Hazard to Guess Where I've Been?

Last night my family and I returned from vacation, if you want to call it that. It was a family reunion (my mother's side) in Hazard, Kentucky. Yes, Hazard, as in the Dukes of. The activities of the reunion went on for a week, but we arrived on Thursday for the long weekend. That's about as long as I thought I could take it. Don't get me wrong, I was excited to see my relatives who are spread out across the country, and even one in Japan. All of the "How've ya been"s and "The last time I saw you, you were this tall"s and the scenery are all-good, it was just I thought I would go stir-crazy after a few days because of the lack of variety in the locale. No computer, no electronic guide on the TV programming (you have to look it up in a book?), and the cell phone doesn't even work in those mountains. I know, vacation, especially a rural one such as this, should be a nice time to relax and get away from it all, but I really like "it all."

What was most difficult for me to adjust to on the trip was the food; and this struggle of mine is what held me back as a kid from doing all kinds of things I wish I had done. I am rather picky with food (although I've gotten much better), but I also have this strange need to rotate my food selection. If, for example, I have chicken for lunch, I cannot have chicken for dinner; I cannot even have chicken for lunch or even dinner the following day. Well, not really "cannot," but "very strongly prefer not to," to the point of bypassing a meal if need be. This is normally fairly easy to accommodate at home. However, where we were staying, the only option really was eating at the resort, unless you want to venture out a good 40-minute drive, one-way, and after 7pm or 8pm, forget it. There are no street lights along the mountain roads leading to the resort, and no guard rails to stop cars from literally falling off the edge of the cliff if you get off track. But it wasn't just that the food selection at the resort was limited; the food was just awful. I mean, awful. I was expecting comforting, southern, home-style cuisine at this resort nestled in the mountains. And it attempted to be that. But it was just nasty or tasteless, often served cold.

On night two, I talked my husband into making the 40-minute drive to a Pizza Hut I eyed on our trip in to the resort. Being the doting husband that he is, he relented, and nearly two hours later, he returned during a thunderstorm with four surprisingly still hot pizzas from the Hut. I'm not sure I ever appreciated my husband quite as much as when I sunk my teeth into that pie. It was the best dern pizza I have ever had, I'm sure mostly because my taste buds had been dead for nearly 48 hours. I wouldn't get very far on Survivor. I guess I'm spoiled. Ok, I know it.

Besides the food, the trip was good, despite the fact that my two-year-old, who cannot sit still for anything, screamed nearly nonstop during the long drive to and from; despite the fact that my husband and I got into a squabble because he swore I lost the second room key (turns out there never was a second); despite the fact that it rained nearly two days and we were confined to our small room with two children who fought over one Barbie doll (even though they literally brought over 25 that were constantly strewn across the little bit of room that we did have); despite all that, it was a trip of growth and depth for my family. I came away with a deeper understanding and appreciation of who my mother is, where we came from and what we have.

We visited the warm house in the mountains where the one-room farmhouse in which my mother grew up was located, with no electricity, no running water, housing nine children, where they ate what they killed and/or grew. We visited the church from which my mother graduated high school 50 years ago (it was built in the mid 1800s). We visited the locale where my maternal grandmother (my mother's mother) was murdered over 50 years ago (while in the presence of my mother, 19 at the time) and learned more telling details behind the crime.

We learned while on this trip that my 78-year-old uncle is literally the last in this bloodline to carry the name since there are no more males of this namesake, which makes me grateful that I gave this last name, my mother's maiden name, to my youngest daughter as her middle name.

We spent priceless time with my great-aunt who is 92 years old. She was celebrating 20 years of marriage to her second husband, whom she met at a dance studio after her first husband passed away. She is a vivacious and eccentric lady, as is her husband. She and her 90-year-old husband drove up to Hazard themselves, from St. Augustine, FL! Her daughter told us a story of the two of them driving from FL to Denver in a beat-up car last winter to visit them. They stopped at a restaurant, and because the restaurant didn't offer a senior discount, they packed up, and drove in a blizzard to another restaurant (even though they are very well-off). Her husband played the clarinet in the band on the final night of the reunion, while my aunt watched proudly. Every morning they walked, and briskly, five miles. They were constantly hand-in-hand, sharing embraces. A true inspiration in so many ways.

These are the things that by the end of the trip made me realize that I didn't really need that cell phone, my laptop, my TiVO, or even my rotating meal plan. I had brought with me everything I needed and valued and was so very blessed to have: my family. In fact, I had never really left home at all.