Book Excerpt: 'Coming Home to Myself'

ByABC News via logo
September 29, 2005, 1:43 PM

Sept. 30, 2005 — -- In her new book, "Coming Home to Myself," country music star Wynonna Judd recounts her triumphs and heartbreaks as she skyrocketed to fame from poverty. She also writes about her relationship with her little sister, actress Ashley Judd.

Wynonna and her mother, Naomi Judd, debuted as a mother-daughter singing duo, The Judds, in 1984 when Wynonna was only 18. That year they received their first Grammy award for Best Country Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocal. In 1992, Wynonna signed her first solo record deal.

Below is an excerpt from the book.

"We'll be river rats!" Dad said, excitedly, pulling his MG convertibleup to the little house.That's what the city folks called people wholived along the Kentucky River, river rats. It was winter, and bitterlycold.The place Dad rented was named CampWig. It was located between a cowpasture and a concrete block church where the congregation often sang andpraised all night long.

It was an unheated summer fishing retreat, so he purchased one of thoseblack coal-and-wood-burning stoves, and put up sheets of metallic protectorson the kitchen wall to keep the house from catching fire. We all took turns wakingup through the night and keep adding wood. If Mom and Dad were gone,it was my job to keep the home fires burning. We wore clothes on top of clothesand rubbed our hands a lot. Mom, Ashley and I often slept together under pilesof blankets, quilts and coats. Our pipes froze a lot in the winter, so we alwaysseemed to be out of water.

We had to get up early at Camp Wig. Mom left before dawn for her nursingclasses, driving her red VW through the back roads to the ferry across the river,and finally to the highway bound for Richmond, Kentucky. Ashley and I got upbefore dawn, too. We'd warm ourselves by the wood-burning stove each morning.I have vivid memories of standing and looking out the window, watchingMom bust up coal outside the kitchen door at five a.m. to warm us all up forbreakfast. Afterward, Ashley and I would walk up the long driveway to the mainroad to catch the school bus. It was over an hour's ride to town.

The small village around Camp Wig was poverty-stricken. Many of theother river rats lived without electricity or plumbing. A few of my friends usedcoffee cans for toilets. Some families lived up to eight in a three-room shack, curtains hung across the room to separate the kitchen from the sleeping areas.Many of the children had never been out of the county.

Yet with all that poverty, these people were the friendliest you could imagine.They were family out there. It reminds me of a story I was told about awoman who was asked which she thought would be worse, to be too rich or toopoor. She thought about it and said, "Too rich, because being too rich can belonely. If you're poor, you may not have much but at least you know who yourfriends are."

As spring replaced winter, Ashley and I discovered the real magic of CampWig. We fell asleep each night to the sounds of crickets and frogs, and awakenedeach morning to the birds singing. Flowers bloomed, and finally that summer,the blackberries ripened! Dad, Ashley and I would pick the berries, then siton the back porch and eat them until our faces were stained blue-black. CampWig was where I came to love the four seasons. There was always something tolook forward to, even if you did have to put up with frozen pipes.

Our house was so far off the beaten path that there were days that we neversaw a single soul or made it into a town. We seldom ate in restaurants or went tomovies. But Dad was happier than I'd ever seen him, and it made me happy justto see him content. He'd run a trot fishing line across the river and bait twentyor more hooks to catch fish. At night Ashley and I swam out to check them.He'd watch as we'd swing from vines into the river. We'd take bars of soap andgo out in the huge front yard that filled with water in places during a thunderstormand take baths. Sometimes we'd play in the rain. I find myself going outinto the rain with my children, just to feel that same joy from such a wonderfultime in my life.

There was something about living at Camp Wig that was defining for me. Asharsh as the conditions were at times, it was also peaceful. We had very little, butwe relied on one another. It felt natural for me to be there. The lifestyle was simpleand the people were real. We had lots of gatherings with neighbors wherepeople played musical instruments and sang. Dad loved the Stones, WarrenZevon and Frank Zappa, so this was where I developed a real passion for rock'n' roll. I also discovered my first "(s)hero," Joni Mitchell. Mom, Dad, Ashleyand I were together. And we were family.

We were happy until an unusually wet season upped the ante for living alongthe river. Camp Wig flooded and kept right on flooding until almost all of ourbelongings were ruined. Mamaw and Papaw Ciminella were never happy aboutus living along the river anyway. After the worst of the floods, they drove out oftento try and convince Dad that it was no place to raise children. By that time,Mom and Dad agreed.

Dad finally moved back to town, and Ashley and I stayed with him until wefinished school. Mom in true Judd fashion grew restless, packed up andwent searching for a new adventure. She had moved to a little one-room bungalowin nearby Berea, Kentucky. The town is home to Berea College, where low incomestudents can work their way through school using their talents doingvarious jobs in the community. The entire area reflects an artisan spirit, withhomage paid to its Appalachian roots. Berea is filled with arts and crafts storesand classes everywhere, as well as some of the most beautiful handiwork inAmerica. There is a hotel called Boone Tavern that is run by students in theheart of the town. When Ashley and I were with Mom, and Mamaw and PapawCiminella came to visit, they stayed at Boone Tavern and took us to eat in therestaurant.

The day our lives changed at least for a while started out with another ofthose hard Kentucky rains. Ashley and I were in Berea visiting Mom, and wewere driving home from the grocery store in the pouring rain. Mom was havinga difficult time seeing the road, when she suddenly slammed on the brakes. Despitethe downpour, we could see that an elderly woman had slipped off of thecurb, and fallen into the street.

"We almost hit that woman!" Mom shouted as she jumped from the car.

Mom rushed over to help her up. We got the woman into our car, and rushedher to the hospital's emergency room. We stayed at the hospital with the woman,Caroline Hovey, waiting for her husband, a professor at Berea College, to arrive.Once Mr. Hovey got to the hospital and his wife was being treated, Mom introducedus, and explained that she was a nursing student at Eastern Kentucky, andthat the three of us were in Berea looking for a place to live. Because of Mom'skind deed, the Hoveys called a professor at Berea College, Margaret Allen, andtold her about a single mother with two children who needed an affordableplace to live.

Margaret Allen called and said she wanted to meet with us at her home inMorrill, a forty-five-minute drive from Berea. Even though we'd lived along theriver and seen poverty up close, we were unprepared for the sight when weturned off the main highway and on to the long gravel road leading to Mrs.Allen's. We passed old outbuildings and run-down trailers with farm animalsrunning loose. Malnourished dogs with their ribs showing were tied up to oldtires. There were junked cars on cinder blocks.

"Mom, are we lost?" I asked.

"No," Mom answered with a frown. "This is the road."

I looked at Ashley and shrugged. Surely a professor at Berea College didn'tlive here.

Then suddenly, the gravel road ended and there was a huge red gate. It wasopen, as if we were expected. So we entered the property and drove up the pavedroad. It was like a scene from a movie. There on a hill sat a lovely, cared-forhouse as different from what we'd just driven by as could be. Mrs. Allen cameout and greeted us.

"Welcome to Chanticleer," she said with a big smile.

Her estate had two homes: Windswept, where she lived, and the house shecalled Chanticleer, named after one of her favorite children's stories. Mrs. Allenexplained that she was a music teacher, and along with the two homes, she hadcabins on the property, where students stayed each year for her music camps.Chanticleer was magical! It was completely furnished, with beautiful hardwoodfloors and hand-hooked rugs throughout. We each got our own bedroom,with a handmade quilt on every bed. Most of the furniture was antique, and allthe furnishings seemed to match. In the kitchen, beautiful china filled theknotty pine cabinets. In the living room there was a Steinway piano beside thehuge picture window overlooking the front porch. There were apple trees in thefront yard, and berry bushes in back. When Mrs. Allen offered to rent Chanticleerto us for a hundred dollars a month, Mom could barely speak.

That summer we raised a garden and Mom taught Ashley and me how tocan. Those are things I promise that I will make time to do with my own children.Chanticleer was where my lifelong love for animals began. We had kittens beingborn in the barn and homeless dogs wandering into our lives. I learned how toshear sheep, spin the yarn and weave tapestries on a loom. There was no televisionand no telephone. We relied entirely on our own creativity for entertainment.I loved to visit my best friend, Ramona Van Winkle, down the road. We'dgo to the main road and sing Loretta Lynn songs at the top of our lungs topassing motorists. This was my first experience singing as a duo. I guess I was intraining and didn't realize it!

If Camp Wig had opened my heart to nature, it was Chanticleer that openedmy soul to music. It was during this time that I discovered the guitar. Someonehad given one to Mom as a going-away gift when she left California. Dad hadalready shown me a few chords on his guitar, so that was enough to inspire me.I started singing and playing around the house. I'd sit on the porch and practicefor hours. And so my life as an artist began.

Dad's love of music and my desire to play was one of the first true connectionsI felt with him. He often brought his leatherwork to Berea's art fairs, andI'd stay with him in a tent while he sold his wares. We'd sell by day, play and listento music by night. It's one of my happiest memories! The big tents, thelights, the people singing and playing it was there that I discovered jammingwith other musicians. I began to play by ear. The guitar became an appendage. Itwas the first time I remember feeling as though I had a purpose in life.

Mrs. Allen started giving me piano lessons that summer. The lessons taughtme discipline, but while I liked the piano, I was more drawn to the guitar. Still,Mrs. Allen had faith in me and even allowed me to attend her music camp freeof charge. It is one of the most magical memories of my life. Mrs. Allen was sogifted. She taught us about the passion of music, the rise and fall of notes. Shewas the first person to show me the difference between playing technically andplaying from the heart. She had such a musical style, and such a big heart. (Thecamp took in children from all walks of life.) At the end of music camp, thestudents always put on a show on her elaborate patio. That year it was "Porgy &Bess." It was my first performance. A milestone!

I was starting to get really excited. Music was becoming more than aninterest it became my passion. By the end of the summer it was just that guitarand me. I'm glad I wasn't a Top 40 kid. It was because we shopped in usedrecord stores that I discovered Rounder Records, and the label's great collectionof authentic music. I also discovered Emmylou Harris, Doc Watson, RalphStanley, Merle Haggard, Bill Monroe, Dolly Parton and Hazel and Alice theBoswell Sisters. I got hooked on hillbilly music bluegrass and the old mountainfolk songs. By the end of summer I was addicted to the way that Doc Watsonplayed the guitar. I started to learn the autoharp, and when my Uncle Mark,Mom's brother, brought me a banjo, I started learning to finger pick.

Mom loved the way Hazel and Alice harmonized and started trying to workup harmonies to my lead. Even though she had never done that before, it somehowfelt natural there in the mountains, with so many singers, writers and musiciansaround.

One of my great influences was the Yancey family, Minnie and her fourchildren. Minnie is the one who taught Mom to make lye soap, which wouldlater cause television host Ralph Emery to start calling us the Soap Sisters. TheYanceys were like family to us. Minnie's daughter Sonja Bird sang and playeddulcimer as well as guitar. Sonja Bird was very important in my own musicaljourney, since she was my first real guitar and vocal teacher.