If We Were Having Coffee...

If we were having coffee, you'd be drinking  coffee that my mother brewed this morning, coffee that my stepfather says is the best in the world.  According to Si, "No one's coffee is as good as Peggy's..." and that is a direct quote.  

You'd ask me if my stepfather is right and I'd shrug my shoulders and tell you that I don't have a clue, for I've never tried my mother's coffee.  You'd then be amazed to learn that I'm one of the few people in the United States that doesn't like coffee or even tea for that matter.  I prefer to start my day getting caffeinated with a glass of Cherry Diet Dr. Pepper on ice.  

If we were having coffee, let me rephrase that -  if we were visiting as you drank coffee and I drank my soda, we'd be sitting out on my parent's covered deck, gazing out at the lush, green trees and the not-so-distant mountain tops to the south.  Birds would happily chirp, filling the mountains with the sounds of life, and more than likely there would be a gentle breeze.  You are fortunate - June is typically an excellent month to be in West Virginia. 

At some point, you'd comment about the colorful coffee cup you're drinking from and you'd raise it above your head to see if the maker or brand was stamped on the bottom.  I'd then tell you that it was Fiesta.  Chances are that you've heard of Fiesta, for it's sold in many large department stores throughout the country.  I'd then say, "You know, Fiesta is made in West Virginia, up in the northern panhandle.  Mom and I are thinking of making a trip up there one day to the factory."

My mother's wind chimes would sway softly in the breeze, producing a soothing melody.  I absolutely love the sound of those wind chimes. It is one of my favorite sounds of all time.  I'd close my eyes and slowly inhale as if trying to breathe it in.  

I'd tell you stories of my childhood here in West Virginia, of how my two neighbors and I played in the woods all day and the only expectation we had was that we were to be home by dinner.  You'd ask if we wore  watches in order to keep track of time. I'd let out a soft chuckle, grin, and say, "No..."  I would see the combination of curiosity and confusion on your face and tell you that we just simply knew, we were mountain kids after all, and we just knew based on the position of the sun, the length of the shadows in the forest, and the level of hunger developing in our stomachs if it was time to head home or not.  Nature was our time piece.

I'd point to the spot where the best grape vine once hung.  That mangled, thick, twisted vine provided so much fun and excitement as we swung on it summer after summer until it finally gave way with the ever increasing weight of our growing bodies.  Swinging on grape vines was never the same after that, I'd say. Looking back, I'm not sure if it was because we lost our favorite grape vine or because we were growing up and swinging on grape vines was slowly loosing its appeal as other interests, such as music videos and members of the opposite sex, took root in our brains.  

I'd show you the spot on the road, for it's visible from where we'd be sitting, where snow refused to stick.  That stubborn 20 foot segment of asphalt interrupted our long, continuous, three quarters of a mile sledding slope in winter.  The boy who lived closest to the spot would sneak out after dark and spray the pavement with his waterhose, creating enough black ice so we didn't have to attempt a detour around it.  I see your wide eyes and know what you're thinking.  "Yes, we used to sled on the road," I'd say, "because there weren't many people who lived up here back then.  When it snowed, we stayed home. There was very little traffic."  But, I would then admit, especially after recalling several of the close calls my neighbors and I experienced, that it's probably a miracle that any of us made it to high school without suffering serious bodily harm.  We sure had some good times, though. 

I'd tell you how much I love it here, how I consider this little piece of Appalachia my sanctuary, and how much I miss the mountains that are visible as far as the eye can see.

You'd ask why I moved from a place that I obviously love and hold so dearly.  I'd tell you that I did so for economic opportunities.  When I graduated college, there were very few available jobs in my field in southern West Virginia, so I went where I found work.  You'd wonder if I'd ever regretted moving away, but you're too polite to ask.  Anticipating your unspoken question, for you're not the first to wonder, I'd tell you, no, that I don't regret leaving.  I just wish I didn't miss it so much.

I'd go on to say that the longing has become  easier to deal with over the years. But, truth be told, despite being easier to cope with, the feelings of missing this beautiful, sacred place have never truly gone away.  And, as long as I was being completely open with you, I'd tell you that every time I come in for a visit, I get a little misty-eyed as I back out of the driveway of my childhood home and make my way down the mountain to leave.  No visit is ever long enough and no visit ever fully satisfies my soul.

After a few minutes of silence, I'd then tell you that I'm only two days into my weeklong visit so you need not worry about me tearing up on you today.  And with that, I'd take a sip of my soda and swivel my chair so that I could better take in the glorious view. 

"It's a great day to be in the mountains," I'd say, "an absolutely great day."

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Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to read my very first "If We Were Having Coffee" post.

Linking up with Diana @ Part Time Monster 

#weekendcoffeeshare

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