While googling something completely different, I came upon a website that made my jaw drop.

New River Zen Community. Yes! Southwest Virginia does offer alternatives! See? Yes, you might see giant neon crosses as you head south on I-81, but don’t dare think that’s the whole story. Yes indeedy weedy we’ve got diversity in Virginia’s Great Southwest. And I do believe, I pray with all my heart, that everyone will see that as an asset.

In Richard Florida’s book The Rise of the Creative Class he makes the point that diversity is what invigorates the sustainability of a community. (http://www.washingtonmonthly.com/features/2001/0205.florida.html).

The more tolerant, open, and welcoming the region is, the more we will grow and invite a younger generation back. There are some other signs that it can happen and perhaps has been happening. The Blue Ridge School of Massage (http://www.blueridgemassage.org/) has been in operation in Montgomery County (http://www.montva.com/) for several years. Now, alternative living and health choices aren’t the only thing that makes up diversity. Personally, I feel that cultivating diversity means cultivating a tolerance for other lifestyles, cultures, philosophies. I hope beyond hope that is the direction our beautiful region is moving in. Then I think we truly will be able to call this God’s country, since God loves everyone. . . no exceptions.

-Lucinda McDermott Piro

Nearly in the center of our region is a gem of culture and history; Barter Theatre. Celebrating it’s 75th year of operation, not only does it present top-caliber plays and performances, it’s history is rich, it’s physical plant is simply lovely and quant. . .what’s there not to love?

Located in the center of the town of Abingdon, Barter Theatre is a prime example of a cultural arts institution embedding itself in its community in a meaningful way, and has served in this capacity since it began in 1933.

Robert Porterfield (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Porterfield) returned from New York to his native Virginia a trained, seasoned, and experienced actor to give back the fruits of his experience to his community—a great Return to Roots example. Because it was the height of the Great Depression, Porterfield knew that although people didn’t have the money (tickets were 40 cents in those days) to pay for entertainment and art, that they desperately needed it, especially in those hard times. He also knew the reality of starving artists in New York, many that were his friends. Yes, the people of Southwest Virginia didn’t have much money, but they had a lot of food. So he instituted the barter system, and the rest is history. Theatre goers would arrive with vegetables, fruits, and livestock still clucking. The slogan was “ham for Hamlet”. The tradition is honored today as special performances are tagged “pay what you can”, or on Barter Nites, audiences can donate non-perishable food items for admission. All food collected will be donated to the Second Harvest Food Bank, Appalachian Branch. They do request you not bring live animals. . . . . . .

I can’t say enough good things about the Barter. My experience was as a winner of their Appalachian Playwright’s Festival (http://www.bartertheatre.com/festival/)
in 2004 with my play Feeding On Mulberry Leaves (http://www.playscripts.com/play.php3?playid=778) which premiered in Barter’s 2005 season. The Festival promotes regional playwrights or plays that involve the region. It was a grand experience. I was so pleased with the direction, acting, design and overall production quality. The festival is just one way Barter engages with the region. Other examples within their own community include partnering with organizations such as Boy Scouts of America, the American Cancer Society and the Muscular Dystrophy Association. In addition they offer youth classes in all aspects of theatre.

If this theatre can survive and thrive for 75 years, surely they are doing something right. I have heard the whine “the arts aren’t sustainable”. Barter proves them wrong. But they have also had something many arts orgs don’t: in their 75 years they have had only 3 Artistic Directors that understood theatre, and the community they live in. Current Artistic Director Richard Rose knows how to make his patrons feel valued. He maintains tradition while keeping abreast of cutting edge material and innovations in theatre arts. I would like to bet he also has one heck of a board of directors that trust him to do his job.

The Barter continues to live because it works with the community, and the community recognizes the importance of its presence in the community esthetically, fiscally, and morally. When put like that, one wonders why every community doesn’t have the equivalent of its own Barter Theatre, huh? For more info on Barter Theatre, http://www.bartertheatre.com/.

-Lucinda McDermott Piro

1847, Marion, Virginia. It’s an early evening in May, with the last vestiges of orange streak gone from the indigo sky. A little slave girl named Sallie has steeled away from her mistress, out a side door of the prominent home known as Rosemont. Her new mistress, Mary Thurman, was ill. Not so ill she was dying, but ill enough to be in constant pain and discomfort 24 of the 24 hours a day Sallie had to care for her as her body servant. She had been bought on the slave block in the old Marion Courthouse yard by Thomas Thurman of Marion, while the rest of her family was sold to a slave owner in Lynchburg. Sallie was only 5 or 6 years old at the time. Reeling from the loss of her loved ones, frightened and unsure in new surroundings, Sallie would be beaten by her owners if she cried or showed any emotion. And so whenever she could, Sallie would steal away from the house to a tall, white oak nearby, wrap her arms around the tree, tell it her sorrows, and cry her heart out. The tree patiently absorbed her anguish. The tree gave her strength to be able to go back to the house, to hold her head up, to endure. For even after the War Between the States was over for white folks, it wasn’t over for blacks. Sallie would be forced to endure unheard of indignities common for African Americans yet uncommonly repugnant for any civilized society. Yet Sallie continued throughout her life to embody the strength of a mighty oak, coining her motto which she passed on to her children; “Always be your best, always do your best, and always give your best.”

Sallie might have been the first tree hugger.

This story comes to us the way nearly all of our stories of slavery have come, via oral tradition since slaves were forbidden to learn to read or write, and after the Civil War southern blacks were not exactly encouraged to remember. But remember they did, and stories were told. And trees still stand.

Behind the Marion Firehouse stands Sallie’s Crying Tree (http://www.cnr.vt.edu/4h/remarkabletree/
detail.cfm?AutofieldforPrimaryKey=1398). Thanks to Sallie (whose given name was Sarah Elizabeth Thurman) who told her story to her daughter Susie, who told it to her daughter Evelyn Lawrence of Marion, a retired school teacher and historian, we have her legacy today. Others will be able to benefit from it by visiting Marion (http://www.marionva.org/), seeing the tree themselves and reading the plaque that marks the spot. You can also visit the website of the Remarkable Tree Project (http://www.cnr.vt.edu/4h/remarkabletree/index.cfm) which features other trees of Virginia possessing inspiring stories including Sallie’s Crying Tree. These trees will be featured in the book Remarkable Trees of Virginia by Jeff Kirwan and Nancy Ross Hugo to be released sometime this year. In an Arbor Day address last year in Marion, Kirwan, a professor in forestry at Va Tech, remembered seeing an image of a student hugging a tree after the tragic events of April 16, 2007 at Va Tech. Rolling down the years of her life, Sallie referred to her Crying Tree as her mentor. Her friend. Would that we could all be a tree of strength for others in their need. Sturdy, calm, un-flinching, patient, still, and. . . there. Hug a tree. Better yet, be a tree for somebody else.

-Lucinda McDermott Piro

I’ve got baguette dough rising and my gazpacho is coolin’ & melding. Salsa pizza and other snacks and appetizers are in my near future, as well as some brown bagging. This early evening my friends and I will gather at the Sunset Lounge. The view is pastoral and soothing; green fields, grazing cows, rolling hills and sleepy clouds. And of course, a spectacular sunset. The best crowd gathers at the Sunset Lounge, kind of a “Cheers” clientèle. If the weather is right, the fire pit will be lit, and warmth will glow from the embers as well as the libations.

The Sunset Lounge is in my friend’s backyard. There’s a group of us that have been gathering in the late afternoon on Fridays for happy hour the last couple of years. We circulated around a couple of eateries and bars in town, but they were just kind of. . . meh. Then we started alternating around our own backyards and kitchens. And that’s when the fun began.

My friends Trisha and Carmel bought a house last year that is the culmination of all their dreams and wishes. Trisha wanted a whimsy house—a roofed non-walled dwelling decorated with plants, candles, knick-knacks and what nots, possessing THE view. Carmel, a weekend builder, obliged. Thus, the Sunset Lounge was born. Tonight we’ll gather there, next week it might be My Deck, the next week, the Neighbor’s Patio. Wherever we land, the food is just what we want, the drinks are affordable and a-plenty, and no one expects a tip.
Except to know where we’re meeting next week.

- Lucinda McDermott Piro

I love thrift stores. It’s not so much about finding something cheap that you can use, it’s the hunt, and that thrill of finding that item you never knew you always wanted. Growing up in Lexington, Virginia, I had two favorite stores which really set the bar in terms of finding treasure; the Stonewall Jackson Hospital Auxiliary Thrift Store and Freddy Goodheart’s Second Hand Shop. As a teen-ager, I didn’t have particular items I collected, just stuff that caught my eye: bone plates, a fuchsia wool coat made in Scotland by the Queen’s weaver, antique buttons, hats. Over the years I’ve refined my eye and have developed collections like unusual juice glasses, fondue pots, and funky items for my garden. They all fall under the heading, “They make me smile”.

“Reduce, re-use, recycle, repurpose” the adage goes. We’re a disposable society. We’re in too much of a hurry, too many things to do, too busy to consider we’re leaving over filled landfills for our children and children’s children to deal with. Clearly, we don’t care. Some do, but not nearly enough. Bill Kovarik has written a detailed comment on how the City of Radford has addressed its recycling issues. Not much more than a cursory nod.

Recycling, or re-purposing has proven to be good business for some, as well as making Mother Earth smile. A win-win situation. I’m loving the YToss at Va Tech during the week the students are moving out. They YMCA Thrift Store in Blacksburg realized that when push comes to shove and “Daddy can’t fit my futon in the back of his Nissan truck”, that students were dumping perfectly good albeit used items in dumpsters when they moved out of dorms, just because they couldn’t transport them. The Y realized that they could take those dumped items and sell them, the proceeds going to help others. So they made it easy for the students by setting up bins on campus. They even offered tax write-off receipts. In 2006 the Y reported they made $2000 off the campus discards. Last year they cleared $4000.

Southwest Virginia is crawling with the most wonderful thrift stores. Someone else’s trash just might be your treasure. Do a little googling and you’ll find them. Find that one thing you’ve wanted all your life, but never knew you did, and pat yourself on the back for thinking globally but acting locally.

- Lucinda McDermott Piro

Doesn’t it stink when you find yourself saying the things to your children you swore as a child you would never say to your children? Last night my husband said to my son, “I walked to school 12 city blocks when I was your age!” I’m no better. When they’ve complained about having to get up early and do chores I chime in with, “When I was your age I was out the door at 6a.m. feeding the horses and mucking stalls!”

Ahhhh. . . .

. . . and I loved it. My husband and I represent two different worlds. I grew up two miles from Natural Bridge, and he grew up a few miles from Yankee Stadium. Coming back to Virginia has given me a chance to share a bit of my childhood with my husband and my children. Horses however, remain elusive for us, but maybe not for long. I have friends that ride, and supplement their habit by boarding horses for others. One of my friends rescues horses just because she likes to look at them—she doesn’t ride anymore. Another friend does dressage and trains horses and riders professionally.

If you’re a horse person missing the smell of sweaty tack, the wind in your hair and a soft muzzle eating an apple out of your hand, come on down to SWVA. You’ll be in good company. Travel down I-81 and you’ll see for yourself the horse farms already here, but why not start your own? Throughout SWVA there are farms and acreage to be built on just waiting for you and your four legged friends. Virginia has favorable horse laws, affordable land, and experienced large animal vets. Want to come down and have a horsey vacation just to whet your appetite? Try Hungry Horse East, an Equestrian Campground near Galax. If you’re looking to do dressage, check out the Southwest Virginia Dressage Association.

Come on down!

- Lucinda McDermott Piro