Growing Gardens

Thursdays with Thacker Mountain

I first started working for Thacker Mountain Radio Hour as a Sophomore in college. There was so much hesitancy in my life then. I wasn’t sure what to do with my creative urges. I didn’t know who I was or how I could become the person I wanted to be. I was overwhelmed by all I was not.

I’ll never forget my first Thursday with Thacker. I walked into a room of strangers, unsure as ever, wondering where my place could possibly be in a group that looked so different than me.

They were musicians and authors and artists with determined dreams and sure ways of achieving them. I watched as they played their instruments and mingled in groups, completely unfazed by the new intern. I was careful to stay on the edge of the crowd, afraid to encroach on anything. Later that night, I stood in awe, witnessing one of the last standing local live radio shows unfurl before me. I had never seen anything like it. People sang songs they wrote in their bedroom for a crowd of people. They read their stories and poems, confident in the beauty they brought to the world. They were not young hopefuls, but rather, weathered artistic veterans: a kind of person I never knew existed. At the end of the first show, I felt sure, for the first time in a long time, that I had just witnessed something very special happen. And I continued to feel that way every Thursday after that.

Since then, I have seen my favorite authors read from their new books. I have heard music that was written from the deepest parts of despair and love and joy. I have befriended musicians that are 30 years older than me and have come to love them like family. And finally, I became sure in the place I held.

When I first walked in on that Thursday in 2021, I never would have thought I would be walking out in 2025 with all that I have now.

Every Thursday, I have felt allowed to let go of all the week did to me and be read and sung to like a child under a spinning disco ball. Every time I stepped through the doors, I stepped out of whatever I was wrapped up in. For 2 hours a week I could let it go and laugh at the stories told back stage and shake hands with people who have written stories I could only dream of coming up with. What a gift, what a treat, what did I do to deserve it?

I have been molded by the stories I’ve heard, the people I’ve been loved by and loved back, the consistency of showing up every Thursday, the room full of people who care about art and artists, and the team who believes in Thacker’s mission of sharing and being shaped by art.

I am looking back, overwhelmingly grateful to have been a part of it at all. To think I played such a small role in an experience that will stay with me forever is humbling beyond measure.

Endings are never easy, but this one feels especially hard. I can’t remember life before Thacker. I can’t remember how I used to spend Thursdays. I don’t want to imagine moving into the next chapter, while leaving this one behind; it feels unnatural. How do I hold tight to the slipping memory of each Thursday? How do I bring it close to my heart and love each one for all they were to me? How can I then let them go to become what it will be without me a part of it?

I’m not sure.

But what I do know is: I have been loved by a community of people who had no reason to love me. I have watched countless musicians and authors get on stage and do what they love. I have seen them come off bright with life’s golden glow, thrilled by the rush of it all. I have watched the crowd of people with halos of white hair continue to come and learn and expose themselves to the power of art. I have made friends who I love like family. I have been changed, slowly, with the passing of every Thursday.

It wasn’t a change that I could feel or notice, but it was quiet and nagging as each week came and went.

Isn’t it strange how that happens?

How love grows in routine’s soil, all quiet and still, until, without warning, a flower blooms that I never knew was there. Its petals prove that I have loved the land tenderly and regularly.

It’s then I realize that it is always worth planting seeds and loving them. Because even if I don’t believe it, gardens will one day grow.