Coe Hall

I love a good history & literature connection. I love gardens and old houses. I love guided tours. And I love a good excuse to get out of the house. So, when I saw that the Planting Fields Foundation was hosting a Great Gatsby-themed event, I called to reserve my spot without skipping a beat.

Friends, in what will probably be a rarity in this space, I’d like to brag on the event organizer for a minute. Then I promise we can talk about the tour. But I would be remiss not to mention how stellar this experience was from the very beginning.

It started with a phone call. Yes, I had to call a person to reserve my spot on this tour. Do you know how refreshing it was to use the phone feature of my phone? And, in the digital age, to hear a human’s voice on the other end? It changed the whole tenor of my day. Here’s the simple but critical reason why: the staffer actually talked (and listened) to me.

She did more than reserve my spot and take my payment. She did more than talk at me about what the organization has to offer. This staffer invested her time in learning about my interest, provided prime parking information (which was, by the way, spot on!), and offered me her direct line so I could call her again. Not her email. Not an automated answering machine maze of death. Her actual telephone number.

She did all of this without making me feel like I was on a sales or fundraising call. It was like I, you know, actually mattered. If you’re scoffing at this, thinking “yeah ok, that’s not a revolutionary thought,” then please, pick up the phone and make a cold call. Pay attention to how you’re treated. Even when you’re a pleasant and potentially-paying customer, the person on the other end of the line may not be helpful — or even pleasant.

I know this because I have worked in many customer service roles. I know excellent service. Planting Fields Foundation provides it. If I wanted to make this blog ratings-centric (hard pass), I’d give them five gold stars. They’re incredible. So much so that when I showed up for my tour, I was a little worried their “shiny finish” would wear off, simply because the bar had been set so high from the outset. I was proven wrong — and gladly so.

Over the course of a 1.5-hour tour, our friendly docent took us:

(1) Across four wings — Spanning cloisters, entertaining spaces, working quarters, and reception areas, meticulously curated rooms transported us back in time to the early 1900s. My favorite find? Somewhere along the tour (take it to find out where!), an owl and a rooster are carved into banisters as directional markers. Think about it for a minute and you’ll know why.

(2) Up and down four floors — From the basement’s coal burners (rare tour inclusion!) to the fourth floor servant’s quarters (surprisingly nice!), we climbed more stairs than I normally climb in … well, a long time. Tour AND workout session? Yes please. I didn’t even miss the gym a little bit by the time we were done.

(3) On a fascinating journeyComparing the wealth and lifestyle of the Coes to that of Fitzgerald’s fictional Gatsby, the docent let the house’s grandeur shine, while also clearing up common misconceptions about life on the Gold Coast. One of the starkest contrasts? While Gatsby lived in his mansion, families like the Coes would have vacationed to Long Island mostly on weekends in the fall and spring. How much did it cost to furnish this “quaint country house?” A cool $200 million. In 1918 dollars. Who wants to adjust that for inflation?

There were so many impressive things about this tour. Besides the cool facts you can learn — did you know the Coes had a three-room walk-in refrigerator? and that it took 7,800 pounds of ice to keep it cool? — the space itself is breathtaking. Its balance of utility and beauty, masterful.

My pictures hardly do it justice, but here are a few favorites, mostly of things people tend to forget about when they’re staring at period artwork the size of Everest. I’ve had lifelong love affairs with texture, pattern, and light, so this house was like my own personal heaven. Was I fan-girling? Absolutely and unapologetically. Don’t laugh too hard. You might be joining me in that camp sooner than you think.

The Windows:

The Ceilings & Floors:

The Woodwork: 

Tempted by what you see? Go check it out for yourself!

My ticket for this heavenly experience was only $7. Parking was $8 for the day. Yeah, I shelled out $15, but I’d rather spend my time walking here than sitting down at the movies or sitting at home staring at my own windows and ceilings (yes, I do this. yes, it’s embarrassing. no, I’m not here to be fake and hide embarrassing things from you).

With everything there is to do on-site, you can totally make a full day of this trip. Bring a small picnic and sit on the lawn — or don’t, and eat at the new restaurant at the Hay Barn. Walk around the beautiful gardens. Visit one of the museum’s other exhibits (they have Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney’s sculptures right now!). Get your “Music in the Garden” on or find another event that’s more your style.

Whatever you do, just go. And prepare to be impressed by the grounds, the people, the whole experience. At 100 years young, Coe Hall  and the Planting Fields Foundation will make you feel like time stands still. And if you’re anything like me, that’s a good thing, because you won’t want the experience to end.

***

P.S. Want to know where you can find this Long Island gem? Here’s their address:

Planting Fields Arboretum State Historic Park
1395 Planting Fields Road
Oyster Bay, NY 11771

Want more information before you go? Check out their website!

Or read/watch CBS Sunday Morning’s feature, A Gilded Age Treasurehere.

Palisades Interstate Park

We — Husband, Salem, and I — love to hike. When the weather and my knees are both cooperative, it’s out the door we go, and into the great outdoors. We’ve had some great adventures through the years. Lucky for us, we haven’t had to go far to find them.

This weekend we had to go a little further. You might even say a line was crossed. Before I continue, New Yorkers, you might want to sit down. And actually, if that seat has a belt, fasten it. Then take steady, full breaths. What I’m about to tell you may be shocking.

We ok? Alright, feel free to keep reading. But for goodness sakes, keep breathing too.

On Saturday, our family went all the way to — brace yourselves — New Jersey. Miraculously, we lived to tell the tale. A tale of bravery, a tale of adventure, a tale of…yeah, none of those things, but we definitely had a good time and we might even go back.

The Palisades Interstate Park is an hour and change from where we live. Before anyone balks or uses that as a reason not to go, remember that it usually takes this long to get anywhere in the greater NYC metro area. I promise, the drive is worth it. Especially if you know which way to go.

When you travel, please ignore your GPS device, which will probably tell you to take the GW.  If you do this, you’ll just sit in standstill traffic for upwards of an hour, while simultaneously doubling your commute time and your blood pressure reading. Not something to strive for. Instead, try the Tappan Zee. Then snake your way through charming cliffside towns, which offer spectacular views of the Hudson River between people’s homes and the lush greenery that probably looks even better in the fall.

If the drive is pretty, the park itself is spectacular. Straddling New York and New Jersey with over 100,000 acres of protected land, historic landmarks, and of course hiking trails, Palisades Interstate Park offers unobstructed views of the Hudson. I knew the river was impressive, but mercy, it’s just one of those things you have to see in person to fully appreciate. At the State Line Lookout, the highest point, Husband and I took a few photos.

Just a preview of life about 500 feet in the air.

Really, go see it for yourselves! If I showed you all the best stuff, you might never go. Along with these views, you’ll find a small cafe, clean indoor public bathrooms, a free parking lot, and ample green space with picnic tables you can enjoy with friends and family before or after your hikes.

On this particular trip, we headed down the Long Path (aqua trail), so that we could reach the state line and be those cheeseballs who’re in two places at once. And we did that, but all kidding aside, this hike is called “long” and “moderate” for a reason. The first part is deceivingly easy. Then you hit the stairs. There’s a lot of them. They’re uneven. And along a super-steep grade. They should be taken seriously.

If stairs are a deal-breaker, you might enjoy taking the fork (decently marked) to loop back toward the old state highway / trailhead and cafe where you started. I was surprised and grateful to see that option available, as I have bad knees that aren’t always compatible with downhill anything. Alternatives are also nice no matter your ability or experience levels.

For those interested, Salem had no trouble along our hike, but we kept her on a tight leash so her exuberance for life didn’t send her off a cliff. Yes, this was a very real fear of ours mine. Pictured below: walking/hiking with our curious, triumphant pup.

Another insider tip? If you go early in the day, you will avoid the crowds (this place is pop-u-lar) and stay cool, however brisk your walk. Admittedly, for us “brisk” is relative, because Salem stops to “boingle” every five seconds. This means she puts her nose to the ground and refuses to budge until maximum sniff has been achieved. We have yet to figure out what her measurement or evaluation systems entail. It’s a work in progress. Meanwhile, we’re just glad for the time with her, and with each other, in places we might not ordinarily be. Yes, that includes New Jersey. Yes, we highly recommend it. And yes, we challenge you to call it anything other than beautiful when you’re there.

Banana Bars

Hey friends.

So remember when I said the nice weather wouldn’t last on Long Island? Well, I was right … for the wrong reasons. Gone are the days of 80 and sunny, replaced by 60s and rainy, rather than the insufferably hot and humid days I expected. Outdoor activities are still not a great idea. Know what is? An Eating Noms post! Get ready to expand your belt loops, folks. This one’s worth it!

The Eats Deets:

Recipe: Chocolate Chip Banana Bars (slightly edited), from Butter with a Side of Bread.

Yield: 24 bars, but we’ll see how long that lasts….

Time: 30 minutes

Materials: Mixing device, baking sheet, oven, and the ingredients!

Pros: Simple ingredient list and directions, easily customizable, makes the house smell a-ma-zing.

Cons: You gotta love bananas (I do!) because they’re super flavor-forward.

Would you make it again? Would? Will. This recipe is delicious and is a great way to give some love to those bananas no one buys at the store because they’re not bright green. We all have the power to make small, impactful choices, peeps. Don’t let good food go to waste.

The Eats Story:

We had a bunch (ha! see what I did there?) of really ripe bananas in the house. We also had some Hershey’s nuggets in the freezer (frozen chocolate = the best chocolate). And as you may have guessed from the last Eating Noms post, we usually have flour and brown sugar. I just needed to find a recipe that would pull this goodness together. Enter: Butter with a Side of Bread.

I mentioned above that I slightly edited their recipe. Here’s what differed: I swapped chopped nugget bars for chocolate chips. I also left the cinnamon out and used one less banana because I only had four on-hand. They were still so, so good. I’m not sure the recipe needs either ingredient, but hey, go wild! And while you’re at it, you might consider adding other ingredients like walnuts or almonds, because again, this recipe has loads of potential for personalization.

The Eats Results:

So, when I hear the term “bar” in reference to food, I tend to think of something crunchier than what we ended up with. They’re not really like a cookie or cake, either, so I guess we can still call them bars with a straight face. Just wanted to give the heads-up for anyone who has a “texture thing” or is a “bar purist.”

Meanwhile, just look at how delicious these babies are! I wish I could show you how good they smell — alas, the internet isn’t that sophisticated yet. You’ll just have to make them to find out for yourself.

Let me know what you think!

Walt Whitman’s Birthplace

Yesterday, we hit a beautiful 80 degrees on Long Island.

Unfortunately, days like this won’t last long. As we round the corner from spring to summer, time outside will be limited to beach-faring and BBQing, when it’s too hot to even think about doing much else. With that in mind, I decided to get out and do something fun.

I’ve known about The Walt Whitman Birthplace and Interpretive Center for about a decade. A college professor shared news of this under-the-radar gem in a literature course, but until now I haven’t lived close enough to easily go visit.

Looking back on my short trip, I’m so glad I finally went! The grounds boast a museum, charming outdoor space, oodles of period details (like a desk from Whitman’s time as a teacher), and a first edition of Leaves of Grass (poetry fans out there, you’ve gotta see this!).

The only catch? It’s definitely well-nestled in its surroundings. So well-nestled, in fact, that I almost missed the turn into the small parking lot, which accommodates about a dozen cars at once.

Historic site signs help guide your journey from major highways, but local street signs are small and hard to read. Add that to the fact that the address says Huntington Station, but locals call it West Hills, and woof. But never fret, if you get lost, the site is minutes away from the Walt Whitman Mall. (Un)fortunately, you can’t miss that landmark. And remember, finding a new place is half the fun of going!

Once you’ve arrived, I’d recommend investing in the guided tour, as that is what allows you to go in the house. Tickets are only $6, and the docents are highly knowledgeable and great with kids. That alone is worth the ticket price. Of course there were also fun things to see, try and learn along the way.

For instance, did you know that the Whitmans had a private water well a couple dozen yards from their front door? This would have been a luxury in their time. It was actually operational until the mid-20th century, when rapid development in the area shifted the water table so dramatically that it completely dried up. I won’t go on the environmental rant I’m super tempted to start right now, but suffice it to say that there are opportunities to reexamine our footprints on this earth all the time. And they’re closer to home (wherever you live) than you might expect.

Another added bonus? Because my tour group was small, we had more time to ask fun (annoying?) questions of our docent. Ask about the Prussian Blue paint or why the closets on either side of the fireplace are such a big deal, if and when you go. They both get interesting answers!

Guided tours not your thing? Check out their additional programming, which ranges from the artistic to the academic. Did you know they have poetry readings and research-quality libraries? Yeah, you might have guessed that. Ok, what about art shows? Or writers-in-residence? Or meeting spaces? Pretty cool, huh? More than a few reasons to make the drive! Here’s the address in case you’re ready to ask Google, Siri, Cortana or Alexa for directions:

The Walt Whitman Birthplace and Interpretive Center

246 Old Walt Whitman Road

Huntington Station, NY 11746

Still on the fence? Check out their website!

Want some additional reading? Try this article from the Long Island Press (2013), or this one from the New York Times (1992), about Whitman’s Long Island roots. Needless to say, there’s room for more voices in this conversation. Who’s up for the challenge?

Ready …. go.

P.S. Extra credit for anyone who knows what Paumanok means!

Santopolo’s “the light we lost”

“There was so much beauty in our life together.

Maybe that’s where I should start.”

Lucy  Carter, Prologue

the light we lost

I didn’t go to Columbia. For undergrad, I went elsewhere in New York, and although I got in to Columbia for my master’s, I headed north to Boston instead.

In this sense, I’m dissimilar to Jill Santopolo, author of the light we lost.

I also wasn’t in NYC on 9/11. I remember exactly what I was doing that morning. I was taking a middle-school American history test in North Carolina.

In that sense, I’m also not like Santopolo’s main character, Lucy, who was in college at Columbia on that fateful day.

But I found myself, in ways that weren’t always comfortable, while reading the light we lost.

I have experienced love. I have experienced loss. I have struggled to understand how the universe moves, and whether or not we have any real say in what happens in our lives. I have moved, I have changed direction, and at times I’ve dug my heels in when I should have changed or moved but didn’t. I’ve also dealt with the blessings and consequences of these decisions. These are the ways I found myself in Santopolo’s work.

I should mention that I don’t read romance novels. Not normally. My life has — for better and for worse — enough real drama to last a lifetime. But I knew I had to read this one. So I went to the store, purchased it, and prepared to cry. And then I did.

I cried for Lucy and Darren and Gabe. I cried for their families and friends. I cried for New York. And yeah, I cried for me, too. I cried tears that I’d probably been needing to cry for years. And that was the best gift I could have given myself. The permission to feel big, scary feelings, about big, scary things.

A book that elicits that level of feeling, and builds a world where that feels both safe and real, transcends genre categorization. It is, quite simply, a great book. And because it is a great book, I’m here saying: go ahead, meet love and grief between the covers of the light we lost. Realize that the beauty of Santopolo’s work is in how she’s captured raw and complex things in a way that makes us less afraid to look them dead-on. Maybe even agree that her work defies the reductive label “romance novel.” And then try not to act surprised when you hear that she transcends literary categorization in other, surprising ways.

***

P.S. If you’re interested in Santopolo’s thoughts on the light we lost, I’d start with:

This blog post, by Santopolo, for Penguin Random House Audio.

This interview for Entertainment Weekly.

This interview for Washington Independent Review of Books.

When Without Internet

So y’all … I spent ALL of last week without the Internet.

know, I was surprised too. Nary a day goes by where my view doesn’t resemble the featured image (a flat surface and a computer). But we’re having the house painted, which is a huge job, so there’s been no web access here.

I wasn’t sure what to do with myself for the first few days. I hate sitting still, and watching paint dry isn’t as fun as it sounds. Thankfully I got past it and ended up living a way fuller life than I normally do. During our post-net reality, some of the biggest wins became:

(1) I talked to people — with our actual voices and sometimes even in person. Did you know that it’s possible to be social outside the world of social media? Spoiler alert: it is. And it’s glorious. We’re social creatures, humans. So put down or walk away from whatever screen you’re using to engage with the world … and actually engage.

(2) I cleaned my house from top to bottom. We do a major surface scrub down every week. Last week I also did the chores we have a habit of making less time for (i.e. wiping down the space between the window and the sill, where dirt and bugs can accumulate if you aren’t careful). While I can’t make this an honest celebration of willpower, I totally plan to celebrate not doing gross chores for at least another week.

(3) I thought up a bunch of cool places to go visit on Long Island. Husband is from here but I am not. This makes us in the extreme minority of couples, at least in the part where we live. One of my goals this year is to get out and experience more by myself, so I can feel as much at home independently as I do when Husband is around. Currently on the list? A few gardens and museums, the aquarium, and finding more small/local businesses to explore.

(4) I read two books. One was a novel from a Long Island-based author. One was history-based from a North Carolina journalist. Both were spectacular and you’ll hear more about them later — stay tuned, friends. Meanwhile, I had a blast kicking off my “find more local art/ists” project with these reads!

(5) I spent time outside. Beyond daily walk(s) with the dog, or short trips to the mailbox, my time in the great outdoors has been limited of late. Part of this is the weather — raise your hand if you’re over “Spr-inter,” too!  — and part of this is me. Last week I had a good excuse to get fresh air, so guess what? I did. Must remember to make more good excuses going forward.

(6) I joined a community group. I have this nasty habit of not wanting to get close to people, because I’m never in one place long enough to properly deal with the inevitable heartbreak of leaving. It’s been over a year since we moved into this house. It’s high time I put my self(ish) preservation aside and became a contributing member of our community. I was proud of myself for this small act of courage. Let’s hope it sticks.

(7) I got my introspection on. I hate, hate, hate to think about my life. It stresses me out, either because it’s not moving fast enough, or because it’s moving too fast. So I tend to avoid introspection. Sometimes it’s helpful, though. This was one of those times. Last week I reassessed some big goals, came up with creative approaches to current and future work, re-prioritized the people and things that matter most to me, and put the rest aside for the moment. That felt really. damn. good.

In the spirit of that feeling, I encourage you to spend less screen time, and spend more time doing the things you love, with the people you love, in the places you love. Because that’s what life is all about, no matter what corner of the world you call home.

Weiss’ “if the creek don’t rise”

“If I got a special life to plan, then I’m in a pickle cause nobody told me and I don’t know the first thing bout how.”

Sadie Blue,  p.212

if the creek don’t rise

I don’t know Leah Weiss, but we’re both originally from North Carolina — something I learned when I picked up her book. It was sitting there on the shelf next to a handful of other “new releases,” and I was fresh off a deep-dive into Appalachian everything, so the title grabbed my eye.

During my first read of Weiss’ novel, I had difficulty. It took me about 50 pages to get the voice of her characters properly situated. Some of the language they used, I was familiar with. Some of it, I was not. Truth be told, I was wholly unprepared for this book, which is an interesting place to be. It leaves you ready to learn.

Over the course of some heartbreakingly human events, Weiss shares important lessons that we’d all do well to ponder more — or at least differently:

(1) We’ve got to do better about ensuring that all people have access to opportunity, but we can’t lose sight of the importance of basic needs — food, water, safety, shelter and love — in the process.

(2) We’ve got to do better about being aware of our motivations. Wouldn’t it be great if we had a stronger lens on this more of the time? This isn’t to say that we’d necessarily make different decisions, but maybe we would, if we knew what we were really after in life, and how that affects others around us.

(3) We’ve got to do better about NOT believing that cultures can or should civilize other cultures. There’s much we can learn from each other — we are all students, we are all teachers, and we’d all do well to listen at least as much as we speak.

and finally

(4) We’ve got to do better about remembering that there’s more than one side to every story. This includes being aware of power dynamics that enable one narrative or a series of narratives to dominate over others.

On that note, I’d encourage y’all to spend some time with the residents of Baines Creek. They may not have all the answers, but they ask questions that matter. And you don’t find that everywhere.

***

P.S. For those interested in a deeper dive, I’d recommend starting with:

This book review from NPR/Book Reviews.

This interview with The News & Advance.

Brown Sugar Pound Cake

Recently I discovered the joy of baking.

Most recent attempt: brown sugar pound cake. The recipe I followed didn’t come from my mom, or her mom, or anyone’s mom for that matter. It came from the back of a cardboard box.

As a self-respecting Southerner I should probably be ashamed to admit that. But as a new baker, forging new traditions in a new place, the recipe on the back of a Domino Light Brown Sugar box suited me just fine.

I followed this recipe to a T and it was delicious. What made it even better? An overnight stay in the fridge — covered, of course — and then sliced thick with a dollop of whipped cream and a generous portion of strawberries.

Have another toppings suggestion, or another pound cake recipe to try?

Send them this way!

Edge’s “The Potlikker Papers”

“[A]sk questions about who we are and how we got here, about who cooks, who cleans, and who earns a seat at the welcome table.”

– John T. Edge, The Potlikker Papers, p.5

A few months ago, I wandered into my local bookstore looking for something medicinally Southern. After I paced a few uninspiring aisles, I found a hardcover someone had clearly misplaced.

I used to work in retail, and I get how maddening it can be for associates to constantly find and replace items that people scatter across the floor in the moments where they find something “better” than what they’ve got in-hand.

Unable to resist, I picked up the book and resolved to put it back where it belonged. That book was The Potlikker Papers: A Food History of the Modern South, and as it turns out, its proper place was with me.

Since that day, I’ve seriously savored Potlikker. And while I’m not a professional book reviewer, I do want more people to hear about this text, so I’m thrilled to feature it as my first Reading Words entry on the blog. Here we go!

As a Southerner, history major, food lover and woman, I was given so many reasons to fall “in like” with Potlikker Papers. Among them:

(1) There’s a cohesive narrative about how the famed “New South” came to be, and it does justice to both the opportunities and consequences of this cultural shift. In the process, Edge helped me realize that I wasn’t totally out of my mind to worry about the idea of home — both up North and in North Carolina.

(2) The book treats women as the serious contributors that we are — and indeed, always have been. To see this done, and to see it done in a way that doesn’t just start with Julia Child and end with Ina Garten, was refreshing. Not all women make the history books, but our stories are part of something that matters. It is never a bad day when someone else realizes this.

(3) It’s near-impossible to strike a true balance between hyper-local foodie writing and something that most people would label as “capital H” history. Edge’s people’s history has come pretty darned close. Many cultures contribute to the beautifully complex tapestry that is the American South. Edge has a knack for making sure we know about more of them, without presuming to have “found” or “discovered” them himself. Bravo, sir.

More broadly, my reaction to Edge’s book would not be complete without addressing how the South gets viewed. In many respects, Edge and I are in agreement. The South is not perfect — far from, as a matter of fact. But this does not excuse or explain America’s long, bizarre tradition of “yo-yo-like” changes in our cultural acceptance threshold.

Up and down, our perceptions of the South go up and down on the tiniest of threads, controlled by what feels like one user at a time, many of whom are ignorant to how the South has changed, is changing, or will continue to change.

In times of professed love, I’ve seen a range of reactions, from cultural appropriation, to patronization, to relocation, and everything in between. And I’ve only been on this earth since the ’80s, which is to say, not that long.

In times of disdain, reactions are more sinister, and usually kick off with a piece from someone who feels they “know better” in their chosen medium of record. Even if you don’t recognize their names, you’d recognize their voices, because the attitudes and beliefs they communicate invariably trickle down to everyday people like you and me.

The tragedy is that, in both of these times, Southern culture as it really exists — in all of its complex people, places, looks, sounds, feels, smells, and tastes — gets completely lost. And to be perfectly clear, this is dangerous for more than the American South.

So, what can we do in the face of this challenge? We can keep the conversation going, keep sharing stories of what life is really like, keep asking important questions, keep welcoming others into the fold as things grow and change. And we’ve got to start, like many foods we should probably eat more of, from the ground, up. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to pick up a copy of Edge’s book in the process. Let’s get cooking.

****

P.S. For those with further interest, I’d recommend starting with:

This interview with NPR/The Salt.

This interview with Saveur.

This interview with the Southern Register / Center for the Study of Southern Culture.

See what nags at you from these pieces, then keep digging, keep reading, keep listening. This region, its people, their voices have been ready to be heard for a long time.

How ready are we to hear them?

We’re All a Little North by North Carolinian

Born into a family who worked really hard to put down stable roots in North Carolina, I suppose I should have stayed there. Instead, I went to college far from home, met the New Yorker who would become my husband, and now live in a small, suburban community on Long Island.

Husband and I are very lucky. In addition to each other, we each gained a new home (and friends and family) through our union. I gained New York, he gained North Carolina, and we wouldn’t have it any other way. But this doesn’t mean life is perfect. I have to acknowledge that, from time to time, it can be hard to live as a Southerner in the elite club of generations-long Long Islanders. I miss the voices of the South, the foods, the sounds, the smells, the entire way of life — one which, through the process of assimilation, I must often hide if not outright deny in order to be taken seriously.

I have an incredibly supportive spouse. And his family and friends have been welcoming since the earliest days of our courtship, but unfortunately I cannot be around these loving souls all the time. Outside of this support system, the process of assimilation can be lonely and terrifying. In this environment, it’s hard to find other people like me, or at least other people who’re open to knowing people like me.

I started to grapple honestly with this predicament about a year ago — with trusted friends, with family, in church, at work, in other writing projects, basically everywhere the topic nagged at me. Since we carry our identities with us everywhere, and since the world around me isn’t always welcoming, that nagging happened a lot. And then it started to happen even more, and grew even stronger, to the point where I knew I had to do something about it. I knew that I could no longer hide in silence. Especially because, through earlier work and conversations, I knew I wasn’t the only person out there experiencing this struggle — and it wasn’t just happening in New York. Stories like ours are about the struggle to build a loving home, a way of life, in any place that, quite frankly, would rather we weren’t there at all.

There are several ways to build a life in these scenarios:

(1) Deny everything about yourself, and learn very quickly how to do life in a completely different way, in completely different words and meals and jobs and goals and expectations, and then prepare to find out that sometimes, even when you play by every rule, those around you won’t see past the person they want you to be.

(2) Build community with others like you, if you can find them, to celebrate and protect your heritage. Society may rail against everything about you, but you can build collective agency, and at least have others to cry or laugh with about the social experiment your lives have become.

(3) Grow an insanely thick skin and resist the actors that seek to silence you, but do this because of and through love. Love takes a helluva lot more strength than hate. But it also has the greatest capacity to affect change, so it’s worthwhile if you can master it.

Spoiler alert: I’ve tried 1 and 2 before. Both helped, but were more reactive than I’d prefer. I’m onto the third attempt now, and that attempt is this space, North by North Carolinian. Rather than deny or simply expose the factors that have the potential for harm (and many do), this space will take up the yoke of building more open-mindedness, trust and love for others who aren’t always like us. This space is dedicated to celebrating the good in different, if not altogether divergent, cultures.

At a time when I desperately miss home, I feel compelled to collect the stories, recipes, music, art, and culture that speak to who I am, rather than being made to forget what they mean to me, a North Carolinian up North.

At the same time, I feel compelled to lift up and celebrate what makes life up North lovely and full. There are so many stories, recipes, and pieces of culture that matter and help me create meaning here, as I make my life and my home in the great state of New York.

Each of these places, each of these cultures, are wildly beautiful. Each of them matter. And so do their people. With this in mind, I hope North by North Carolinian accomplishes something positive, however simple it may seem on the surface. I hope it opens minds and hearts. I hope it elevates conversations. I hope it highlights and preserves heritages rather than destroying or minimizing them over fear of difference. And as one, small act of love and resistance, I hope it amplifies the light from many people, places and things who seek to remind us that we all matter, all of the time.

Join me in the process of building a life between and as part of two cultures. May we all be brave enough to honestly examine and own ourselves, and in the process may we come to see that we are all needed, exactly as we are, exactly where we are, for as long as we choose to be there.