I was named after a hurricane...
There are two other stories about how I was named. But neither of them ever held up to my interrogating, familial scrutiny or satisfaction. Being my mom was only 17 at the time, I allow a little latitude on the origin of the great mystery of my name. Not sure that it matters so much, to anyone except me. Simply,I have always loved words and insist on knowing all word meanings.
Fact is, pretty much most everyone of my parents, aunts, cousins, uncles, cousins were all named after another family member or someone famous or cool.
But not me. Not that a name matters. But my mom once told me a story of when she was a girl and hurricane Donna blew into the Carolinas. That story has never left me.
And naturally, what a fabulous first line for a first-hand account of a story, a bio-novel, (if you will…)
Truthfully, I have never satisfied 100% of my own intellectual curiosity about whiches or whys of how I was named. After having lived in this skin for some time now, I know it must be true that I was named after a hurricane, as it seems I was born for the storm.
I came from a very small, South Eastern US coastal town, an area of the Eastern United States which is still relatively unknown. After graduation, I left to chase my dreams. Since then, I have seen some amazing things, I traveled the world and learned so much, and have been able to see and do many things of which of which I dreamed. I have learned how unique and singular my experiences were, and I have loved and met so many amazing people.
With all that, I’ve treasured the footprints, the trails and the journeys upon my heart.
I have seen and learned more than I could ever could have imagined, and it first started in books. I was a bookworm by the time kindergarten was over. I also first began keeping journals very young; even writing poetry before puberty. Reading was my easy, accessible gateway to learning, and writing became my way of growing out of the pain. It was also food for my mind, and rich entertainment.
As a child, I had a lot to learn, and I knew I experienced some very hard things. I had a sense of being thrown away, of betrayal, of mistrust, and fear, of not “belonging”. I knew poverty, neglect and abuse. But thanks to a wonderful, extended family and a Christian background, I like to think I have grown from the wildness that has personified my early life into something more triumphant.
I am so blessed. I am loved, and I know it. That doesn’t make me cocky. It makes me whole.
I like to think that I am one of those humans that is always (if nothing more, nor nothing else): evolutionary.
I desire to grow from everything I do, and I relish being born human, on earth. This day, this time.
What a magnificent cosmos we live in! And how blessed and singular is life for us?
Possum Track Chronicles is the story of my childhood. Of a different time, a different family, (a different girl) --another culture entirely. For I grew up in the 1970s, 1980s…on a tobacco farm. On a long winding, country road.
The time, the place, and the people I hail from; how I love them, and how they helped make me what I am today.
I hope you read it all and can know the love I poured into the words and pages of this book. I honor my family, my people in this part of America, and mostly, my sisterhood and brotherhood in love.
"Kindness is the universal language, and a smile has international currency."
"Forgiveness....is perhaps a dream, a purpose higher...more difficult, yet, this one, alone...will lead you to all the rest...."