Tag Archives: Lisa Hayes Minney

The Cover of the First Issue - September 2007

Two-Lane Livin’ – Bright Star, Beat-up Car

In the beginning it felt like a newborn child that needed protected, nourished, defended, promoted. And like any child, it grew in its own way, expanding and developing in beyond our plans and expectations, demanding more and more of our time and attention.

Launching an independent magazine–or any small business for that matter–is much like birthing a child. Your life becomes that child which often demands your constant attention. It surprises you with needs and situations you did not expect or plan for, keeps you up at night often.

This child does not really care about your business plan, or your dreams for its future. She becomes what she will, of her own fruition, becomes a living, breathing character influenced by those who support her, befriend her, embrace her, nourish her.

And like any child, you hope that your creation will grow healthy and strong, will flourish and shine brightly. You hope that she will become a mature, responsible, functioning adult that at some point, will not demand so much of your time.

Time.

Ten years can fly by in an instant, but you feel every second of it in your bones, see the life sucked from you in every dry wrinkle and sag. A decade gives you perspective, and time to learn and mature.

With Two-Lane Livin’ Magazine, ten years means hauling heavy loads home from Parkersburg more than 120 times in all seasons of weather. Ten years means delivering magazines over ten Thanksgiving breaks, ten Christmas breaks, ten wedding anniversary weekends. For Frank and I, ten years of Two-Lane Livin’ has been a decade of scheduling our lives around this child’s rigid monthly deadline–me a week every month tied to the desk, him a week every month on the road.

We have loved Two-Lane Livin’ like a child. I birthed her from nine months of planning and from the very first issue she had a life of her own. (All copies were gone in three days.) From the beginning she was more than we had ever hoped for, and quite often more than we could handle. In ten years, we have never been able to solicit enough advertising revenue to produce enough copies to meet reader demand.

Our popular girl wanted to go farther than we ever imagined, into twice the number of counties we originally planned, twice the mileage on delivery vehicles, twice the time delivering. Strangers and friends volunteered to help get the monthly issue circulated into their own areas.  Writers from across the state began offering to write for us. We never planned to offer subscriptions, but in response to demand, reached 18 states and two countries outside the U.S.

For ten years, Two-Lane Livin’ has been a bright star shining from, in, and for central West Virginia. I believe that. I truly do.

Bright stars burn quickly.

I have come to believe that small businesses in West Virginia age in dog years–seven years of aging for every year of existence. The amount of energy, dedication, creativity, strategy, problem solving, and work required to get a small business up and running and to keep it running smoothly ages it prematurely.

(This month on my birthday, I hit the big Five-O. Perhaps it’s not the magazine that has aged, perhaps it’s just me.)

I thought retiring Two-Lane Livin’ would feel like killing my child. Instead, I find it’s more like giving up a beat-up but beloved car that has almost 300,000 miles and no longer holds third gear. She’s dented and has a slight oil leak; smells of newsprint, fast food, and hay. But boy we’ve had some fantastic adventures together.

Two-Lane Livin’ has been good to us, and has been a wonderful experience. But our time with her has come to an end. In dog years, she’s more than 70 years old.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for being with us during this Two-Lane experience, for being fellow witnesses to the life of our creation, our child, our dependable car…

Our shining star.

Two-Lane Livin’ Magazine
September 2007-December 2017

(P.S. We will be maintaining the twolanelivin.com web site, and will, over time, be making all issues of Two-Lane Livin’ available as flipbooks and featuring favorite articles we encounter in the process. To keep up with those developments, you can sign up for our email newsletter in the form at the right of this page.)

Rubber Boots and Muddy Tulips

As I sit to write this, fewer than 60 days remain until spring. Of course with these winter temperatures, my tulips and lilies began sprouting a week ago, in January.

I dislike West Virginia winters that don’t include a good amount of snow. As every country dweller knows, without cold temperatures and snow–the whole world grows soft with mud.

I refer to the time from February to April as “Mud Season.” It’s that time a year when everything around you goes soggy, when that dry, hard driveway of summer becomes a boggy, sloppy path. The time of year when a walk to the chicken coop is accentuated with “squish, squish, squish” the entire way. With snow, I might tiptoe across the yard in my green garden clogs, but with all the mud, rubber boots are a must.

Santa brought me a new pair of blue rubber boots this Christmas, after my rainbow-daisy-covered pair sprung a leak at the ankle. I stepped into the lake’s edge to grab hold of the canoe, and my right boot filled with water. I might be able to patch them, but I’ll never fully depend on them again.

I bought my first pair of “adult” rubber boots after I experienced the first flood waters here on the farm, when I waded waist-deep up our driveway, watched as a round hay bale floated by me. That pair of boots had pull-on loops at the top of the boot, and more than once I hooked bungee cords from the outside loop on the boot to the belt loops on my pants to keep them from being sucked off my feet by the mud.

A country girl must have rubber boots–and I wear mine most often in February and March.

I have a goal to walk every day–a goal I don’t meet often enough. But when I do, I slip on my blue rubber boots and our beagle, Daisy Dewdrop, and I squish our way around the lake, across the fields, meandering at Daisy’s pace, stopping to sniff at interesting things all along the way. There was a time when she would run ahead of me and I would struggle to keep up in my rubber boots, but we are older now, and the lazy stroll is good enough.

In the words of Wendell Berry, “When despair for the world grows in me… I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water…”

We’re not really walking for the exercise, we are walking for the peace of wild things. We’re walking to shake off too much sitting, to unplug and disconnect. She’s walking to sniff out her world and see what’s been intruding, I’m walking to let go of the intrusive concerns of mankind, to balance myself by returning to a more natural perspective of life.

Our lazy strolls are relaxing (and certainly needed), but I prefer to walk through snow than mud. The world is more hushed, pristine and peaceful.  Snow is so beautiful and relaxing. Mud–is mud. It’s slippery, it stains, it seeps and sloshes.

Daisy too prefers snow over mud. In the snow she is friskier, livelier, and the white of her face seems less obvious on the white background. But in the mud she steps gingerly, dainty and delicate, knowing she’ll wear any major splashes on her belly and backside. When we return home, she spends extra time cleaning her legs and feet after I’ve toweled them off.

On today’s walk, I found an abandoned turtle shell, and Daisy waded into the lake’s edge to slurp big gulps of fresh water.  I noticed my tulips sprouting already, and some of the lilies. A few of our honey bees were buzzing around the outside trash cans. Sights of spring in late January, fresh life that will likely be frozen when the weekend temperatures drop again.

Those with cold frame gardens are surely being blessed currently with kale, carrots, even perhaps hardy lettuces, or even broccoli. Each year I hope to start a winter garden, and each fall I’m so worn out by the summer garden, the winter garden has yet to happen. But, the sight of the tulips and some lily sprouts makes me wonder about the asparagus, if it will also be popping up early. Makes me think about planting peas.

I do hope for more cold and snow before spring arrives. I hope for a winter that feels like winter. A serious dose of pristine white that solidifies mud, turns the squishing to crunching, one that frosts the tips of the tulips.  One more fat, fluffy snowfall that continues for a full day and night. One that lingers for days before melting away.

I hope for a cold snap that kills bugs, a snowfall that forces me to wear my snow boots, soft-lined and snuggly, especially compared to my blue rubber boots. I hope I can go from snow boots to garden clogs, and skip over all this mud.

Surely winter can’t be over yet.

 

This essay appears as Lisa’s column in the February issue of Two-Lane Livin’ Magazine. To enjoy the entire magazine as a flipbook, visit twolanelivin.com.

 

 

The Master List

Some people use their phones to keep their lives organized, others use personal organizers or family calendars. I’m old school. I make lists.

I use my spiral bound notebook and make groups of lists all on one page: to do for the magazine, to do for Christmas. To do for the classes I’m teaching–one ending and one to begin. To do for my final grad school residency, my seminar, my reading, my thesis defense. To dos to remember to add to the next list I make, likely sometime in January, when the blur of this season has passed.

When I first fill the sheet with my lists of things I need to do, the first response is panic. I evaluate the breadth and difficulty of the listed items and the amount of time I have available. I try to prioritize items on the list with asterisks or highlighter.

But in truth, it keeps me from aimlessly wandering around the house freaking out and frozen over all the things I need to do.

Yesterday I made my December list, and today I knocked 13 items off it.  Now there’s room for the more mundane–housekeeping items like dusting and sweeping. Dishes. Laundry. I cover the completed list groups with post its to add the items which have moved up. If the list gets to messy, I may start with a fresh sheet again.

There’s something satisfying about crossing an item–or two, or five–off a list. That quick scratch through each expectation is a mark of something accomplished, something performed. Each line is proof that time was not wasted, not on my watch, not today.

Thanks to Allison and Heartwood Lit Mag for the Feature

Thanks to Allison and Heartwood Literary Magazine for the recent feature on their blog:

SPOTLIGHT: Lisa Hayes-Minney Establishes Magazine to Showcase WV’s Hidden Talents

 

Lisa Hayes Minney (Nonfiction ’17) is publisher and editor of Two-Lane Livin’ Magazine, and publisher of Mountain Ink. She is also an Assistant Librarian at Gilmer Public Library and serves as an adjunct professor at Glenville State College. She is the workshop leader for customized writing workshops offered at Whispering Springs Haven and she is currently developing an essay chapbook and a spiritual guide. She is also working on her MFA thesis, planning to graduate in January.