You’ll have to forgive me that the title has nothing much to do with this post. I only get to say, “Beware the Ides of March!” once a year, and as a Latin geek, this is a huge deal to me.
You’ll also have to excuse the non-linear nature of tonight’s post — it’s basically my Instagram roundup/favorite things of the week post. (i.e. I have some pictures from the past week, and I want to share them.)
First of all, did you know they have Harry Potter stamps at the Post Office?!
Seriously, my week was practically made at that point. I didn’t have to go on. But yet, I did. I made my way to Fish’s Eddy homewares in NYC. Apparently, it’s kind of a big deal. I had no idea, but the outside looked great, so I thought I would check out the inside. Look at this gem:
I really need some gay weddings to attend, because I really want to have an excuse to buy these. Get with the program, West Virginia! I thought this shot was a little too perfect to pass up:
I loved the color in the window on the way to dinner. Couldn’t walk by it. I also couldn’t walk by this without talking a shot:
My sole souvenir from the trip was from the Fish’s Eddy:
And then I made a Peep Diorama for the American Bar Association contest. Yes, these are cannibalistic Peeps:
It’s a pretty interesting story about 4 sailors who are shipwrecked, have to fight off sharks in their flimsy lifeboat, and end up eating one of their party to keep from starving in the coming days. (Sacrifice one so that the others can live!) But then they are rescued and charged with murder. (Uh-oh!)
So that’s my week in a nutshell. What about yours? Have any fun photos to share? I’m new to Instagram (yes, I know I’m just joining 2011), but I’m looking for beautimous and/or interesting accounts to follow!
It’s funny the things you think about when you’re young — things that don’t even catch your eye as you get older. Until one day they do, and you remember how enamored you were with that one thing so many years ago.
I was driving home tonight, and despite the polar vortex, the sky was very clear. It was so blue. I could see a small, solitary light in the sky. From the distance, it was hard to tell if it was moving at all, so it might have been a star, or a plane — or an interstellar donut shop (which would definitely have a logo with a bright pink glazed donut, complete with sprinkles). Under the lights of the city, it’s hard to see much in the sky at all. But where I grew up, there were stars for miles. All you could see were stars. There were no lights to drown them out.
So in the days of yore, when I would see a plane flying overhead, I would always wonder what it could be — and wonder if it really was a plane, or a UFO carrying aliens from Mars, or maybe it was a shooting star (because those were always on TV and I never saw one to know how fast it would shoot)… And until today I kind of forgot those were the things I would think about…
Now other things occupy our minds, like weekend plans, work, our families, the latest episode of Downton Abbey. Are any of those as important as the interstellar baked goods? Probably, but maybe not — maybe for a minute we need that small moment of wonder, especially in the bleak, banal moments of the January commute.
This is what it looked like near my house today for the rest of you outside the Vortex:
Pretty beautiful, and pretty frigid — I had negative digits on my car thermometer for the first time ever.
My pipes actually froze under my house, so I was under it with a hair dryer thawing them out (kudos to Vidal Sassoon), which resulted in a valve burst and subsequent replacement. Adventures in homeownership!
I was pretty dirty, but it was surprisingly warm under the house. Not something I want to repeat anytime soon, though!
So I’m ready for the summer thaw– the polar bears can keep their Vortex.
How cold was it where you were today? Any harrowing moments of near frostbite?
West Virginia and Pennsylvania share very similar geography and industries. But there are way more people, and camps, and just things in PA. Some towns we drove through today were founded before the Declaration of Independence was signed. West Virginia split off from Virginia in 1863 for those of you who aren’t familiar with our history (and there are a lot of you, still today, ask anyone from West Virginia). We moved the state capitol several times — actually from Wheeling to Charleston to Wheeling and back to Charleston. We just generally didn’t get our stuff together as early as our Commonwealth neighbor to the north. But anyway, anytime I go to Pennsylvania, I don’t really feel like it’s much different from West Virginia, aside from the large cities that are sprinkled throughout. We have the same trees, the same hills, the same winding roads:
One of the highlights (and the actual purpose) of our trip was to go to a Nine Inch Nails concert in State College, Pennsylvania.
One of the other highlights of our trip was stopping at Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater (“The Most Famous Home in America”).
It is worth the trip if you’re in that area — and when you think it was built 75 years ago, it truly is a testament to the genius of Frank Lloyd Wright:
One of the best parts of our trip, however, was something we didn’t plan. As were driving between State College and Mill Run, where Fallingwater is located, we saw the sign for the 9/11 Memorial of hijacked Flight 93. We made a split-second decision to go view the site. Right now, there really isn’t much there. A beautiful walkway and wall commemorating that day with the names of those who died, and a boulder that sits over the impact site. You can only view the impact site from afar, which makes sense when you recognize the layout of the land. It is a large, open field. The park ranger said that the plane came in at over 500 mph and flipped onto its top.
It was a solemn visit, like many national monuments. But something about the 9/11 monuments are different to me, probably because I remember that day so well. Most of the monuments and museums I’ve traveled to in my life memorialize things that happened long before I was born. And as my husband pointed out as we made our way along the walking path, there were young kids there who were not even alive when 9/11 happened. To them, 9/11 will be like the Vietnam War — something horrific that their parents lived through.
I didn’t really feel much like taking pictures at the memorial, but I did take one:
When I was growing up, my grandma would always say to count the number of black rings the woolly caterpillar has on his back and that will tell you how long our winter will be. This guy only had a couple black rings, which means a short winter.
Here’s hoping. I’m already ready for summer again.
What did you do this weekend? What’s an Old Wives’ Tale you remember your grandparents telling you?
In Kentucky, they make two things well: bourbon and thoroughbred racehorses. I got a little living history lesson yesterday when I took a roadtrip to just past Lexington in Woodford County, near Versailles. One of the more high-end bourbons, Woodford Reserve, is made there, and I took a tour of the beautiful facilities.
They had all kinds of neat trivia to share with us — like the fact that there’s a several million-gallon pond out back that is rigged to pump water inside the buildings if they catch on fire and pump the burning alcohol back into the pond. Prit.tee. cool.
Anyway, Woodford is a small-batch distillery, so they make only a fraction of what the big time bourbon companies churn out (like Wild Turkey). But that’s one of the things that makes it a really interesting place to visit. It’s small enough for them to take you through their operations and allow you to see every part of the process.
One thing I didn’t know is that Kentucky has great limestone water that is perfect for making whiskey. Apparently the water makes it taste fabulous. Surface water — not so much, so they go underground for the good stuff. They use corn, barley, and rye to make as their ingredients at Woodford. Kind of funny to think those innocuous ingredients turn into bourbon over the course of roughly 7 years. The fermentation process begins in these massive vats.
Once the alcohol is ready, it’s put into charred oak barrels. They even have a fun little barrel roll that comes out of the limestone building and goes into the building where the storage building. The barrels weigh about 100 pounds empty and about 525 pounds when full.
So I guess a little train track type thing is helpful for getting these things to the next building….
Once the bourbon goes inside the barrels, it’s stored for anywhere from 6 years on up… roughly around 7 years at Woodford. They likened the vintages to wine — where you keep it stored at different times to make different flavors. A lot of it evaporates each year from inside the barrel.
They have to take extra care in Kentucky because of the fault line they sit on… the building where the barrels sit is supposed to crumble around them if a disaster-size earthquake ever hits Versailles. Another cool piece of trivia.
All of this learning obviously makes people rather thirsty, so they round up the tour with a shot of Woodford near the gift shop. For $7, I can’t think of a better way to kill an hour in Central Kentucky.
And you can grab a passport for the Kentucky Bourbon Trail to have stamped each time you go to a distillery in the Commonwealth (you do know Kentucky is a Commonwealth and not a state, right?).
At the end of the tour, we saw this well-worn cat, whom the tour guide did not acknowledge…
Regardless, I dubbed him Woodford Cat.
It was a great little day trip for people in my neck of the woods. People who brew small-batch anything are always very proud of what they do, so anytime you have the chance to witness something like that, take advantage.
What’s your favorite bourbon drink? Mint julep? Manhattan?
I always think it’s fun to read the “36 Hours in…. [insert major city here]” series in the New York Times. I think it’s high time that someone made one for Huntington, West By God Virginia. Maybe if The Times asks nicely, I will let them reprint it (with my byline, of course).
Huntington is one of the largest cities in West Virginia, but it’s more of a town by most people’s standards. Read on to find some of the best spots in town you can hit up in 36 hours:
Start your day with a warm cup of coffee and a breakfast cookie at River & Rail Bakery in Heritage Station. The coffee there has just the right amount of strength and the baked goods are the best in town. Stand in line for half the time that you would at Starbucks, in addition to enjoying the friendly service and the comradery the patrons who frequent the establishment.
After you get your caffeine fix, head over to one of America’s most scenic parks, Ritter Park. In the historic Southside area, this park is full of people and dogs any time of year and in all weather. On Sunday afternoons, you can even see grown men LARPing in the park (live-action role playing). It’s super fun for everyone.
After you’ve worked up an appetite, head over to Jewel City Seafood for a light lunch of crab cake and Caesar salad from owner Joe. The seafood is fresh and the diner-like ambiance is endearing.
After lunch, take a short drive to the Spring Hill cemetery, where some of the Marshall University football team’s plane crash victims are buried and a memorial has been built. A somber sight, no doubt, but it was an event that affected the entire town and still is remembered every year by the University. It even inspired a major motion picture, We Are Marshall, with actual movie stars. The cemetery is even home to graves of Civil War soldiers, officers, and generals, so it’s worth the trip.
As the evening draws near, head to Pullman Square, a recently revitalized area of town. Concerts, 5ks, and farmers markets take root here. It’s a great place to be in Huntington. Pottery Place is an especially great place to spend a few hours if the inspiration is there. (You can even take a bottle of wine to drink with your friends as you make a custom piece).
From there, it’s a short walk back to Heritage Station to check out some of the shops there before dinner. They have a locavore store, The Wild Ramp, which only stocks foods and products that were produced within 250 miles of the store. You can find artisan products in addition to some delicious organic produce, fresh meat, and Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams. At Heritage Station, there is also the Finds & Designs secondhand store, where you can find some great vintage treasures. Everything from evening dresses to blankets can be found, but the jewelry counter is my favorite place to hang out in there. There are a number of other shops worth checking out in Heritage, but as the list is growing it seems monthly, I’ll just direct you to go see what catches your eye.
For dinner, if you’re feeling extravagant, there’s no better place for my money than Savannah’s. The menu is inspired and well-rounded — my husband loves the lamb. They have an extensive wine list and sell my favorite beer, Sam Smith Nut Brown Ale. Whatever you do, make sure to save room for dessert. Any dessert will do.
After dinner at Savannah’s, only one place is fit to top off your night. Back to Heritage Station for Sip. A wine bar with a select few vintages on tap, you can try anything you’re unsure of in a 2 oz glass. I always get a flight like the Interesting Reds or the California Whites (avoid the wines with the “surprising minerality,” though). Ask the bartender for the best new bottle they have on tap this week.
After you close out slip, get some sleep. You need to be back to Heritage in the a.m. for Brown Dog Yoga.
Needing some time on the mat to think about all the fun things you’ve done in the preceding 24 hours and center yourself? Head to Brown Dog Yoga for a session (heated or not – check the schedule) with some of the best yogis in town. The beautifully renovated space is perfect to zen out.
After working up a sweat and an appetite, head over to Black Sheep Burrito & Brews for brunch (if it’s the weekend). They have all you can drink Bloody Marys and Mimosas for $8 a head (90 minute limit — please drink responsibly).
If you drink as many mimosas as you probably will when they’re an $8 free for all, you’ll probably need a nap before you can travel back to wherever you came from as you wrap up this 36-hour tour of Huntington.
But if you’re still up for a little excitement, head over to Colonial Lanes and bowl a few games. The prices are cheap and they sell beer by the pitcher that you can bring into the alley in the supposedly-haunted adjacent bar Rebels & Redcoats. Maybe see if you can spot a ghost– the stories about their size, gender and appearance vary widely, probably all made up by some really drunk people who were very bad at bowling.
Questions for you:
Are you a Huntington native? Did I leave out one of your favorite places?
I grew up with my grandma. I mean, I had other people in my life, but my parents divorced early, my grandpa passed away when I was in fourth grade, and my dad worked quite a bit. So most of the time, it was my grandma and me. My Mamaw, if you want to be specific about it. That’s a common name for a granny here in my neck of the woods, and it fit her. She didn’t like being called Grandma or Granny or Nana. She was a Mamaw.
She was a cancer survivor. She was a businesswoman. She was a tough lady. She was a feminist.
I know she wouldn’t call herself that, but that’s what she was. She moved to Huntington and worked in a bakery on Fourth Avenue before she was married. I lived on that same block when I moved here at 18. She gave me advice that I didn’t realize until years later that I had followed rigidly.
She would let you know when she was mad at you (she invented the silent treatment, I’m convinced). But she never stayed mad for long. She would be busy baking something within a few hours that she would need you to taste, so she would have to break the silence for candy icing cake and instant coffee.
Her words and wisdom enter my mind on a daily basis. When I tend to my garden, I realize that I innately understand how to take care of it because I used to help her when I was young. We used to grow rows and rows of corn, tomatoes, potatoes, and whatever else looked good that year. The first time we grew cantaloupes she was pretty annoyed at how they tried to encroach on the rest of her precious plants. I think she was ready to pull them up, roots and all. But she pressed on, and we had melons in abundance that year. So every time I plant my garden, and I water my plants, I think about her.
When I look at my feet, I remember a saying she had about the length of my toes. My second toe is longer than the big toe (I don’t think this is oh-so uncommon), but she said that meant that I was going to be the boss. The boss of what?The household? Life? The United States of America? I don’t really know, but I still think of that whenever I have the consciousness to think about the length of my toes.
She told me a million stories over the years, many of them from her youth, many of them from her years of marriage, so many of them from the decades she lived through, good and bad, before I came along. I worry that I will forget them. I know I will forget some of them, but I will hold onto the ones I can. And I will remember the essence of her, of what she stood for and what she meant to me, even if the details fade to time.