Almost Heaven & Sins of Omission

 

A while back, I wrote an exceedingly clever blog post about our neighbors when we were newly married and living in an apartment building in Charleston, West Virginia.  In it, I talked about how one of them, sort of a halfwit, spoke “West Virginglish.”  Ha, ha! I also poked fun at the West Virginia Institute of Technology, calling its name an oxymoron. Get it?!

 

Evidently my friend Jessica, a lawyer who grew up in the D.C. suburbs but now lives in West Virginia, was not particularly amused. She wrote, only half jokingly, that I had violated the “Sacred code of former West Virginians,” which is to only relate positive things about the state to the outside.  Then, demonstrating the hospitality typical both of her and the state, Jessica urged me to come back and visit soon.  No hard feelings.

But I still felt guilty.  Not only had I tweaked my friend, but I had been hypocritical in doing so.  Like her, when I lived in West Virginia it annoyed the bejesus out of me when an “outsider” made fun of my adopted state. Years ago I remember mentioning to my Floridian brother that we had tickets to see the West Virginia Symphony Orchestra.  He asked me if they would be playing “Turkey in the Straw.” I wanted to strangle him. And now I was committing the same crime, maligning the fair state that I know first hand has many, many things to recommend it. I knew better!

So, Jessica, to atone for my sin, I offer the following “Top Five Things about Living in West Virginia,” which I hope will undo any damage my previous posting cost the state’s reputation, among the eleven regular subscribers to my blog.

Here’s what I came up with:

5) Natural Beauty:  Anyone who has driven through the state can attest to the breathtaking beauty of West Virginia. And many people in fact have, since several major interstates cut through the state, thanks largely to native son Robert C. Byrd, U.S. Senator and former Appropriations Committee Chairman. Sadly, too few of those travelers get off the Interstate and explore.  I urge them to do so.  There are 48 state and seven national parks in West Virginia, each one more beautiful than the last.  You can’t drive 10 miles in the state without happening upon a gorgeous river, valley, lake or forest. And they don’t call it the Mountain State for nothin’.  People travel for days to enjoy the vistas I took for granted each day on my way to the Kroger.  Which leads me to number 4,

4) Outdoor playground:  West Virginia is a four-season resort, and we did our best to take advantage of the adventures each season offered up. In the fall, we loved to hike or bike the trails of the Kanawha State Forest, a ten-minute drive from our house—the leaves were spectacular, the air crisp and cool, the scents earthy and restorative. In the winter, we could pack our skis after work on Friday and enjoy two days of skiing at Snowshoe or Canaan Valley, before driving back to town on Sunday night.  A favorite springtime adventure is whitewater rafting on the New or Gauley River, both of which cut paths through the beautiful Appalachian mountainside. Not for the faint of heart, my 6’5”, 200-lb. husband was once ejected from the raft, Jack-in-the-box-style, on a rapid known as “Raging Hell Hole.” Nuff said. In summer, we often rented a pontoon boat on Summersville Lake, which evokes Lake Como with jagged mountains dropping into crystal water.  Jumping off the bow, or even from a rocky overhang, was a big part of the fun.

3) Big Fish in a Small Pond:  Most people with master’s degrees from prestigious universities head to the big city—New York, Chicago, Atlanta–to cut their teeth. Paul, with his master’s in journalism from Stanford, and I, a newly minted MBA from UNC-Chapel Hill, headed for the hills of West Virginia. Admittedly, this wasn’t by design. Paul graduated in 1990 to a saturated journalism market, and was relieved to find a statehouse reporter position in Charleston in 1991. When we married a year later I followed via the Kicking and Screaming moving company. But what a fortuitous move it turned out to be, for both of us. It didn’t take long for Paul to ascend the ladder to associate and then political editor of his newspaper. And eventually, I landed a job as the managing director of the West Virginia Business Roundtable, which had me, a 26-year-old, working side-by-side with the state’s leaders of business and government. When I had an idea that I thought would help economic development in the state, I direct-dialed the CEOs of the state’s largest banks, utilities and coal companies. We attended yearly retreats with the Governor, his cabinet, and business leaders at the world-class Greenbrier Resort. We dined at the Governor’s Mansion on multiple occasions. I don’t mention these things to brag, but to contrast to our current life and careers in Florida, which with its population of 18.3 million, is more than 10 times the size of West Virginia.  Here, we’re virtual nobodies.  If I showed up at the Governor’s Mansion in an evening gown I’d be escorted to the state mental hospital.  The closest to power I’ve come is shopping at the same grocery store as our former lieutenant governor, who is an acquaintance of my father’s.  I introduced myself to her the first three times I saw her.  I’ve given up trying, and have slipped somewhat reluctantly into anonymity.

2) Community:  When we lived in Charleston, we felt like we belonged.  No one cared that we were interlopers from the outside, with no history or “people” in the Mountain State.  We were embraced by the community, and developed a love for our adopted home that continues to this day.  My husband still roots for WVU Mountaineers each football season.  We used to joke about community gatherings in Charleston being like an episode of the Simpsons, with the same recurring characters.  Except instead of Apu the convenience store clerk or Moe the bartender, we had Danny the radio-show-host-turned- mayor or Donn the pharmacist. The latter once approached me at the ribbon cutting for the new science center to ask how my urinary tract infection was doing. No lie.  Boundary issues aside, we loved seeing people we knew every time we went out, and that people really cared about one another, and about the community as a whole. Also contributing to the sense of community was that when something was happening in town – the circus, a presidential visit, or the annual Sternwheeler Regatta – we all turned out.  Here in Orlando, on any given Saturday night, we could go to a Broadway-style play, a professional sports event,  a museum opening, or a rock concert.  But we hardly ever do.  Sometimes, too many choices are overwhelming, and it’s just easier to stay home.

1) Cheap:   On less than six figures, a family of four in Charleston, West Virginia, can live a very, very nice life.  $250,000 in Charleston will buy you a beautiful brick home with history and character, in a lovely tree-lined neighborhood a five minute drive from downtown.  A house of comparable quality and convenience in Orlando would cost, even in a down economy, north of $600,000. Here, $250,000 buys you a dreadful McMansion-wannabe of shoddy construction, about 45 minutes from the city in a dry, parched subdivision of lookalike houses, from which all the trees have been removed. Our favorite story of bargain Charleston living involves our daughter’s third birthday party.  For $50, a woman arrived at our home on a Saturday morning with a trailer-full of animals –including a donkey, goat, lamb, calf, goose and 3 rabbits –and Meg and 12 friends had their own private petting zoo in our backyard for the better part of the afternoon.  I tipped the woman $25 when she left and I thought she was going to weep with gratitude.  One time we hired a man to lay linoleum in our kitchen and two small bathrooms.  He arrived at 7 am, and finished up around 5 pm, and apologetically presented us with a bill for $95 when he left.  My husband hugged him good-bye.

Everyone in West Virginia knows the song by heart:  “Almost Heaven, West Virginia.  Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River.” Ironically, it’s said that the inspiration for the song popularized by John Denver was actually a drive in the Maryland countryside. No matter. For anyone who has lived in, or visited West Virginia, can relate to the sense of home that descends easily like twilight in the mountain valley, on visitors and natives alike.  Jessica, get the guest room ready.

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