started back in 2013 as an attempt to journal, a practice that I have longed to enter into wholeheartedly for decades but have failed to keep consistent. Let’s see where it might go this time. Thanks for walking with me when I’m never quite sure where the path is going!
My heart tonight is in Western North Carolina and Eastern Tennessee. It’s been a difficult week as I see pictures of catastrophic destruction in places I feel so very connected to through my family roots and life experiences. There was also word of one of our classmates in the Meredith College Class of 1983 who lost her life helping her neighbors in Kings Mountain, NC in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene.
Back in July, I posted some pictures and reflections of my pilgrimage to Lake Junaluska, NC, on Facebook. When I started to work on the Virginia Conference Connectional Ministries staff in 2000, one of my responsibilities was to serve as the representative from the conference on a jurisdictional board of trustees. For a while, I made many, many trips to the Lake for that work. Since 2008, I’ve been going for jurisdictional conferences. All of those trips until 2015 included a stop in Henry County to see my Mom or to pick her up to travel with me. Since then, I’ve continued to go through Henry County as my own sort of pilgrimage. This year I decided to make it a time to remember and visit with my ancestors, both in Martinsville and in Western North Carolina.
My great great grandfather, Adolphus Erwin Ensley, was born into the Buncombe County Ensley clan in 1831. His brothers, Samuel Bruce and Alfred Webb (my great great uncles), are buried in the Mountain View Freewill Baptist Church cemetery in Leicester, NC. I decided this was the time to find them.
To complete the family tree, my great grandfather, Adolphus Erwin – known as “Dolph” – was born 1872. My grandfather, Ralph Eugene, was born May 26, 1894, and died August 20, 1942. This year marked the 100th birthday of my dad, Alvis Eugene, born August 23, 1924.
I know I should have stayed for closing worship at the SEJ Conference to remember my baptism, but I was up very early and decided to make my way to Leicester. I followed the GPS directions from the exit on I-40, that exit being about half the distance between Lake Junaluska and Asheville, winding through beautiful valleys and fields as the sun was rising. Luckily the directions had downloaded on my phone because I was without cell service for much of the trip. Along the way, I found myself wondering about the struggles of my family in that valley during the mid- to late 1800s. I worried about cell service; they had to have worried about survival. As I wandered the cemetery with dew soaked feet, the sun rose fully over the Blue Ridge Mountains. A row of sunflowers growing over a metal fence separated the church property from the house beside it. The early morning fog was rising as I spent time searching for headstones.
I decided to let the GPS take me out of Leicester toward home. No idea at all where I was going other than the downloaded map – and even more limited cell service. What a beautiful drive from Leicester through the valleys along the French Broad River, back up the mountains to I-26 in Weaverville! I stopped briefly several times just to look at the river as it flowed so gently that morning, across the rocks and lapping against the river beds. I’m sure everything along that beautiful part of the French Broad River is now gone as the waters last weekend did not flow gently, but rushed so strongly that the entire area has been changed forever.
I didn’t know anything about I-26 until that Friday morning in July, but by the time I came down from the heights of the mountains I had pretty much decided that it would be my route to Western North Carolina from now on. Driving right in the middle of mountains that morning was awe-inspiring. It reminded me of drives along the Blue Ridge Parkway when I was a little girl – but that morning I could go 70-mph, not 25-mph like my Dad drove on the Parkway. I called Steve from the state rest area to tell him how beautiful it was – even sent him a picture of the building! I’ve never taken a picture of a rest area before!! It was still early enough when I reached Erwin, Tennessee that I stopped at Hardee’s for breakfast, then went on to the local Exxon to fill up the car with gas. Erwin – now the place known for hospital roof rescues and a plastic factory where too many lives were lost. And that stretch of I-26 is where pictures are being taken of a highway and bridges washed completely away.
If I hadn’t decided to leave Lake Junaluska early that Friday morning, I would never have experienced this part of the world the way it was that day.
As I sit this morning, holding my tea in a mug from Mud Dabbers Pottery, located in the Balsam area outside Waynesville, NC, I’m reminded of the many ways we are connected across generations, places, and times. Two items at Mud Dabbers caught my attention during a lunch visit while I was at Lake Junaluska – and came home with me: a wacky bird that is sitting on our front porch and a crooked mug stamped with butterflies. The story of the Mud Dabbers family connects with mine in that they began making pottery under the guidance of a family member in Fortson, Georgia, just north of Columbus. My grandfather, Ralph, had two children, Adolphus and Elizabeth, with his first wife. They both settled and raised their families in that area of Georgia and Alabama. The crooked mug reminds me every time I use it that life is not a straight path, but includes curves and bends – like following an unknown path through beautiful mountain valleys and along a scenic river – as well as the unexpected twists that can change life in a second.
Walking home has new meaning this week as I continue to listen and learn to live in this new season of life.
Maybe this is the time to write more often.
Stilll Walking Martha Home 