{"id":5911,"date":"2013-07-05T20:12:17","date_gmt":"2013-07-06T00:12:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/?p=5911"},"modified":"2026-02-28T10:36:43","modified_gmt":"2026-02-28T15:36:43","slug":"how-my-mother-sent-me-to-the-mountain","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/how-my-mother-sent-me-to-the-mountain\/","title":{"rendered":"How My Mother Sent Me To The Mountain"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"et_pb_section_0 et_pb_section et_section_regular et_block_section\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_0 et_pb_row et_block_row\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_0 et_pb_column et_pb_column_1_2 et_block_column et_pb_column_empty et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\"><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_1 et_pb_column et_pb_column_1_2 et-last-child et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_0 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p>How My Mother Sent Me To The Mountain<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_section_1 et_pb_section et_pb_fullwidth_section et_section_regular et_block_section\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_fullwidth_menu_0 et_pb_fullwidth_menu et_pb_fullwidth_menu--without-logo et_pb_fullwidth_menu--style-left_aligned et_dropdown_animation_fade et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_text_align_right et_pb_text_align_right-tablet et_pb_text_align_right-phone et_pb_module\"><div class=\"et_pb_row\"><div class=\"et_pb_menu__wrap\"><div class=\"et_pb_menu__menu\"><nav class=\"et-menu-nav fullwidth-menu-nav\"><ul id=\"menu-rr-divi\" class=\"et-menu fullwidth-menu nav downwards\"><li id=\"menu-item-2319\" class=\"et_pb_menu_page_id-home menu-item menu-item-type-post_type menu-item-object-page menu-item-home menu-item-2319\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/\">Home<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-2425\" class=\"et_pb_menu_page_id-75 menu-item menu-item-type-post_type menu-item-object-page menu-item-2425\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/about-rachelle-rogers\/\">About<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-5583\" class=\"et_pb_menu_page_id-5575 menu-item menu-item-type-post_type menu-item-object-page menu-item-5583\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/books\/\">Books<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-2427\" class=\"et_pb_menu_page_id-1088 menu-item menu-item-type-post_type menu-item-object-page menu-item-2427\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/poetry-3\/\">Poetry<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-222947\" class=\"et_pb_menu_page_id-46905 menu-item menu-item-type-post_type menu-item-object-page menu-item-222947\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/blog-luminations\/\">Blog<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-2586\" class=\"et_pb_menu_page_id-2576 menu-item menu-item-type-post_type menu-item-object-page menu-item-2586\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/contact\/\">Contact<\/a><\/li>\n<\/ul><\/nav><\/div><div class=\"et_mobile_nav_menu\"><div class=\"mobile_nav closed\"><span class=\"mobile_menu_bar\"><\/span><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_section_2 et_pb_section et_section_regular et_block_section\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_1 et_pb_row et_block_row\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_2 et_pb_column et_pb_column_1_3 et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_1 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p>5<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_divider_0 et_pb_divider et_pb_space et_pb_divider_position_top et_pb_module\"><div class=\"et_pb_divider_internal\"><\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_2 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p>JULY 2013<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_3 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p>Writing<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_3 et_pb_column et_pb_column_2_3 et-last-child et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_4 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p>Yesterday was the Fourth of July, a day to celebrate freedom. Here, in Asheville, NC, it poured rain for hours, the kind of hard, wide-streamed deluge that soaked the ground in seconds, flooded roads, bent fields of flowers, induced electricity to flicker dangerously close to completely shutting down. I stayed in all day, mostly reading, a little disheartened that I had not been called this week to the writer\u2019s retreat for which I was on a cancellation list. And I thought a lot about my mother, who inspired me to write, and who died on July 4th, 1996.\u00a0Among her last words to my aunt Esther\u00a0were, \u201cI want to be free.\u201d The morning she passed, I awoke minutes before my sister called at 2 a.m. telling me the news, and that she had had a vision of our mother lifting out of her body. Shortly after my mother\u2019s passing, I often sensed her twirling\u00a0happily\u00a0free of gravity, free of age, free of limitations of body or mind. A few years later, after a very strange dream, she came to me in a vision.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_2 et_pb_row et_block_row\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_4 et_pb_column et_pb_column_1_2 et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_image_0 et_pb_image et_animated et_pb_module et_block_module\"><span class=\"et_pb_image_wrap\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/Mother-RR-blog-500.jpg\" width=\"500\" height=\"696\" srcset=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/Mother-RR-blog-500.jpg 500w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px\" class=\"wp-image-5928\" alt=\"antique photo Henrietta\" \/><\/span><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_5 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p>My mother Henrietta<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_5 et_pb_column et_pb_column_1_2 et-last-child et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_6 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p><strong>Visitation<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>I dreamed a room where<br \/>not-quite-chairs and giant protractors<br \/>and four foot sheets of plexiglass slid<br \/>toward me, dancing me<br \/>against walls, into corners, attaching<br \/>themselves as if I had become<br \/>a human magnet.<\/p>\n<p>Frightened, I awoke, scanned my body<br \/>for foreign parts, then my mother,<br \/>four years dead, glided toward me.<br \/>(I drew her with my loneliness.)<br \/>She looked how lately I feel her\u2014<br \/>thirty-five with dark-again hair, waving<br \/>a rose silk scarf, boundless in her freedom.<br \/>She knows things now.<\/p>\n<p>I wondered what would happen if<br \/> I touched her. Would my hand slice air?<br \/> Would it burn in angel light? Could I draw<br \/> her to me tight like life draws death, death life,<br \/> a riddle of attraction, opposed yet irresistible,<br \/> charged by something we cannot divine?<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_3 et_pb_row et_block_row\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_6 et_pb_column et_pb_column_1_3 et_block_column et_pb_column_empty et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\"><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_7 et_pb_column et_pb_column_2_3 et-last-child et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_7 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p>In 1998, I came across an ad in\u00a0<em>Poets and Writers<\/em>\u00a0for a writer\u2019s critiquing workshop at Wildacres Retreat near Little Switzerland, NC, about an hour and a half from Asheville. I felt my mother had guided me to that ad and wanted me to go. My life, at the time, was dissolved in drama, depression, anxiety, and lack. Although I was still doing leatherwork\u2014custom orders for hand crafted deerskin bags with natural edges, some with braided seams, painted designs, and unusual adornments\u2014and working on my first novel,\u00a0<em>A Love Apart<\/em>, my life felt lonely and unsettled, especially financially. I couldn\u2019t imagine how I would get the tuition to attend the workshop.<\/p>\n<p>I thought about it for days, then contacted the director for further information. That brought up even more anxiety. I was not comfortable with having to share my space with a strange roommate, or being in a large group of people (about a hundred, I was told), especially when I knew no one. Still, I wanted to go, to get serious feedback on my writing, to crawl out of my cave. As for the fear, a very wise and loving Spirit Guide once told me, \u201cGotta a fear, make an appointment,\u201d which was exactly what I did.<\/p>\n<p>After much consideration, I elected to sell the few pieces of jewelry I had of my mother\u2019s. It was a very difficult decision, but I kept feeling her encouraging me. I took what I had and brought it to a large pawn shop. The owner offered me $485, not a penny more. The hair on my arms spiked in that \u201ccovering of truth.\u201d It was the exact cost of the workshop! Feeling my mother hovering close,\u00a0I cried all the way home, apologizing for having sold her jewelry, thanking her for the reassurance. And, the workshop that year started on July 4th! the anniversary of her death.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_4 et_pb_row et_block_row\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_8 et_pb_column et_pb_column_4_4 et-last-child et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_image_1 et_pb_image et_animated et_pb_module et_block_module\"><span class=\"et_pb_image_wrap\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/08\/Luna-Moth-RR-blog.jpg\" alt=\"Luna Moth\" title=\"luna-moth-rr-blog\" width=\"750\" height=\"500\" srcset=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/08\/Luna-Moth-RR-blog.jpg 750w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 750px) 100vw, 750px\" class=\"wp-image-5672\" \/><\/span><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_8 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p>My first luna moth at Wildacres<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_5 et_pb_row et_block_row\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_9 et_pb_column et_pb_column_4_4 et-last-child et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_divider_1 et_pb_divider et_pb_space et_pb_divider_position_top et_pb_module\"><div class=\"et_pb_divider_internal\"><\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_9 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module et_pb_text_align_center preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p style=\"text-align: center;\">The hair on my arms spiked in that \u201ccovering of truth.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_divider_2 et_pb_divider et_pb_space et_pb_divider_position_top et_pb_module\"><div class=\"et_pb_divider_internal\"><\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_6 et_pb_row et_block_row\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_10 et_pb_column et_pb_column_1_3 et_block_column et_pb_column_empty et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\"><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_11 et_pb_column et_pb_column_2_3 et-last-child et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_10 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p>For nine subsequent years, I spent two weeks\u2014the workshop week plus a retreat week\u2014with the family of kindred creative spirits I had longed for and found in the literary\u00a0<em>Brigadoon<\/em>\u00a0that came to life atop Piney Knob each summer. I looked forward all year to those two weeks in July. It was there I parked my ego at the door, honed my craft\u2014at that time, mostly fiction\u2014formed deep friendships, danced under a yellow moon, gathered in the auditorium for readings, and afterwards on the porch for music played late into the night. It was upon that mountain each fourth of July that I celebrated the memory of my mother and her message of freedom and courage.<\/p>\n<p>During those summers I dared to experience feelings I\u2019d long forgotten, try things I\u2019d never done before\u2014reading my writing in front of a hundred people;\u00a0walking down the blacktop by moonlight, arm in arm with friends singing every Broadway show tune we could remember; performing in satirical literary vignettes, a workshop tradition.<\/p>\n<p>Our \u201cmagic mountain,\u201d as we called it, seemed to strip away pretense, to instigate every emotion, and over the course of those years, I\u2019d felt my spirit lift to the stars and my heart crack into bits.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_7 et_pb_row et_block_row\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_12 et_pb_column et_pb_column_1_2 et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_image_2 et_pb_image et_animated et_pb_module et_block_module\"><span class=\"et_pb_image_wrap\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/WA-On-Bench-RR-blog-600.jpg\" width=\"650\" height=\"505\" srcset=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/WA-On-Bench-RR-blog-600.jpg 650w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 650px) 100vw, 650px\" class=\"wp-image-5936\" alt=\"Wildacres Writers Workshop Wildacres Retreat Center\" \/><\/span><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_11 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p>Sharing a laugh with writer friends<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_13 et_pb_column et_pb_column_1_2 et-last-child et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_image_3 et_pb_image et_animated et_pb_module et_block_module\"><span class=\"et_pb_image_wrap\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/WA-Cow-RR-blog-600.jpg\" width=\"650\" height=\"520\" srcset=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/WA-Cow-RR-blog-600.jpg 650w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 650px) 100vw, 650px\" class=\"wp-image-5937\" alt=\"Wildacres Writers Workshop Wildacres Retreat Center\" \/><\/span><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_12 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p>\"Oh, no Black Dave, not the livestock!\" (Yes, that's me in the cow head.)<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_8 et_pb_row et_block_row\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_14 et_pb_column et_pb_column_1_3 et_block_column et_pb_column_empty et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\"><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_15 et_pb_column et_pb_column_2_3 et-last-child et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_13 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p>By 2007, although I still stayed in close touch with several of my dearest summer writerfriends, I felt myself moving in a new direction. There were things I needed to write that I wasn\u2019t ready to share. We\u2019d all talked endlessly about how our mountain was the only place we could be our true selves, about how we counted the months, weeks, days, hours until we could leave our inauthentic lives behind and drive up the gravel road to\u00a0<em>Brigadoon<\/em>. Even though I knew I\u2019d return to that magic mountain whenever I could, I no longer wanted to think of my life in that way. For me, it was time to live every day from my authentic self, to see where that might lead.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_9 et_pb_row et_block_row\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_16 et_pb_column et_pb_column_4_4 et-last-child et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_post_nav_0 et_pb_posts_nav nav-single et_pb_module et_block_module\"><span class=\"nav-next\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/a-love-apart-no-ordinary-love-story-2\/\" rel=\"next\" class=\"\"><span class=\"nav-label\">A Love Apart: No Ordinary Love Story<\/span><span class=\"meta-nav\"> &rarr;<\/span><\/a><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Yesterday was the Fourth of July, a day to celebrate freedom. Here, in Asheville, NC, it poured rain for hours, the kind of hard, wide-streamed deluge that soaked the ground in seconds, flooded roads, bent fields of flowers, induced electricity to flicker dangerously close to completely shutting down. I stayed in all day, mostly reading, a little disheartened that I had not been called this week to the writer\u2019s retreat for which I was on a cancellation list.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":5672,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[59],"tags":[6,5,3,142],"class_list":["post-5911","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-writing","tag-luna-moth","tag-wildacres-retreat","tag-writing","tag-writing-workshop"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5911","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5911"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5911\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":46882,"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5911\/revisions\/46882"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5672"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5911"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5911"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5911"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}