White Grass

Tucked away between two Alpine ski resorts in the Canaan Valley of wild and wonderful West Virginia is a unique place called White Grass. A sort of anti-yuppie ski area, White Grass is as much a state of mind as it is an authentic, fun-filled Telemark and Nordic ski area where old and young gather for real, outdoor winter fun, camaraderie, good food and conversation. With over 140" of snow provided by Mother Nature each year and no snow-making machines, it's been that way at White Grass since 1979. People come, then come back -- again and again. Season passes cost only $120, and everything there is affordable.

A fabulous kitchen serves up wholesome, natural foods with soups like white bean and kale, chicken with artichokes, vegetarian chili and an assortment of sandwiches and other delights. There is a bin for recyclables and one marked "Trashy Trash," and the signs on the beverage refrigerator read, "Love people -- Cook them healthy food" and "Peace happens when the hungry are fed." And people are fed by the hundreds -- people from as far away as Florida, Massachusetts, even Europe.



Crammed within the little ski shack, along with the kitchen and tables to share, are ski equipment, cold weather gear, maps, trail conditions, notices of special nature trail hikes on snowshoes or cross-country skis. Crammed into it, too, are happy people who know how to celebrate winter and keep fit without gym memberships or expensive equipment. They've found a way to be kids again, enjoying the snowfall and the scenery.

Driving into White Grass, you'll see flags from all over the world -- just like at the Olympic games. And there's a real yurt for warming up and having conversations, breathtaking scenery of the adjacent wildlife refuge, the surrounding mountains and the amazing Canaan Valley. What you won't see are long lines at the lifts (there aren't any), wi-fi cafes, many helmets or fancy ski duds. If you go out back, you'll find the "sauna and day spa," which looks like the picture above and slopes that look like this:  

There's a sort of half-inside/half-outside area where folks can sit a spell, get out of the wind, adjust their gear, sit and talk. Both inside and outside are friendly people and a whole lot of fun. Check it out on a website that is as unique as the place itself and alone provides more entertainment than most movies or shows I've seen (www.whitegrass.com). I can't wait to go back when there's more snow and the wind chill isn't 9 degrees, as it was on the day we were there. Maybe I can actually try to learn how to snowshoe or X-country ski. Meet me at White Grass. You'll be glad you came. It's just a happy place to be!

Area between inside and outside

Kids warming up inside (one with sock-monkey hat)

Bob foreground --"WV" made with old skis

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Merry Christmas to any of you who wander over to Ajax Rock to take a peek.


I wish for you an abundance of love, the wonder of a child,  peace and goodwill to all.


And may the light of life, the Christ child, be with you every minute of every day throughout the remainder of this year and next.

Welcome, winter

Today is the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year, when darkness wins out over light. But not for long. It may seem a long time until mid-March when the vernal equinox marks equal hours of darkness and light, but it's just a few short months from now. This is the time for winter people like me.

Fortunately for us, Christmas is just around the corner. And if Christmas is about anything, it's about the coming of Christ, the light of the world. The way it steals into the heart during these long and dark days is a joy for me. Out of darkness comes light, symbolized by the star of Bethlehem, which, by the way, was an actual, astronomical event. Scholars now believe that the magi were Zoroastrians in what is now Iran, and they set out to discover what the brilliant star in the East was and what it signified.


Whether Christian or Pagan, Jew or Muslim, agnostic or atheist, the solstice has long held great significance for people who have inhabited this planet. Stonehenge was built as a sort of temple to the two solstices, one signifying life and birth and the other the transition to death and whatever comes after this life.


I love winter -- the respite from heat and bugs and the relentless hop-scotching from one air-conditioned spot to another. Winter is a good time to rest and regroup, to reflect and to heal, to read and to burrow in. It has a beauty all its own where I live, the spare landscape revealing the skeleton of old trees, the flight of birds, and the wildlife that adapts to the changes in temperature.


Today in West Virginia, it feels more like spring than winter. But that, too, is a passing illusion. The animals know winter is about to bear down, people have their firewood stacked outside the door, and we know that we should go out to feel the warmth of the sun maybe one more time before it slips below the southern horizon, making way for the darkness to move in.

Wherever you are, celebrate the solstice as native peoples everywhere do. Rejoice! 

My day in court

Tomorrow I will have my day in court in another attempt to get what my divorce decree entitles me to. Of course, there are lawyers involved, and some of us might remember the character of Dick the Butcher in Shakespeare's Henry VI-- the one who uttered the memorable line, "The first thing we must do is kill all the lawyers." But Shakespeare being Shakespeare, a master of puns and irony and twisted meanings, Dick the Butcher isn't to be taken literally. The lawyers were actually seen as good guys in the play -- the guardians of independent thinking who stood in the way of the revolution Dick wanted.


 Well, love 'em or hate 'em, sometimes we need them. And as Beth pointed out one time, "If there's a next time, I want the really nasty lawyer on my side." I'd say mine isn't nasty, but she's not going to win "Miss Congeniality" either. 


My dad once said, "I expect a man has lived a pretty good life if he never needed a lawyer," to which I replied, "Amen." Alas, I've not escaped that fate. But in this case, I believe the judge, the person who will really hold a big chunk of my future in his hands, is a pretty fair person. Well, he is a man in a tug-of-war between former spouses, but I think he's a man who can be impartial, and that's what I'm hoping for. I just hope he's a happily married man, not one who has been taken to the cleaner's in a divorce hearing. I understand he is such a man -- responsible and happily married, that is.


So before I even step into the courtroom, with Beth and Mitch along for both moral support and needed expertise, I've been told that there will no doubt be a final hearing after this one. I just want a chance to sing my song -- or to have my attorney sing it for me. I just hope it's not over until the fat lady sings. Then we can bring the curtain down.

Sisters Forever: a Christmas story

Sunset on Sanibel Island. Shells that Beth describes as "ridiculous," meaning there are so many for the taking -- all beautiful and intricate, strewn along a white, sandy beach. A sunset boat cruise in the "Ding" Darling National Wildlife Refuge, where we will go to Rookery Island to see all kinds of amazing birds, coming in to nest for the night. A room for two at  Sanibel Sunset Beach Resort, with a picnic in our room and lots of creature comforts that neither Loie nor I are used to. This is our Sisters Forever Christmas present to each other. 

And we deserve it, really. I mean, how often do we actually see each other? We e-mail daily, and she has rope burns from holding the rope for me, her heavy sister. The last time I checked, neither of us is getting any younger, so some things just shouldn't be put off. This trip is one of them. 

In just five days, I'll hop a plane to Sarasota, and Loie will meet me there. The next day, we'll stroll like the old ladies we are down to Sanibel and Captiva Islands and take our good ole' time about getting there, leaving behind the Interstate and taking the slow lane. It's been so many years since I visited my sister that I can't remember just when it was. But it was December, before Momma and Daddy were gone. Loie was still tethered to the Pelican Post at the time, but now we're free to go into the wild blue yonder. And it looks something like this. 

Merry Christmas to Loisandnancy Simpkins. I can't wait!

Just a fortnight until Christmas Eve

So here we are, just two weeks before Christmas, and I'm wondering what your favorite part of the holiday is. Is it buying gifts, baking cookies, decorating, wondering what Santa Claus will bring you, listening to Christmas music, getting (and sending) Christmas cards? Or is holiday parties, Christmas specials on TV, an excuse to eat stuff you usually say no to -- wrapping presents, Christmas Eve church services, the hope for a white Christmas? 


Here, the shopping is done, some cookies baked and shared, the little tree from the dollar store decorated and keeping me company, and some decorations around the house. No cards written or sent yet and some ornaments I'd like to make.


I'm wishing only for some of my family to share Christmas with me, for things like a saner world, for everyone to be touched by the Christmas spirit, and for warm memories of Christmas past, joy in Christmas present, and peace for Christmas future. 

Bonding for "dummies"

First, let's look at Webster's definition of the word. 1. : the formation of a close relationship (as between a mother and child or between a person and an animal) especially through frequent or constant association
Looked at as a verb, to bond is "to establish a relationship with someone based on shared feelings, interests, or experiences."


Lois has pointed out that the Simpkins conversational style, which includes shouting from room to room, interrupting, highjacking the conversation, talking about ourselves, which is obnoxious and in poor taste, is actually recognized as a bonding conversational style. If it's understood within the group where it's used, it's not considered to be rude or out of line. On the contrary, jumping in with both feet is how it's done and identifies us as a member of the group we're bonding with (though some family members, I suspect, might prefer a more Shafer way of polite interaction to the rough-and-tumble Simpkins way).


I got to thinking about this business of bonding and why it's more important to some people than to others. To me, it seems like a primal urge, akin to the need for food and shelter and love, to bond with others. But I have a friend we'll call "Joe" for whom this bonding business is pretty alien, which is what started this quest to understand who bonds, how they do it, whether it's necessary for all of us, and how people go about it.


It may come as no surprise to know that the website "AskMen" claims that the top 10 way that men bond, in order of importance, are: 1) Going out for a beer after work; 2) grilling; 3) fishing; 4) watching the game; 5) shooting some hoops; 6) going to a strip club; 7) working out; 8) playing video games; 9) going to the barbershop; and 10) fixing something. Notice how action-oriented these things are, as opposed to the ways in which women I know bond. For men, it seems that playing, either together or side-by-side, is the key (though there is number 6, which is, well, very male of them, and number 9, which is, I guess, such a guy-thing that I'd have to hang out at barbershops to understand ).

From Wiki, we learn about pair bonding, maternal bonding, paternal bonding, human bonding, human-animal bonding, and something called a "limerent bond," which is someone's theory that I couldn't make any sense of.

What I'm curious about is why some people seem to bond naturally, while for others it seems to be an option -- or even something that they don't inherently need. Why is that, I wonder? Does it say something about the way we were raised, our psychological type, our personality, our birth order -- what?

Authoritative or not, I went to Wikipedia, looking for answers. Here's what it says: Human bonding is the process of development of a close, interpersonal relationship. It most commonly takes place between family members or friends,^[1] but can also develop among groups such as sporting teams and whenever people spend time together. Bonding is a mutual, interactive process, and is different from simple liking.

Bonding typically refers to the process of attachment that develops between romantic partners, close friends, or parents and children. This bond is characterized by emotions such as affection and trust. Any two people who spend time together may form a bond.

Then it goes on to discuss the neurobiology of bonding with some pretty heavy stuff that you can look up yourself, if you're interested

Whoa! Now, this is an interesting theory (further down in Wiki) that speaks to the ubiquity of social networking: Weak social bonds are believed to be responsible for the majority of the embeddedness and structure of social networks in society, as well as the transmission of information through these networks. Specifically, more novel information flows to individuals through weak than through strong ties. Because our close friends tend to move in the same circles that we do, the information they receive overlaps considerably with what we already know. Acquaintances, by contrast, know people that we do not, and thus receive more novel information.^[20]

Does this mean that the more social networking that goes on, the weaker our social bonds? Does facebooking replace real, bonding relationships with more but weaker social bonds? It surely seems that way to me, but I think a lot of people would disagree. For some, I'm sure facebooking is a kind of bonding.

And I have more questions: Is someone who is a self-described "loner" somebody who can't form close bonds or just somebody who doesn't want them? And is bonding a learned behavior or a biological drive? If bonding is about attachments, does the psychological theory of "detachment disorder" and its twin, the diagnosis of it as a bona fide disorder in the DSM-IV, mean that the lack of bonding leads to psychological and/or psychiatric problems?

There are men who bond in war-time, in team sports, at the bar, or by going to male drumming rituals; and I'm pretty sure that men bonded before the hunt in tribal cultures. And I know some men who have lifelong friends and buddies. But it seems to me that bonding is more important for women. I read the neurobiology part about oxytocin (not oxycontin) and vasopressin on Wiki, but I'm wondering if that's just hogwash. Is it in our DNA or because we're hard-wired by way of a maternal instinct that is the penultimate kind of bonding (albeit missing in many women)? 


I have a lot of questions but not many answers. My persistence in writing this blog is clearly borne out of a need to bond. I'm not sure why that's so, but while we're thinking about it, maybe we could all hold hands and sing "Kumbaya." Whaddya' think?

Christmas concert in the chapel

There's this incredible chapel on the campus of Mercersburg Academy, a private prep school in Penn., about an hour's drive from here. Even though it wasn't finished until 1928, it looks like it's always stood on that grassy knoll. The spire holds a carillon and is a replica of one at Oxford. Even the doors are works of art.  

And inside is a feast for the eyes and soul--the stained glass windows, the stone and wood, the huge organ, the way the light slants in. Now, imagine it filled with a full orchestra, a large choir and, as they say on Broadway, SRO.


Imagine further that the chapel was built for music, for sound to swell and echo to its great heights, then rebound to cocoon the listener in a way that  surround sound can only dream of. And now, close your eyes and imagine selections from "The Messiah," angelic voices soaring through that space, with the entire audience so reverent and quiet that we could all hear a pin drop. That was yesterday's Christmas concert at Mercersburg -- every bit as good or better than at any place I can think of. This is music, in a setting more lovely than any concert hall, that brings people back again and again, year after year.


Merry Christmas to me--from Bob and the choral group, the orchestra and directors, from all of the people who volunteer to make this an annual delight.

The most important thing

With the Christmas season well underway here, especially with Shepherdstown celebrating its 250th birthday with a big kickoff that included a parade yesterday, ice sculptures around the town, holiday marketplaces full of greens and hand-crafted gifts, chestnut roasters, roaming carolers and more activities than any one person has time for, spending yesterday morning working at our church open house offered a perfect time to take one step back from all of those wholesome and fun activities, retreat into the beautiful sanctuary of an old church that no doubt served as a hospital after the horrible battle of Antietam during the Civil War, think about those 250 years being celebrated and the 2012 years we, as humans, have celebrated Christmas in one form or another.


Our church has an extraordinary display of family nativity sets, each one different from the other. From the construction paper and craft materials one made by the kids in Sunday School to ornate ones handed down through families, from the simple to the complicated, each is a reminder of the most important thing about this season.


Many weeks ago, our wonderful pastor Dee-Ann, in her Sunday morning "time with the children," was illustrating what it might look like if we put God, the most important thing, first in our lives. She had a jar, a bag of rice, and a container of cinnamon. She called the cinnamon "the most important thing." The rice was all of the other important things in our lives. When she poured the rice into the jar and then tried to make the cinnamon fit, it wouldn't. None of the children thought it would work the other way around -- but it did! If she put the cinnamon -- the most important thing -- in first, then the rice all fit around it. It took some shaking, to be sure, so that the rice would settle. But in the end, what she showed us was that if we make God the most important thing in our lives, then all of the other important things will still fit in around Him.

I thought of that as I looked at all of the nativity sets from many families and many countries and thought of Dee-Ann's time with the children, which always teaches me a lot. Now I am very clear about what "the most important thing" is at Christmas, but I know that all of the other important things will still fit in around it, and nothing important has to be left out. Nothing at all.

The fate of Ajax Rock

With our parents (and grandparents) gone four years now, maybe it's time to climb down off of Ajax Rock one last time. I've tried to revive it but am feeling lonely sitting here by myself.


We -- all of us -- put together quite a tribute to Peck and Roena, to our family and friends, and to the special Simpkinsness and Shaferness of our family. We are the unglaciated Allegheny Plateau people, with deep roots in the old Appalachians and a family story like no other.


Are we ready to abandon this meeting place and go on with our individual lives, waiting for another funeral -- or two -- to bring us back together? 


I'm a willing writer, but I can't write about what I don't know -- can't guess at your lives, what's important to you, what makes you happy or drives you crazy. But I want the rock to be about all of us, either collectively or individually -- not the rantings or remembrances of one, gray-haired woman in the family.


The physical distances among and between us make getting together difficult, and even getting together doesn't guarantee a happy ending. But of all the many things that Peck was right about, it's that, in the end, it's family that matters. When we come to a mountain we can't climb or want to have others celebrate our joys -- or even when we come to the end of our time here -- the only people we can be really sure of are our family members. We know each others' stories, share DNA, are familiar with the best and worst in each of us. Me, I think that counts for a lot. I can't speak for the rest of you.


It seems that Facebook has supplanted lots of the sharing we did on the rock. And that's okay for some. But it seems shallow to me -- like just the tip of the iceberg, with the real story beneath the sea where we can't see it. 


I've started another blog that will be my own personal journal, rather than post my opinions or diatribes or stories here. And now I'm just taking a straw poll of all of you who were contributors, readers, or commentators. Ajax Rock: Do we leave it for the ages or find a way to keep it, just in case we need a place to go when life throws us one of its curve balls -- or as happened with Juancho recently, when it showers us with unexpected blessings and happiness?


Yea or nay?