(On June 11, 1999, after auctioning off most of our furniture and non-essentials in La Crosse, we headed to Martin, Ky., to begin a one-year volunteer commitment with Christian Appalachian Project. Arriving in the volunteer house on June 12, we were informed by our Florida son, Brad, that he was to undergo surgery for testicular cancer on June 15. We completed our required one-week CAP orientation on the following Friday, drove to Sarasota to be with Brad and his family for the weekend, and returned to Martin on Monday, June 21, to begin our work. Below is an every-now-and-then journal of our CAP experience. -- Bill White) Tuesday, Aug. 10, 1999
Nearly two months have gone by since we arrived in Martin, Ky., to begin
volunteer service with the Christian Appalachian Project. What we have
learned in about 60 days! About ourselves, the people of eastern Kentucky,
the faith venture we all are pursuing.
CAP has provided us with a good place to live, ample food, dependable
vehicles and interesting people to serve in Rejoice Respite. The Lord has
provided everything else, including the challenges of community living
(with eight other volunteers and numerous one-week work groups), of
mountain customs and language, of opportunities to grow. With plenty of
prayer, we are making it.
CAP volunteer house in Martin
This is a beautiful area with infinite photo ops - the mountains, the
trees, the local residents, the whole atmosphere. Our house is in the
center of Martin, a three-section town of about 800 people. The hospital
and medical facilities are on the north end, the modern shopping area is on
the south end and "old town", including Cracker Bottom, is in the center.
It's a great place for walking - it's about a mile each way to the end of
town from the Martin House.
Some men gather each afternoon in a little shelter about a half-block north
of the Martin House and whittle until dark. We asked what they were making
- they replied "shavings". And it's true, they use most of the shavings for
the pony rides during the annual fall festival inn town and use the rest
for flower planters along the street. Their whittling is really a public
service.
Our respite work is going well. Ethel and I each have 12 "participants" - many
with Alzheimers, some with diabetes,
others with developmental problems, others with heart disease or strokes.
Their caregivers really appreciate our coming in to stay for a five hours
at least once every two weeks.
Many of you have been concerned about our son, Brad's, health and his
progress with treatments for testicular cancer. We really appreciate that
concern.
He has completed five weeks of radiation therapy and is back on the job -
at least partial days - as a district manager for Office Depot on the
eastern side of Florida. Armstrong's victory in the Tour de France was a
real lift for many cancer sufferers because he was diagnosed with
testicular cancer in 1996 and came back from it very strong.
We all thank you for your prayers for Brad. Tuesday, August 31, 1999
On a recent Tuesday morning as I drove to a respite appointment, I pulled
up behind a string of seven coal trucks entering Hwy. 23 North off Hwy. 80
and heading toward shipping yards at Ashland, KY. I've been told that each
Coal Trucks head to Ashland, Ohio
of the semi-tractor-trailer trucks hauls about 60 tons -- 120,000 pounds --
of coal. Like crickets dragging rocks tied to their back legs, they creep
up the steep inclines of the four-lane highways
that cut through the eastern Kentucky
mountains, but they race down the other side at
70 miles an hour. Sometimes side-by-side. It's
a frightening sight.
That afternoon on my way home I counted 30 loaded trucks -- carrying
upwards of 1,800 tons of coal -- in a 15-mile stretch between Paintsville
and Prestonsburg, also bound for Ashland. This was not a particularly
special coal-hauling day, and those trucks represented a small fraction of
all the haulers that must have been on the road from the strip and deep
mines of Pike, Floyd and other counties in this region that day.
The amount of coal being removed from these mountains is staggering.
According to the Kentucky Department of Mines and Minerals, records show
that in 1996 (the most recent year available) 35.3 million tons of coal was
taken from mines in Pike County, 7.6 million from Floyd County (where we
live), 8.9 million from Knott County, 11.1 million from Harlan County, 11.6
from Martin County and 8.4 million from Letcher County. Nearly two-thirds
of that comes from underground mines.
The department said 544 mines existed in Kentudy in 1996. The 307
underground mines and 237 surface mines had a total production of 157.7
million tons. Twenty-nine Kentucky counties produced coal in 1996 with 19
of them in eastern Kentucky.
The really bad news, from an economic and employment standpoint, is that
the number of mines has drastically decreased -- from 2,063 in 1984 to 544
in 1996. Tuesday, Sept. 7, 1999Expressions
I'm picking up some new expressions - and pronunciations - here in the
Kentucky Appalachians.
Many of them may be heard in other parts of the country, too, but I hadn't
heard them before I came here.
For example...
"Come back when you get ready."
"Yeah, buddy."
"Now listen, son."
"Are you all right?" (rather than "How are you?")
"Shore" (rather than "sure.")
"Holler" (rather than "hollow")
"I'm as serious as a heart attack" (meaning "I'm telling the truth.")
"He has sugar" (rather than "He has diabetes.") Wednesday, Sept. 15, 1999
The trees are starting to change color! The drought which has dried out
eastern Kentucky is prematurely affecting the leaves, locals say, and that
means earlier color but not as brilliant. Already reds and yellows are
dotting the otherwise-green mountainsides. Sumac is turning red along the
roadsides. Sunlight sifts through the leaves with a fall-like glow rather
than merely outlining them. The creeks are nearly dry. Swinging bridges
over mere trickles of water connect the houses with the holler roads. Kentucky is a land of contrasts.
*Wide, 4-lane highways, cutting through the massive mountains, between the
major towns and cities; and narrow, paved or gravel roads winding along the
mountainside and beside the creeks connecting the villages and settlements
in the hollows (pronounced "hollers").
*Two-story brick houses with three-car garages and carefully manicured
green lawns next door to deteriorating trailer homes surrounded by debris,
dogs and old, rusting, wheelless cars.
*Sparkling lakes and polluted streams.
*Weathered, three-room shacks with a nine-foot satellite TV dish in the
ratty front yard.
*A commercial-free radio station that plays traditional Appalachian music,
jazz and old-time gospel and bradcasts worldide on the Internet.
*Shopping centers anchored by Wal-Mart, WinnDixie, Penney's or Dillard's
stores on the edges of small cities; and tiny produce stands or markets
along the backroads.
*Illiteracy running as high as 50 percent in some areas and community
colleges in nearly every city larger than 4,000 people
*Breathtaking mountain valley vistas; and panoramic scenes of scarred,
denuded mined-out mountainsides. Wednesday, Sept. 29, 1999
Jim died yesterday. The frail old man whose eyesight had failed because of
diabetes but who would awaken each morning pondering a Bible verse and its
meaning gave up the fight about 2 a.m. Tuesday. Jim was our first "respite"
- we sat with him together on the first Thursday we actually began working
with Christian Appalachian Project. Both Ethel and I sat with him
individually over the past dozen weeks, and visited him in the hospital
several times.
Ethel and me at White's Mill near Abingdon, Va.
He was such a nice, gentle, kind man. He accepted us as family immediately.
He was 89 years old. His son, who is about 54 and also suffers from
diabetes, stayed with him all the time and needed a chance every now and
then to get out of the house.
Jim taught us about the rewards of bee keeping, how the bees are robbed,
how you hang the "gums" - or small frames - in the "super" (large frame) to
drip out their honey, how to really look at ourselves and what we believe
spiritually. He had a sly little grin that told you when he was putting you
on. He always tried to make you comfortable. His parting words as you left
his presence were always: "Come back when you get ready to."
He was my third respite participant to die since I arrived him in June. In
fact, two on my original list of 10 died before I met them because they had
deceased in late May or early June. But that is the way of this work. We
are dealing with many old people who are very ill. Their families are
trying to make them as comfortable as possible in their final days. Our
call is to give these families some rest. Death becomes very real. In most
cases it is quiet. Peaceful. The people literally pass away. And we are
left in the silence, contemplating our own mortality and giving comfort
where we can.
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