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Home
As I write this, it is Nov. 3 and I’m sitting in my mother’s kitchen in High Point, North Carolina. Knowing that I Must Write Something but having no idea where to begin! I’m exhausted from the past four weeks of helping the Beyond the Veil blog authors pull together our Dunvegas free anthology, and the release one day later of Wildish Things.
But for now I’m content. My stomach is comfortably full of fried fresh flounder, hush puppies, freshly made cole slaw, sweet potato pie, sweet tea, and scuppernong wine. It’s Mom’s 74th birthday, and she cooked for me. She wouldn’t hear of allowing us to take her out to eat.
So I probably won’t be fitting into my swim suit for our 25th anniversary trip to St. Thomas in 3 weeks! But it’s. Totally. Worth. It.
(Bear with me. The scuppernong is kicking in.)
This spirit of hospitality is not unique in North Carolina. It runs deep, far back to our ancient Scottish and Irish ancestors, for whom the number one commandment was to welcome anyone who appeared on one’s threshold. To treat even strangers like family.
I was born where the Wright Brothers first left the earth, and grew up in the city where they lived and invented. I grew up mostly in Ohio, but North Carolina is home soil.
I have to get back here at least twice a year to recharge with Lexington barbecue and scuppernong wine. I’ve got Outer Banks sand in my veins, Great Smoky Mountains granite in my spirit, and tar on my heels. (And, some might say, Buckeye nuts rattling around in my head!) My family tree runs from Murphy to Manteo, and though I have a Midwest twang to my speech, put me in Carolina for an hour and it’s pretty much gone.
Great writers sprang (and still spring) from this state, and great musicians. Doc Watson, anyone? Elizabeth Cotten? John Coltrane? Thomas Wolfe? Kaye Gibbons?
Music owns half my creative soul. The other half belongs to words. I don’t pretend I’ll ever be as good as my predecessors, but as I’ve grown older I now know what inspired them to deviate from the norm. The solid foundation they leapt from in order to try to create something unique. The place from where they drew courage to fly.
Home.
~Carolan
PS: Today is my Dad’s birthday! Happy birthday, Dad!
www.carolanivey.com
Current release: Wildish Things

Happy Birthday, Carolan’s Mom and Dad!!
St Thomas will take care of itself. Good hushpuppies and scuppernong wine only come through your life rarely.
And all my contemp heroines are Southern. I know just where you’re coming from!
Thanks, Sela. That’s the beautiful thing about St. Thomas – nobody really cares if you’re carrying around a few extra hush puppies on your belly. Or butt. [grin]
Aw, you made me cry AGAIN, little sister!!!
I guess you’ll have to get out your “golden compass” to find your way back home to us! Snerk!!!
Gave Daddy his “Knitting with Balls” book in the middle of Libby Hill Seafood while he was cracking open some crab legs. Don’t you wish you were here??? He got that little evil twinkle in his eye…Mama just went “OH!!!” BTW, I think the knitting has made his hands a bit stronger. He didn’t even need the kitchen shears to get them open! I just knew knitting would be good for him!
Getting ready for San Jose…send me an email next week. I’ll have Zachary’s laptop.
Love you!
Pat
[blowing kisses]
I’ll be home at New Year’s, big sis. I hope Lexington BBQ is ready for me… ;)