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Fetchin' and Carryin'

Fetchin' and Carryin' Fetchin' and Carryin' Dixie L. Thacker Appalachian Heritage, Volume 28, Number 4, Fall 2000, pp. 5-6 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.2000.0053 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/435874/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 20:13 GMT from JHU Libraries Fetchin' and Carryin' Dixie L. Thacker There was nothing in my previous experience to prepare me for the sadness and loss that I felt after my second, and last, child left home. I'd anticipated the desolation that I experienced upon coming into an empty home every evening and was, I think, even prepared for how much I missed both of my children's presences in my daily life. What I hadn't understood, though, was that my role in life had always been defined by the occupation of my hands. Suddenly, my hands were unfathomably empty. I spent my girlhood amidst a congregation of relatives who gathered at my maternal grandmother's every weekend. Our get- togethers were, for the most part, traditional. The men said thanks for each new sabbath from their golf carts, then sojourned home to spend the afternoon paying homage to the football gods between naps. Mother and her sisters kept family fire http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

Fetchin' and Carryin'

Thacker, Dixie L.
Appalachian Review , Volume 28 (4) – Jan 8, 2014
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University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
2692-9244
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2692-9287

Abstract

Fetchin' and Carryin' Dixie L. Thacker Appalachian Heritage, Volume 28, Number 4, Fall 2000, pp. 5-6 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.2000.0053 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/435874/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 20:13 GMT from JHU Libraries Fetchin' and Carryin' Dixie L. Thacker There was nothing in my previous experience to prepare me for the sadness and loss that I felt after my second, and last, child left home. I'd anticipated the desolation that I experienced upon coming into an empty home every evening and was, I think, even prepared for how much I missed both of my children's presences in my daily life. What I hadn't understood, though, was that my role in life had always been defined by the occupation of my hands. Suddenly, my hands were unfathomably empty. I spent my girlhood amidst a congregation of relatives who gathered at my maternal grandmother's every weekend. Our get- togethers were, for the most part, traditional. The men said thanks for each new sabbath from their golf carts, then sojourned home to spend the afternoon paying homage to the football gods between naps. Mother and her sisters kept family fire

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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