Well I’ll be darned. I never planned on livin in the south. Guess I never planned on livin anywhere else either. I reckon the only thing we can expect is that life never goes as planned.
My friends bought a horse farm out in Georgia, but they were still livin back home in California. Their southern farm house was a classic antebellum style manor with white columns and a wraparound porch.
It was surrounded by horse pastures, forests, and wild animals. I’d been cravin nature and privacy, so it was nice to be out in the purdy country with so much space.
I loved driving around the rolling hills, mansions, farms, woods, and gorgeous sceneries. No reason to leave, unless you’re curious like me.
Georgia was less hick than Indiana, but that’s a pretty low bar. Walnut Grove was away from it all, even though it was close to Atlanta. Most of the history from that area involved slavery and native american massacres.
There was still a lot of fucked up shit goin on. The protests, shootins, and viruses seemed endless. It was shockin to see confederate flags everywhere. Luckily the farm felt like its own little world away from it all.
Since I stayed in the basement with my cat next to the woods, we heard all sorts of rustlin noises at night.
Weed was still illegal in Georgia, so I had a tough time sleepin for the first few weeks. I desperately wanted to be high like my anxieties.
One night I woke up in a panic. The room was dark, but I could see a black fuzzy creature scratchin and snarlin in the corner. At first I thought it was my cat, but then I noticed he was sittin right next to me, lookin spooked in the same direction. Whatever that was noticed us watchin, so it scampered out of the room in a wild fury.
It was truly untamed and unbelievable! Like a supernatural beast from a movie. I bravely turned on the lights, grabbed a knife, and searched the house. All of the rooms were completely empty. I fixed myself a strong drink and stayed up to watch the sunrise.
I wanted to believe it was just my imagination or sleep deprivation. Watchin my cat’s equally stunned reaction made the unexplainable believable. What the fuck was that thing?
There’s no way I could tell my friends that I thought their new house was potentially haunted. They’d think I was fuckin crazy. The hicks and ticks scared them enough already. Sometimes in the south it’s best to hush up.
The next day one of the neighbors told me a strange story. He had visited his mom’s house the night before with his sister. Both of them heard voices coming from the laundry room, even though they were the only people in the house. The strange noises freaked them out so much, they got the fuck out of there as soon as possible.
When they told their mom what happened she was completely unphased. The noises showed up after her husband’s death. The neighbors' security cameras kept recording an orb traveling out of the laundry room, through the backyard, and into the woods.
That neighbor had tons of stories about horrifying southern ghosts, homes, and people. He warned me not to be so trusting. One of the nearest towns was known for mass murder. Hearin other people explain their unearthly encounters made me feel a little less mentally ill.
One night I woke up to the sound of someone screaming in the woods. I yelled out into the darkness. “HELLO???!!” There was no response. Dead silence. I couldn’t even hear any bugs or animals.
Once again I poured myself a strong drink and stayed up all night to write. There was no need to search the woods alone at night. It sure was strange. Recon it was just a weird dream.
Soon after that a couple things went missin. I was the only person in the farmhouse or so we thought. My friends asked me where things went, but I had no idea. Goodness gracious where did everything go?
Some cops came to the farm lookin for someone who was on the run that used to work there. The doors were controlled by codes. There were people on the property boarding horses, gardening, and doing construction projects. The house was rented out for vacations and events. I wondered if someone or something else was living in the house.
Even though strange things kept happenin I was at peace. It was all hunkey dorey. Most nights I slept snug as a bug! There was no sense of fear, but maybe I was numb to the traumas of life by that point.
Most people are scared of adventures. They’ll never get to experience the magic of spiritual awakenings, nature, or higher levels of consciousness.
It all sounds crazy, till you experience it yourself.
The farm boarded horses and there were dead ones buried all over the property. There was also a small human cemetery right across the street.
Locals told me all sorts of magical stories. Most of the town’s church goers believed in paranormal activity.
Appalachian mountain people warned me not to go into the woods when it’s dead silent. They told me to quietly walk out if I ever got weird vibes. It was normal for people to see faces in the tree trunks, but that’s a sign to get out of the forest. They urged me not to stare into the tree trunk faces, especially after dark. I wondered what would happen if I took a picture of them.
A few of the locals warned me about skinwalkers. They told me that witches impersonate voices or crying babies to lure their prey back into the woods. When people hear a scream in the woods on the west coast they assume it’s a mountain lion. When people hear a scream in the woods on the east coast they say it’s a shapeshifter. If you hear anything strange near the woods, no you didn’t. Especially in the Appalachian mountains.
Walking through the woods next to the farm was my favorite daily routine. I wasn’t goin to let myths or legends keep me from livin my life.
Over time it felt like someone or something was watching me from the trees. I kinda hoped it was supernatural. Anything other than a creepy ass dude.
Do you know what real angels look like? I mean like the biblically accurate angels. Some Bible Belt locals told me that they look like monsters, but I thought they sounded fucking sick.
Biblical angels don’t resemble humans, cause they aren't humans. They have to be terrifyin inorder to protect heaven by scarin demons back down to hell.
In most religious stories the angels have a disclaimer when revealing themselves. They say “do not fear” when they show their appearance to humans. People say they have tons of wings and eyeballs. I’d probably shit my pants if I saw something like that zap into existence.
We can’t judge characters based on looks alone, dead or alive. Angels might look like demons from hell. Some of the most dangerous serial killers were incredibly handsome. A hideous person could be the one who saves your life. Some of the most beautiful animals have the most venomous bites.
Were the ghosts, spirits, and creatures real? If we have guardian angels or spirit guides what do they look like? Who were they before they died? What type of angelic role did they take on and why? Are angels considered to be a kind of ghost? How many spirits forms could there be? Are our spirit guides other people or our higher selves? Also what the fuck was that thing that I saw? Was it the same thing that I heard screaming from the dark woods?
My experiences along with the local myths made me question my beliefs and sanity. I decided to keep all my theories to myself and continued to research the spiritual symbolism behind each animal.
There were beautiful bright red cardinals all over the property. They built nests outside my windows. Cardinals represent a spiritual connection with the universe. They’re assertive, confident, creative, and protective animals. They can easily adapt to new situations and are used to startin from scratch.
Whenever I talked about the cardinals to other people, they would say that they had never seen them before. Inconceivable! They were loud, bright red, and all over the place!
There were cute little ladybugs everywhere. They usually symbolize talent, peace, health, and good fortune. I also kept seeing spiders which represent birth, death, growth, and creativity.
The horses on the farm were truly majestic, but some of the horse ladies were bat shit crazy! It turns out that stereotypes are for a reason. Not like I should judge, I’m a crazy cat lady.
Horses embody freedom, travel, and endurance. Spending time with them felt meditative. They love eatin and chillin outdoors, just like me.
It was hard to tell if the horses liked people riding them. Some barely tolerated their humans, while others truly loved their owners. If you ever ride horses please make sure you don’t override them! All animals need plenty of food, water, rest, and space.
Southern farms were fancy compared to western ranches. I was used to the denim cowgirl look, not British derby fashion. Cleavage felt criminal along with the rest of my wardrobe. Southerners dress and act way more formal than west coasters. I looked like a fuckin ragamuffin most days on the farm.
Ma’am is actually a polite way to address women in the south. If someone calls you ma’am in LA it’s time to crumble up your headshot and die. I was fine with people callin me things like sweetheart, peaches, or baby.
So many locals bragged about southern hospitality, but most people didn’t seem genuinely kind to me. It felt like everyone wanted to know everything just for the sake of gossip.
All the churchgoers in the beauty parlors talked mad shit. They all praised Jesus, but sure didn’t act like him. Those Baptist Bitches didn’t seem to love or accept anyone for who they are.
Most southern expressions sound condescending or backhanded. I wondered if the term “southern hospitality” was sarcastic.
My favorite thing I picked up from the south was the phrase “I’m going to let you go now.” What a great way to end a conversation. Another option is to yell “WELP!” then slap your thighs while standin up before leavin.
I hated southern music before visitin the south, but it sure grew on me. Somethin about country music goes great with being out in the country. The word “y’all” grew on me over time too. It’s a sweet way to address people in a non-gendered specific way.
Most of the town was filled with radical racist gun totin Republicans, but there were also a bunch of witchy goth lesbians hidin out in the woods. All the borders on the farm were women and most of them were gay. Guess it makes sense for them to hang out on a horse farm, away from homophobic southern churchgoers.
Most country folk didn’t seem to care about their health or the planet. It was horrifying to see so much litter everywhere. I worked on cleaning it up, but I could never keep up! I hate seein hicks use our planet as a dumpster. People need to be held accountable for destructive tendencies!
One mornin I was feedin the horses carrots when a shrill woman came out of nowhere to nag the shit out of me. She thought her horse was too fat, so he couldn’t have one. As if a baby carrot would force a horse into obesity. She wanted me to call each owner and make sure their horses were allowed to eat carrots.
My brain flashed back to that time I yelled “STOP TELLING ME HOW TO DO MY FUCKING JOB!” at that yoga studio. I wanted to give her a piece of my mind, but instead I took a big deep breath, and explained how I was just following orders. Then I politely told her that I wouldn’t feed her horse any carrots and to let us know about any other dietary restrictions. Then I yelled “HAVE A NICE DAY!” As I walked away I burst into tears. I’m not built for post pandemic customer service work.
Her poor horse looked so sad and left out, he didn’t understand why everyone got treats except for him. I was proud of how I handled the situation. It kinda felt like progress, even though there was still a long way to go. A younger version of me would have popped the fuck off on her for sure.
People used to get a rise out of me pretty easily. My whole life has been full of dramatic confrontational moments. There was still so much built up anger, resentment, and trauma that I needed to heal. Of course I wanted to blame others, but I had to take accountability for my life and actions.
Another day a woman rode up to me in panic. She was frantically worried because she couldn’t find a wheelbarrow. She was so worked up to the point of hyperventilatin. I found it nearby and offered to clean the stables. That’s what I was supposed to be doin anyways. I couldn’t believe how high strung those horse ladies were even after spending time with animals amongst nature. Georgia desperately needed to legalize weed already.
I learned all about construction, framing, electricity, landscaping, spirituality, religion, and animal care while working at the farm. I collected random new skills from my adventures all over the country. I’m a jack of all trades, but a master of none.
I loved walkin on the trails in the woods, it was great exercise and eased my anxiety. One of the boarders was ridin on the trail and she freaked out when she saw me. She told me that the horses weren’t used to seeing people out there and told me to go elsewhere. As if she was the boss of me? She didn’t know I was livin out there or that I was already best friends with her horse.
It surprised me to see humans in the woods. I felt like the trees and animals kept luring me back into my own little forest sanctuary. The borders shocked me every time I spotted them on the trails.
Most horse ladies were rude to me out of jealousy. The farm was their happy place and I got to live there for free with their animal friends. There were nice borders too, but of course the crazy horse ladies stood out the most.
All the horse people got more comfortable with my existence over time. I went to one of their holiday parties which helped break the ice. The farm’s manager reminded me that I don’t need to wear lipstick and a pushup bra to a barn party. Most of the horse people thought that the other horse people were crazy. They were more fun to be around after a few margaritas.
I met a man who told me about his experiences in Orange County California. He went out there for a business meeting at Vans and was shocked to see how unprofessional everyone was. People smoked weed while skateboarding around their offices. They called him a “tucker” and judged his formal attire. It’s rare to see people wear tucked in collared shirts in Southern California. They bullied him into smoking a joint and then took him to see the Pageant of the Masters, which is an authentic Orange County experience.
Most southern small town conservatives judged my hair colors. They said all sorts of backhanded ‘compliments’ like “Ma’am that hairdo is just so you.” Aw, bless your heart “You must not be from around here.” Sweetheart “You sure dance to the beat of your own drum.” Darlin, “I bet you’ll find a church and a husband someday.”
I was fixin to throw some joints in their mouths. Is it rude to toss xanax down people's throats while they’re talkin?
Everyone in Georgia loved animals. They loved huntin them, eatin them, wearin them, and ridin them. Most of the local restaurants were drive-thrus or steakhouses. Findin vegan or vegetarian options was sure a challenge in the south. Luckily I found a local farm stand with fresh produce nearby.
One night I accidentally hit a deer. He crashed into my headlight, bumper, and bounced off the driver side door. Of course we made intense eye contact while collidin. We were both frightened, awestruck, surprised, and panicked. My friend and I survived, but sadly the deer and my car did not.
I can’t think of a time I’ve felt more guilty or shaken up. I’m grateful my friend and I are still alive, but I had a hard time accepting the fact that I murdered an innocent animal. I try so hard to refrain from eatin, wearin, or usin any sort of animal products. Roadkill breaks my heart. I couldn’t believe that I was part of the problem.
The deer crash happened while we were on our way out to dinner. When we finally got to the restaurant the hostess sat us at a table under a taxidermy deer head. It looked exactly like the stag I just hit.
Everyone in the steakhouse was eatin and wearin animals. It was like a vegan horror movie. Luckily they had strong liquor.
Was the deer crash some sort of message from god or the universe? Was it supposed to symbolize something? It sent me into another existential moral spiritual crisis. Talk nihilism to me!
Deer are known for their abilities to regenerate. They are sensitive, intuitive, innocent, and move through life with grace. Deer are timid, gentle, and able to change directions quickly. They know how to sacrifice, move on, and let go. Their antlers give them an assertive defensive quality. They grow back strong after they fall.
I wanted to completely regenerate. My animal instinct told me that I needed to heal by spendin even more alone time in nature. It was time to finally let go of old thoughts and patterns that no longer served me.
The next day we saw deer in the woods. My friend told me it was a good sign and urged me to forgive myself, but what if those deer came back for revenge? I probably killed their fuckin dad!
We all need to help protect animals! They have nowhere to go and they’re goin extinct because of us humans. We all need to do better and be better.
Most days I went on walks through the woods and would see female deer, but no males. The one I hit had huge antlers. I couldn’t get his face out of my mind.
Luckily I was able to find some CBD shops nearby. When I asked the girl workin there where she was from she said “I’m not from around here.” Then she told me that she was from Covington, the next town over. I laughed in her face, cause I thought she was jokin. She was dead serious.
Movin a few miles away was a big deal out there. She had to make all new friends and everything! Most of the people from that area had no desire to travel or explore different cultures. I felt like an alien visiting from another planet.
The CBD products helped my anxiety issues. I didn’t realize how much I relied on it medicinally until I went without it.
The girl who worked in the CBD shop was also a cat lady. Sadly one of her precious fur babies died on a day she had to work. When she found her cat dead, she lit a candle, and prayed. She could feel the cat’s presence in the room after it died, but when she blew out the candle she felt her spirit leave.
My life was filled with art, nature, and animals. Birds woke me up with their magical songs every morning. I made sure to look up at the moon and stars before going to sleep at night. I watched the sun rise and set everyday.
Daydreamin while watching wildlife was my favorite form of meditation. I’m my best self when I have time and space to be creative amongst nature.
The deer would show up when I was smokin and stretchin. The cardinals would show up when I was writin. Alone doesn’t mean lonely. I enjoy my own company and have plenty of animal friends.
Art has always been my favorite way to express myself. I think a lot of only children are extremely talented. They get plenty of privacy to practice arts, but they’re often too scared to show off, cause they’re afraid of what people might think.
My friends would ask me what I was workin on. When I told them I was writin they’d laugh or tease me. One of my family members asked “Why would anybody read stories by someone who didn’t make it in Hollywood?”
If anyone wants to judge me that’s fine. Critical people usually do the least, while successful people focus on their own lives and goals. I’d rather be the one people are talkin about than the one doing the talkin.
Most of my friends and family members encouraged me to find a minimum wage job. They just couldn’t imagine me being an artist, even though that’s all I’ve ever been. I had no desire to break back into their rat race matrix.
The older I grow the more confidence I gain. I care less about what other people think and care more about what I think. Fuck what other people feel! How do I feel? My decisions are based on me, not other people’s judgments or perceptions of me.
My creative projects didn’t give me immediate gratification, but I knew that my hard work would pay off someday. I learned that if I really want to do somethin, I can’t tell other people about it. Sometimes friends and family are enemies in disguise.
One of my friends urged me to go get a job as a greeter at Walmart. Fucking Walmart? Bitch was praying for my downfall. I just wanted to keep workin on my personal art projects out in the wild.
Some of my friends and family members had a hard time with me changin. They expected me to keep bein an insecure shallow people pleasin doormat. I made strong new boundaries and reached a whole new level of cunt who doesn’t give a fuck.
I hid my dreams from unsupportive people. I finally knew my worth. I didn’t need extra validation from others. If we each had the same point of view our world would be so boring and competitive.
If I keep working on writing and photography I can become a writer and a photographer. Once I finally reach those goals I’ll probably get over them and move on to something new or exciting.
It’s okay to want more out of life! Failures happen, but they make people stronger. Learning how to accept failures can lead towards positive change and success.
There are no rules when it comes to art. You can use reality, make shit up, or create your own concoction. The weirder the better. Why not play around with different creative styles or mediums?
Journaling has helped me relieve so much stress, traumas, and anxieties. I always need a creative outlet for my thoughts and ideas. Dancing, breathing, stretching, and writing are my favorite ways to purge and release. Writin has helped me understand all of my goals and patterns. It gives me the ability to organize my thoughts in a productive way. Short term discomforts bring long term results (like workin out, writin, movin, detoxin, eatin healthy, runnin, or tryin new things).
Writer's block is real, it’s probably best to power through it. I had to force myself to write this. I knew that I had to get some painful thoughts out of my head and onto paper. I stubbornly resisted that necessary release.
Instead of focusing on writing something good I obsessed over makin the right margin perfectly line up to mirror the left. I would cut some lines short while ramblin on in other sentences. I let some weird sort of perfectionism hold me back from creatin something great, even though I knew these font styles and sizes would probably change later anyway. When I write without carin about my handwritin or text fonts I create better content. For some reason I kept holdin on to pain while standin in my own way.
My goals were big. I wanted to dramatically change my life for the better. I made all sorts of vision boards and manifestation lists. Movin to Hawaii to live in a tropical jungle with some wild animals was still my dream. I was ready to make that shit happen and up my nature photography game.
Maybe fixin patterns helps manifest our desires. If I could break through all the bad habits that were holdin me back I could get whatever I want.
I had so many toxic patterns and health problems. It’s safe to say I had trouble managin my emotions, relationships, and finances. Recognizing issues and learnin from them could lead towards better results.
Makin myself make and save more money would lead me towards better financial stability. Standin up for myself and communicatin better would lead me towards havin stronger relationships. Feelin my emotions would lead me towards workin through them instead of bottlin them up or coverin them up with substances. Detoxin my body would reset my system, which would give me health and clarity.
Maybe I could learn how to enjoy things for fun sometimes instead of being completely reliant on them. Most of my patterns stemmed from fear instead of confidence. If you think “how much worse can things get?” things will get worse. If you think “how much better can things get?” things will get better.
Unresolved traumas create mental and physical illnesses. If you go through shit work through it sooner than later. Don’t bottle things up or sweep them under the rug. It’s important to make an effort to process things and move forward from past horrors before they make your life a living nightmare.
A great way to get to know yourself is by makin lists of what you love and hate. Incorporate more of what you love in your life and then fix, remove, or create boundaries from the things that you hate.
Throughout most of my life and career I focused on what I enjoyed. I love laughin, sleepin, stretchin, eatin, talkin, dancin, swimmin, writin, gardenin, takin pictures, smokin fresh greenery, and spendin time with animals.
Of course I want my life to be filled with the things that I love, but maybe I should focus on fixin what bothers me. I hate how humans treat animals. I hate how wasteful people can be. I hate how much garbage is in our oceans. I hate how some people treat me. I hate our political systems. I hate certain patterns in my life. I hate when I don’t have creative control. I hate being sick and poor. Maybe focusin on trying to fix what I hate could bring me more success, fulfillment, and happiness.
It took me a long time to accept all sides of myself. Humans are complex multidimensional creatures with so many conflicting characteristics. Good, Bad, Happy, Sad. We should explore ourselves and our lives with curiosity instead of judgment.
After lots of cathartic shadow work, journalin, and spiritual healing practices my manifestations started to pull through. Thank Jesus Hallelujah!
Heavens to Betsy I sure hope we didn’t overstay our welcome. My friends were so generous for lettin Lando and I stay out on the farm. We sure did take our sweet time. Most folks would be madder than a wet hen!
We were fixin to leave the south, but I sure liked it out there in the purty country. My life felt cattywampus so we were gettin hissy. It was time to saddle on up and get the fuck out of Georgia. Aloha Hawaii!