Heather's 20 Things

1. Kentucky basketball. Not just the storied Wildcat program-- the sheer love for the game that transcends race, gender, geography, and socioeconomic lines across every little corner of the Commonwealth. From the way everyone congregates at the Hyatt before UK games to the way every high school ball game is a sellout.

2. Maker's Mark.

3. Dwight Yoakam. He's from Floyd County, and so am I. Even if you don't enjoy his glam-country rockabilly sound (a position I can't personally imagine, but whatevs), you have to love his brilliant acting turns as the husband attending divorce mediation in Wedding Crashers or the abusive drunk in Slingblade.

4. These two houses in Gratz Park. My favorite houses anywhere in the world.

5.  The Highlands.

6. The recently departed Gatewood Galbraith -- a true gentleman whose unique voice will be sorely missed in the state political arena.

7. The Oaks. 

8. George Clooney. He's a beautiful man.

9. Jenny Wiley Theatre. (We're not going to discuss the whole "moving to Pikeville" thing. I can't talk rationally about it.)

10. Louisville Stoneware.

11. The Lexington Junior League Horse Show .

12. The New Year's Day Pajama Party at Lynn's Paradise Cafe.

13. The Seelbach.

14. Discovering Kentucky with my dogs. From Cherokee Park to Ashland's Central Park. From snowy days in the Eastern Kentucky mountains to sunny Saturdays on Molly Malone's patio.

Baby Max in Cherokee Park, 2007.

15. The Old Courthouse.

16. The Kentucky Governor's Scholars Program. Where I met my future husband, though it would take me more than a decade to figure it out.  Where so many friendships, partnerships, and relationships were sealed.  Where at least one friend's husband learned to crochet.

17.  The University of Kentucky's campus.

18. Kentucky politics. Hilarious. Fascinating. Infuriating.

19. Cheapside.

20. Derby Glasses.

Jerry's

via Facebook.

The big news in my hometown this week is that Jerry's is closing.

I know what you're thinking.  Jerry's? Isn't that like a Frisch's or a Denny's? It's a diner.  That isn't ironic. Why is that worth mentioning?

Well, you're right.  Jerry's is was a Kentucky-based chain of diners that offered up an old-fashioned family-style eating experience.  The menu offered the usual diner fare- country fried steaks, hot fudge cake, and steak fries.  In our small town, however, Jerry's was so much more than a diner.  It was a meeting place for over four decades.  The old drive-in booths were apparently all the rage when my parents were in high school.  When I was a kid, the Prestonsburg Jerry's was the See-and-be-Seen place.  If you ate there on a Friday night, or on the night of a big high school basketball game, you always had to build at least 20-30 minutes of  chatting into your dining schedule.  It really was the town social center.  My granny and her friends used to take in their weekly Weight Watchers meetings at the church next door, then head over for dinner at Jerry's.  Perhaps their tradition was a little counterproductive, but it was just what you do.

via Floyd County Times

Jerry's was just one of those traditions.  Like many traditions, though, its time has passed.  Our little town now offers more exotic (and, arguably, better) fare -- barbecue, Mexican food, high-end sandwiches.  The last time I ate at Jerry's, I found that my tastes really no longer ran toward the fried fish dinner that I adored when I was a kid.  Still, it's sad to know that my hometown's landmark gathering place is facing its final days.  All small towns evolve, but it doesn't always feel like they get better.

In the two weeks before Jerry's closes, I hope to make a visit for one last piece of hot fudge cake and a huge side of nostalgia.  Y'all are invited to tag along, if you have an hour or so to socialize.

Soda Pop

When I moved to Kentucky at the age of twelve, I remember there being such a big shock to my system. No, it wasn't a different accent or slightly colder weather. It was first hearing someone offer me a "pop."

Was this some slang term for beating me up? No, they were offering me a coke. (Not Coke with the capital C, because it could have been a Coke or Pepsi, or heavens forbid, a RC).  Never in my Georgian life had I heard the word "pop" to refer to the fizzy, calorie-laden carbonated beverage.

(image source)

I think I assimilated by calling it pop moving forward, however I still find myself wanting to refer it to Coke. Occasionally I'll get confused at call it soda. Now, when in doubt I just offer people bourbon. 

I noticed in this map of pop vs. soda, the state of Kentucky is divided. It seems like eastern Kentucky and Lexington are more likely to call it "pop," while Louisville and western kentucky call it "coke." 

Perhaps it makes no difference at all, unless you forget your manners and fail to offer anyone a frosty bevvy. That, my friends, is just plain rude.

What do you call it?

Her Kentucky Charities: God's Pantry

The holidays are over and most watercooler chat is about how much weight people gained over the break and how they need to lose weight.

Not everyone had the luxury of overindulgence.

God's Pantry is a Lexington-based food pantry that has been serving 50 central and Eastern Kentucky counties for over 50 years. Their mission is simple: to reduce hunger in Kentucky.

Some facts:

• The typical person visiting a pantry is a white female in her 40's with a family of three. She may have finished high school and if she is working is likely earning minimum wage. She doesn't own a car so she must walk, ride a bus or arrange for a ride to the pantry with family or friends.
• 50% of parents needing assistance skip meals so that their children can eat 
• 1 out of 6 report skipping meals daily
• 40% of all those served are children
• For every $10 donation, God’s Pantry Food Bank can distribute 45 meals to a family in need. A donation of $19 can provide a a family of four with a week’s supply of food.
• 161,000 pounds of food is needed MONTHLY to stock the pantries in Fayette County (Lexington) alone
• In 2011, God's Pantry distributed over 22.9 MILLION POUNDS of food, yet the demand is still growing faster than resources can meet.

Learn more about God's Pantry on their website, or on Facebook. Next time you sit down with a full belly, please consider donating to this great organization.

In Photos: My Quilts

When I was growing up, I thought everyone had a stack of quilts in their closet.

Hearts.

Some were used on the beds, and some were used to just throw around. 

Max models a Lilly Pulitzer patchwork.

Sometimes, you used a quilt as a picnic blanket.

Double Wedding Ring.

Sometimes, you used a quilt to pack furniture when you moved.

Grandmother's Flower Garden.

Only in recent years have I realized that my grandmother has sewn me an entire gallery of heirloom art.

Dresden Plate.

And some will be used,

"Scarlett's Barbecue."

while others are displayed,

Morning Glory

and still others serve a utility.

Max's very own quilt.

Sophie gets her diva on.

But they all remind me of my Appalachian heritage

UK Patchwork

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State Lines (or, I'm a Regional Stereotyper)

I love getting my fellow Her Kentucky contributor Sarah Holland all riled up, y'all.  I may not always agree with her, but Good Lord, she always makes me think.

Sarah's recent blog entries, in response to my musings on Appalachia and in defense of the oft-ignored WKY, were no exception. As I read Sarah's insight that "I'm not from that part of Kentucky" is an easy mindset for so many Central and Western Kentuckians, I cringed a little.  I've seen that attitude a million times, and I've often assumed that people were thinking it,  but I've never really read it put forth so nakedly.  It stung for a second*, even though that view was put forth in a passionate essay about solidarity and love of the Bluegrass State.  And then, it hit me.  I'm just as guilty of this kind of segmented thought.

Northern Kentucky is basically Cincinnati.  I really only stop there to use the restroom or hit up the Florence Y'all on my way to a ball game or a concert.  I know some good folks from that area, but they're pretty much Cincinnatians anyway.   Now, do we have time to go to Tiffany's between dinner and the show?

People from Southern/South Central Kentucky drink Ski and listen to the Kentucky Headhunters, right?  And I think they have a lot of Catholic yard art...

Live in the East End of Louisville if you want to avoid the U of L fans. 

Western Kentuckians make that weird mutton barbecue.  And they sure do get out the vote for Ed Whitfield.

At some point in my life I have participated in all of those conversations.  They were good-spirited and joking.  They weren't intended to be critical or hurtful.  They were just off-handed observations.  And yet, they kind of were stereotypes.  Not in the methhead, hillbilly vein.  But a broad and overreaching means of describing people nonetheless.  Some of it was shorthand, based on the folks I've known from those areas.  Some of it was based on my very limited personal experience with these areas.  And some of it was meant solely in jest.  But it's also a reminder that I need to keep a little perspective when all Appalachian Kentuckians are lumped together.  Sometimes, it is an act of overt derision.  Sometimes, it's out of limited information.  And sometimes, it's nothing more than an unthinking joke. 

How about y'all? What are your experiences with Kentucky stereotypes?  Anybody want to meet up in NKY and have an afternoon at Tiffany's?

_________________________________________________________

*Sarah sent me the most gracious string of emails regarding this project, and could not have been more thoughtful and lovely about the entire endeavor. No Interwebz drama here, y'all.

On Appalachia...from the other side of the state

Remember last week when I stuck up for my region of Kentucky? When I bemoaned the mistreatment of the western part of the state and sliced up my allegiance along geographical lines?

Well, I meant it...sort of. But I also want to say this.

We are all Kentuckians.

When some in our state succeed, we should all claim it proudly. The reverse is also true. When some in our state suffer, we should all claim and work to end that suffering.

I lived out of state for six years. I heard my fair share of hillbilly jokes and stereotypical judgments. Never once was I able to defend myself by explaining that I was from the OTHER side of the state.

No one cared.

As long as a a large segment of the state's population lives in abject poverty, we will all be judged by that standard. And to be honest, we deserve to be. We should ache for the suffering of our Appalachian brothers and sisters, not try desperately to disown them or distance ourselves.

Sixteen of the 100 poorest counties in the United States are in Kentucky. The only state with more is Texas.  And this is not new to any of us. It has been that way for decades. We blame it on culture. We blame it on industry. We blame it on the people themselves.

We should be ashamed all right. But not on the media's portrayal of our state.

We should be ashamed of ourselves.