Sunny River Writings

I hope you find a cozy spot to curl up and enjoy the adventure.

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NOV

NOVEMBER

A Turkey Tradition

On the day she moved out and into her very own apartment he said “Always come home for Thanksgiving”. Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday. It was a day the whole family spent together. His family was the most important element in his life. He was married six years during which time they had several miscarriages before they adopted a son and a daughter. These children he loved unconditionally. You could see the joy and pride in his eyes, the way his face lit up when one of them entered the room, or when he talked about his beloved children.

Thanksgiving was special to him because he was truly thankful. Early in the morning his wife would get up, stuff the turkey. It was a big bird so there was always plenty of leftovers. When he woke the special turkey smell was filling the house. The smell of sage and onion and turkey, he liked tradition and the aroma wafting through the house was one of those traditions.

When the big lunch was ready usually around 1pm he was the master of the carving of the bird. In his 45 years of family Thanksgivings he always carved the turkey. No one dared to even suggest that someone else could carve the bird. That would be like dethroning the king. Once he began the carving there were other traditions to this task.

First he removed the stuffing, then the legs and wings. They were carefully set on the side of the large platter. Next he began to carve with the knife he had carefully sharpened an hour earlier. The slices were not random cuts. But strategically planned out. And the cuts were made in the same order for 45 years. They were very thin slices and were placed neatly on the special Thanksgiving platter.

All the white meat placed on one side and all the dark meat on the other. With the first slice his daughter always had the first nibble to make sure the turkey tasted just right. As his daughter grew up and gave him grandchildren it was his daughter who always had the first nibble, then whomever came into the kitchen during the turkey carving could get a taste of the perfectly roasted bird.

Today he is a fond memory at Thanksgiving. Although he is with me in spirit I thank Daddy for always making Thanksgiving a special day.

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Thanksgiving, Turkey, Stuffing….

Thanksgiving, turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, family, football, lazy afternoons, napping in the recliner. Thanksgiving was all of that for him. This was his favorite holiday. He would get up at 4am to help his wife stuff the turkey. Putting it in the oven by 6 or so it would be ready when the family arrived for lunch and the Thanksgiving day feast.

He loved the smells, sage and cinnamon and turkey. His job was carving the turkey. To him it wasn’t a job but his right, earned because he was the head of the family. No one else could carve the turkey. It was his. All his.

And he didn’t just slice or chunk it. First he eased the knife through the top edge of the breast meat. It was customary for him to take the first taste making sure it was cooked just right, nice and tender. It was also tradition for him to give the second nibble to his eldest child. She stood quietly by his side, watching the turkey being put on the cutting board. Waiting patiently as he father sharpened the carving knife. Wide eyed as he shaved off the first piece and then the second.

Once they had both tasted the mouth watering piece of meat she stayed glued to his side as he, like an artist, carefully chose where to make a cut. First removing the legs and then the wings. Next gliding the knife across the breast meat, paper thin slices, laying them neatly on moms platter. The oval one with dainty roses painted around the rim of the platter. After all the white meat was cut he began on the dark meat. Again slicing thin slices and lining them up neatly on the platter.

By the time the meat was carved and artfully arranged the platter was placed in the center of the table. The turkey surrounded by mashed potatoes light and fluffy, sweet potatoes covered with brown sugar and marshmallows, green bean casserole steaming from the oven, and cranberry sauce that brought a cheerful color to the table.

There were also biscuits golden brown, butter and honey. A relish tray overflowing with black and green olives, celery and carrot sticks, cauliflower and broccoli leaflets, and cherry tomatoes sat at the corner. The feast was ready. The family was ready. Thankful for this feast that day. As they gathered around the young and the old shared what they were thankful for and what they hope for the months to come. With full bellies and the feast put away until dinner some went outside to play, some gathered around a card table to play a game or two and a few retired to a recliner or couch to relax. With a smile the cook and hostess was thankful for another blessing of family gathering together.

OCTOBER

I Am Rich; For I Have Read

While visiting at Peggy’s house one Tuesday, I noticed a small black and white photograph in a plain wooden frame sitting on a table. Funny I had never noticed it before. The photo was of a lady, I assume she was a mother, holding a small child on her lap. There was a young boy standing at her side. He was peering at her lap where lay a book. It looked as if she was reading a story to the children.

The photo brings back memories of my childhood. It is not the sitting on mom’s lap or even mom reading to me. I do not have memories of my interaction with my mom as a little girl. But all the pictures of me at a very young age are in black and white. I think of my childhood and I think of my own children.

I have numerous fond memories of reading to my children. The early 70’s I had three children each within a year of each other. We read all the time. Christopher on my right, Charles on my left, and Dorothy on my lap. They each took turns turning the page. Sometimes they would read to me. Not the words for they were too young. They would read the pictures. One of their favorite things was when I would insert one of their names for one of the characters in the story. We would read Alfie the Christmas Tree, Benny and the Bear, The Cat in the Hat and of course The Cat in the Hat Comes Back.

Charles loved the Paddington Bear stories, I think because Paddington was always on an adventure. One year for x-mas Charles was given a Paddington bear and a shirt to match the one the bear wore. Dorothy loved stories about unicorns and trolls and fairies. She has a collection of The Wizard of Oz stories. One is written through the witch’s point of view.

In the early years I would dream fairy tales and couldn’t hold an adult conversation. I felt as if I talked in simple sentences using easy to understand words. My favorite books today come from the children’s department. I read The Far Side of The Mountain or anything by Jean Craighead George. One of my favorite stories is The Life and Times of Santa Claus by L. Frank Baum.

When I graduated from college in 1996 my son gave me the book Oh The Places You’ll Go by Dr. Seuss. My children know how I love children’s books. Someone always gave me one for my birthday or x-mas. I remember when I was little someone saying ‘you can go anywhere you want if you read books’. This is something I have passed on to my children. Books are where dreams are made and memories shared. I feel I am rich for I have read.

OCTOBER

SEPTEMBER

UTAH

April 2012 I took my first long train trip to see my son in California. Actually, it was the first time I had been west of the Mississippi. I had lived in Illinois, Michigan, and North Carolina. I had friends and family in Indiana, Ohio, South Carolina, Vermont, Maine and New York. This trip was a very eye opening, very unexpected adventure.

The ride on the train has many benefits. No traffic, you can nap if you, delicious food in the dinner car or something light from the cafe car. As a long distance traveler you ride in a coach with like minded (long distance) travelers. There is not a lot of people getting on and off so it is quieter. Do you like reading or listening to something on you laptop or iPad? There is a restroom in each coach car. No having to leave the highway to find a restroom which takes time to park, go inside and then find your way back to the highway. Although the best part is the scenery. Small towns, big cities, open fields, farms, forests, rivers, and mountains. You get to experience it all.

I traveled from Washington DC through West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. In Chicago I transferred to a superliner that had an observation car. The trip continued through Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, and into San Francisco.

West Virginia through Iowa was pretty much the same scenery. Small towns, farm fields, more small towns, and occasionally a big city. Nebraska was mostly bare dirt with cattle ranches scattered all about. Colorado was green and mountainous. At one point we went through the Moffat Tunnel. It opened to train traffic in 1928 and is 6.2 miles long crossing the Continental Divide. It was built to be an quicker route from Denver to Salt Lake City. As the train took its slow journey through the tunnel it was eerie being in darkness riding in a train car for about ten minutes. Although a bit eerie it was exciting.

After Colorado came Utah. Here is where I had the most memorable experience. Utah is a hidden gem. First there are the amazing colors. The layers of rock: tan, orange, rust, pale yellow, pink, purple, brown and an off-white. The rock looked hard and solid, sharp and smooth, round and ridged, and soft and crumbly. Shaped by years of wind and rain erosion. The plateau’s are made up of sandstone, red rock, and granite. I have learned the difference between a mesa and a butte. A mesa is wider than it is tall and a butte is taller than it is wide. Running between them are flat canyons. The sight of the incredible rock formations took my breath away.

Still today thirteen years later I wonder why I never knew of the beauty of Utah. If the United States has a secret it is Utah. I am a huge fan of western movies so why didn’t I see the awe-inspiring magnificence of Utah since a lot of movies are shot at least in part there. The movies did not capture the colors, the vastness, the grandeur of this secluded or maybe secret place. I guess movies are more about the story and not the location. In this case that is unfortunate. Here is where a picture can not capture the incredible power of nature who has shaped and created such an unforgettable place.

I have been changed with a new love of our vast country. I have always been drawn to oldness. Out east you find old stately buildings and old narrow streets. Placed that date back to the beginnings of our country. But out west it is a different kind of old. It is nature through the ages shaping and transforming the natural world. Not build and changed by man.

I have taken this same train ride several times since and I am amazed, excited, and grateful for the untouched majestic beauty of Utah.

SEPTEMBER

SEPTEMBER

AUGUST

A Cherokee Memory

I used to lie here, so many years ago, back then I could see for miles, the tall grasses, fields of corn, meadows of wildflowers, but now they are gone. Today I see brick buildings, metal roof tops and cement roadways.

I used to hear the songs of birds, the bugle of an elk, the gobble of the turkey, and the howl of the coyote. Today I hear the roar of car engines, the honking of horns, the loud talking of mothers to their children.

I used to smell the sweet fragrance of the flowers, the smoke of a cook fire, the breeze bringing the river scents. Today I smell gas fumes, the cooking oil from nearby restaurants, the smell of heat and humidity from the asphalt that surrounds me.

I used to feel the bare feet of my tribe, the hoof of the deer, the padded paw of the fox. Today I feel the chopping of the mower, the urine of the city dogs, the hard boots of the white man.

I used to taste freedom, to just be here and to be cared for by the red man. I could feel the gentle rain and heat of the sun. Today the rain is full of chemicals and feels foreign and the sun feels hotter. Today there is no feeling of freedom. I am enclosed by heap after heap of foreign soil. My boundary ringed by buildings and roads.

My senses have been harmed. They are not of my memory. I long for that time again when I feel freedom to see, hear, taste, feel and smell the days of my tribe.

Written at Nikwasi Mound

Franklin, NC

JULY

JUNE

Daddy What Is A Forest?

Reading over some of my older writing pieces I came across this one. I wrote this piece in 1992 when I was in college. Although some the statistics have changed (for the worse). The issue of deforestation is still a major issue.

I often wonder, when my two year old son has children will they ask him: ‘Daddy, what is a forest?’ As David Brower founder of the Sierra Club Foundation, Friends of the Earth, Earth Island Institute, and North Cascade Conservation Council has said;

“We’ve lost about a million acres of wilderness a year for the last 60 years. It is of utmost importance to save for the future generations all the wildness that remains on earth. Remember, we don’t inherit the earth from our fathers, we borrow it from our children. And if you borrow something you don’t have the capability of paying back, you are actually stealing.” (Ridgeway 25)

We need to listen to the environmentalists if we are going to practice what we preach so we will have a future for us and our children. There is a concept that has been around for more than fifty years, that of Land Stewardship. We need to renew our interest in this practice. In the 1990’s we know so much more about our environment and ecology and we understand the impact of our activities on wildlife and the land, through improved technology and research. There are two very important parts to Land Stewardship for it to be successful.

First we must practice Land Stewardship and make it a priority. Second we need to update the knowledge of the many well-intentioned people who support Land Stewardship. We need to share the current research with these caring people so they don’t cause harm to our wildlife because of outdated practices.

A buzzword for the 90’s is ‘biodiversity’. A feature of Land Stewardship that is concerned with preserving biological diversity. “Ecologists the world over are emphasizing the need to maintain the richness of native plant and animal species.” (Decker, Gavin, Goff 4) One of the many species that is imperative tour ecological system is its trees.

The National Wilderness Preservation System consists of one million acres of wilderness. Half of this is in our national parks. Only 4% of these are protected. Of this 4%, 2.2% are in Alaska which leaves only 1.8% of protected wilderness in the remaining forty-nine states. People need to be aware of the total picture. Most people are concerned only in their piece of property. Each piece of property is only one piece in the puzzle. We need to put the puzzle together and ask ourselves these questions:

How does what I do affect the larger areas around me?

How does what happens in the larger areas affect my land?

Is my land unique? If so, it may be critical to certain species that depend on that uniqueness.

Should I change my land? If I do how will it affect future generations of species?

If landowners are taxed so much that they can not make good use of their land because of fear of loosing it what has been gained?

If the landowners spend a lot of money to keep their land in good shape for wildlife conservation which benefits everyone do we owe them some relief on the financial burden they have incurred?

And finally will society be willing to pay for the education and training of landowners who want to practice Land Stewardship?

These are questions we all need to think about and try to find answers for.

Our country needs to practice Land Stewardship. It is up to everyone living in a rural area or a city. Everyone has a voice. If you live in a major metropolitan area you can be active in issues that are brought to the ballot box. Here are some things to think about. An example from Decker, Gavin and Goff, associates at Cornell University claims:

“… for a population of ovenbirds to remain viable typically requires a block of hundreds of acres of unbroken, mature forests. Such an area may contain the properties of several landowners. But consider this – the actions of one owner that result in extensive forest clearing or even corridors of cleared land such as roads penetrating into the forest may signal the end of the larger landscape as viable ovenbird habitat.” (Decker, Gavin, Goff 6)

It has been shown that edges around forests and forest in mid-age stage need to be maintained because of the wide variety of trees, shrubs, and vegetation that is used as habitat by more wildlife than those forests with a limited variety.

Over the years the logging industry has clear-cut the timber. Clear-cutting is taking a sharply defined area of the forest and cutting all the trees in that area. Clear-cutting takes 200 years to have old growth again. Today there is a new term and process for cutting timber which is ‘New Forestry’. New Forestry is a part of a greater process of the Forest Service call New Perspectives. “New Perspectives first focuses on providing for a healthy, vibrant ecosystem and then delivers sustainable products in the process of maintaining that healthy state.” (Zuckerman 41) New Forestry allows dead trees to stand which provide habitat for birds. The logs left in the forest allow homes for small animals. The insects thrive on the dead and decaying wood on the forest floor. By only taking clusters of trees it seems to balance the ecosystem and the needs of the loggers. New Forestry takes only 60-70 years for the trees and debris to resemble old growth.

New Forestry and New Perspectives are good examples of Land Stewardship. With Land Stewardship we also need to remember our urban areas. According to Nina Bassuk, the director of Urban Horticulture at Cornell University, “Trees are not just a nicety … They make our cities livable”. (Bassuk 19) Trees filter airborne dust and some of our toxic pollutants, they absorb carbon dioxide and give off oxygen which people need to breathe. Planting trees is one of the easiest and cheapest ways to ease global warming since trees reduce our energy need. Trees placed properly around a house can cut air-conditioning by 50% according to the Forest Service. In winter a tree used as a windbreak can reduce heating by 30%. “Trees soothe the battered city soul. They screen objectionable views. They absorb noise. They attract songbirds and other wildlife. They provide shade. They offer visual relief from the square walls of urban life.” (Haurwitz 19)

As Land Stewards of the 90’s we need to reexamine our way of thinking beacuse of the new knowledge about our ecosystem and its workings, how it affects wildlife and habitats. We know that Land Stewardship philosophy is sound, the need for Land Stewardship is real and what we know about effective Land Stewardship is improving. Practising Land Stewardship we will protect wildlife and land for our children and our children’s children. And maybe, just maybe, we will never hear ‘Daddy, what is a forest?’

Decker, Daniel, Thomas Gavin, Gary Goff. “Our Love for The Land.” The Conservationist

Sept./Oct. 1991:3-13.

Haurwitz, Ralph “Soothing The City Soul.” Buzzworm Sept./Oct/ 1992:18-19.

Ridgeway, Rick. “Wilderness Shows Us Where We Came From.” Backpacker June 1989:25.

Wysocki, Annette. “Read Our Lips.” Backpacker August 1992:26-31.

Zuckerman, Seth. “New forestry, New Hype?” Sierra Mar./Apr. 1992:41-45, 67.

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Just a thank you to my followers for sticking with me over the past few months. I had emergency surgery and did not have the energy to keep up my website. I am back on my feet and will be with you celebrating Spring and looking forward to Summer.

APRIL

Summer Memories

Summer, the days of old-time Rock’n’Roll and memories of times gone by. As I was driving down a country road, just the other day, I heard the song Chevy Van, a 1970’s rock song by one-hit wonder Sammy Johns. A decade of memories came flooding back.

She was bright yellow. As yellow as the Common Sunflower. And like a sunflower her days were spent following the sun. Her logo, a circle with a ‘V’ and a ‘W’ were painted black and hung on the front like a nose. Her windshield like two eyes taking in all there was to see. Her bumper was her smile, happy to be traveling on any adventure short or long. Ah! The memories made in that Volkswagen van.

Over the asphalt highways and country dirt roads we traveled together. Listening to the music of James Taylor, Carole King, Carly Simon, Chicago, ABBA and the Eagles. Our world was our own during the period of the late 60’s and early 70’s. Surrounded by the carefree. That VW van and I rambled past cornfields bright green that swayed in the warm summer breeze. Meandering alongside streams the water lazily rippling over smooth worn rocks. Following a one lane through the forest just to see where it would take us.

Illinois in a storm, the lightning bold and sharp. Wisconsin, leaves turning orange, red and yellow dotting the countryside as fall colored the miles. And Minnesota all snow covered white glistening in the winters rays of sunlight. She carried friends on adventures. Hauled gear for camping to that spot off the beaten path. Took coolers and blankets to parties in the city that would last until dawn. She could be loaded with an apartment worth of belongings helping a friend to relocate from one small dusty place to another.

On a sunny afternoon five-hundred miles from home her heart gave out. There wasn’t the money then to replace or repair her transmission. The song Take Me Home Country Roads by John Denver was on the radio as I headed south and back to my home without my trusty friend. Her final resting place was a glorious junk yard off a country road in the back woods of the north. As I left I knew she would be happy there.

January

I Am Rich; For I Have Read

While visiting at Peggy’s house one Tuesday, I noticed a small black and white photograph in a plain wooden frame sitting on a table. Funny I had never noticed it before. The photo was of a lady, I assume she was a mother, holding a small child on her lap. There was a young boy standing at her side. He was peering at her lap where lay a book. It looked as if she was reading a story to the children.

The photo brings back memories of my childhood. It is not the sitting on mom’s lap or even mom reading to me. I do not have memories of my interaction with my mom as a little girl. But all the pictures of me at a very young age are in black and white. I think of my childhood and I think of my own children.

I have numerous fond memories of reading to my children. The early 70’s I had three children each within a year of each other. We read all the time. Christopher on my right, Charles on my left, and Dorothy on my lap. They each took turns turning the page. Sometimes they would read to me. Not the words for they were too young. They would read the pictures. One of their favorite things was when I would insert one of their names for one of the characters in the story. We would read Alfie the Christmas Tree, Benny and the Bear, The Cat in the Hat and of course The Cat in the Hat Comes Back.

Charles loved the Paddington Bear stories, I think because Paddington was always on an adventure. One year for x-mas Charles was given a Paddington bear and a shirt to match the one the bear wore. Dorothy loved stories about unicorns and trolls and fairies. She has a collection of The Wizard of Oz stories. One is written through the witch’s point of view.

In the early years I would dream fairy tales and couldn’t hold an adult conversation. I felt as if I talked in simple sentences using easy to understand words. My favorite books today come from the children’s department. I read The Far Side of The Mountain or anything by Jean Craighead George. One of my favorite stories is The Life and Times of Santa Claus by L. Frank Baum.

When I graduated from college in 1996 my son gave me the book Oh The Places You’ll Go by Dr. Seuss. My children know how I love children’s books. Someone always gave me one for my birthday or x-mas. I remember when I was little someone saying ‘you can go anywhere you want if you read books’. This is something I have passed on to my children. Books are where dreams are made and memories shared. I feel I am rich for I have read.

December

A Gift From My Father

Thanksgiving has just passed and I have come to realize that this holiday is a gift I received from my Father. When so many things around us change from when we were a child it is comforting to find those things that have remained just as they have always been.

My father’s favorite holiday was Thanksgiving. He believed it was the one day of the year to make a conscious effort to be thankful. We celebrated with family and good food. Daddy was most thankful for his family. He expected everyone home on that day. Thankfully we all lived close enough to be able to get together. We would gather around the dining room table that was filled with our traditional meal. I don’t think it ever changed.

The turkey which Daddy had carved, the mashed potatoes and gravy, and candied sweet potatoes were there in Mom’s ‘good’ dishes. You know the ones. Grandma’s bowl now with a chip in it which is saved for special occasions because that is when Grandma used it. There was a relish tray and stuffing, both moist and dry. A green bean casserole and dinner rolls completed the meal. The crispy marshmallows on top of the sweet potatoes were one of my favorites.

In the afternoon there were the football games and board games or cards for the non-football enthusiasts. All done while eating pumpkin pie or pecan pie or whatever dessert was set out. For Daddy

Thanksgiving was the one day of the year to just relax, enjoy family, and to be thankful.

Today it is much the same – a day to reflect and be thankful. There is not as much food. We all seem to be more weight conscious these days. There are not as many people around the table since my children span the country from California to New York. But the important part is still the same. Being thankful for family.

Thankful that my husband and I have made it another year with our health, our home, and each other. Thankful that the children and grandchildren are healthy and happy. Thankful for my children; their laughter, their support, and their just being there throughout the year. Appreciation for friends, both the old and the new. And grateful for all the little things. My Fridays with my youngest grandchild, babysitting my furry grandchildren (two dogs and a cat), playing canasta and great conversation, rides through the mountains to photograph a waterfall, and sharing a football game even though we are 800 miles apart, thanks to the TV and texting.

Thanksgiving for me is a gift that I cherish. Thank you Daddy for showing me the importance and the beauty of this magnificent holiday.

Daddy and I Stuffing the Turkey

This second essay I wrote three years ago when Hurricane Fred wreaked devastation on the little community where I had lived for 20 years. It washed out roads, houses, campgrounds, and the neighboring community of Clyde. Having just participated in clean-up from Hurricane Helene in the area where my children and grandchildren live it brought back memories of the heart ache felt three years ago.

The Tears Finally Came

Today as I headed east out of Canton on the just opened section of Route 19 the tears came. I couldn’t stop them. I knew the devastation to my small community was bad but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.

The morning after the flood I headed out through Canton and Clyde. Memories of hurricanes Ivan and Francis came flooding back. In 2004 it was north and west of the paper mill, that sits in the center of town, that was heavily damaged. This time it is south and east that took the full force of the storm.

Yesterday on my way back home, stopping at the still barricaded downtown, it was hard to watch the towns people pulling out and piling up the pieces of their businesses, pieces of their homes, the pieces of their lives. Heartbroken at the sight. This is my town that has been torn apart. I have never felt closer to my community than now.

In one spot there is a large empty field of mud. There used to be something there. I am so dumbstruck at the sight I can’t remember exactly what it had been there. I think it is where a flee market was. There is nothing left. No structure,no grass, no trees. All washed away. All the businesses and homes on this stretch have been damaged or destroyed.

The lawnmower repair shop has mowers that have floated away and settled as far as a half mile away. Sunburst campground with its little cabins have all been washed away. Not a one left standing.

For me the worst site was one that shook me to my core. Whenever I drove down the five mile mountain road from the Blue Ridge Parkway to the town of Clyde there was a little blue cottage that greeted me as I emerged from the tree lined mountain road. The cottage was always neat and tidy a pleasant welcoming site. Its sky blue stood out among the grey and white houses around it. Seeing it felt like it was saying ‘welcome back, you’re almost home’.

On this day as I headed through Clyde. The little blue cottage was gone. The side of the mountain was gone, washed away. The happy little cottage had disappeared.

My heart was broken. I had lost a friend. For the next several weeks as I drove past that spot I looked to see if I could find any sign of the cottage. There was not even one blue board to be found. New travelers on this road would never know of the little blue cottage.

I had to stop, pull over, as the flood of tears overtook me. I will never forget my welcoming friend.

2021 Hurricane Fred Canton & Clyde, North Carolina

November

Sorry I didn’t post anything new in November. I had family that was affected by Hurricane Helene in North Carolina. I spent time with them helping with clean-up and recovery. They have a long road ahead to rebuild. I am thankful they were all OK and were not in their house when it was hit by a tree. We all appreciate all the volunteers who jumped in to help those in need.

October

A Nature Excursion

Fall had arrived. The air was crisp and cool, the sky grey. There was no breeze on this particular day. The leaves were falling and most forest plants had dried up and turned brown. It was a pleasant day for hiking through the woods.

The trail I chose that day was not a long one. It was about a mile from the head of the trail to the lake. The terrain was easy, the path well used. I was alone. It was a day for wandering instead of hiking. To me wandering is to walk at a relaxed pace with no particular goal. Hiking on the other hand is to get from point A to point B with a time frame. As I was saying, today was a day for wandering.

Plants in the fall and winter are very interesting to me. Many change so greatly they do not resemble the plant they were in the spring and summer months. There color is gone, they have dropped their petals or shriveled up. They are colorless and brittle.

As I wandered down the path I was enjoying the simple beauty of each plant. They are so fragile. I had just begun to amble on when in the distance I heard twigs cracking and leaves crumpling. The sound was getting closer, louder. It sounded like something running through the thick of the woods. I stood still on the side of the path. All of a sudden a doe burst across the path with seven bucks in hot pursuit. She was so intent on escape and the males so engrossed in capture they did not notice me. They were heading in the direction of the edge of the woods, toward the cornfield and road.

I was delighted that I had experienced nature, I was thankful I was alone. If the trail had had several hikers the course of the deer may have altered.

I continued my wandering feeling very content. When I reached the lake I spent time watching for activity on and around the water. After a short time I headed back the way I came. Still in wandering mode I slowly made my way down the path. Watching the squirrels do their gathering, listening to the birds flit among the tree tops.

I was just rounding the last turn in the trail when once again I heard something running through the woods. This time it wasn’t moving as fast. And it was coming from the opposite direction as the deer had come a while earlier. Unsure what it was I decided to step out of the path. I moved in between trees that formed somewhat of a circle. I had no sooner taken my place when the bucks returned. This time they stopped about twenty-five feet from where I stood. They formed a circle all facing the center. They began charging at each other, taking turns. They looked as if they were playing or practicing their jousting. Several had antlers the rest had nubs.

Their game lasted what seemed like twenty minutes, but was probably only five. The young bucks were in rut. This was so exciting. I had learned about when deer are looking for a mate. I have seen confrontations on wildlife videos, but to be in the lap of nature, to experience first hand a natural part in the life cycle of a deer is an incredible thing.

As many events in life, everything happens so quickly. After the bucks ran off, my head was filled with wonder. Questions tumbled over and over. What happened to the doe? What exactly were the bucks doing when they circled up? Is that a part of a ritual when a buck gets his doe – do the others celebrate this mating?

I was in awe at the fact I was within eyesight of my car and yet so removed from civilization to be caught in the middle of a deer adventure.

Lowell Park trail Dixon, Illinois

September

The DQ Dilemma

The other day Erik and I had been doing a lot of outdoor clean-up. I am sure you can relate that when you are hot and tired and it is not meal time an ice cream treat is always a great way to relax. So we headed to the Dairy Queen.

I was driving and Erik was in the passenger seat. As we approached the little talky box I asked if he knew what he wanted. He said no. Once we reached the talky box he said he would have an ice cream cone since he didn’t have two hands to eat anything else with.

I was a little confused by this and asked what he meant by not having two hands to eat his ice cream with. Erik replied that he needed one hand to drive with.

I am sure my facial expression was one of total surprise. I asked if he forgot that he was sitting in the passenger seat? And that I was driving.

Erik then replied that when he drives (meaning his semi-truck) he has to have a hand to shift. This reply made no sense on several levels. 1^St he was not driving which we had just established. 2^Nd if he was driving his semi-truck he would need two hands, one for the steering wheel and one to shift with. In this situation I would think he would not be having any type of ice cream while driving.

I just smiled and chuckled to myself, placed our order and drove around to get our delicious treats.

I am realizing there are many types of mud. This is mud of the brain, the type that is not too thick but just a little cloudy.

I saw a saying the other day, ‘He that hath a head of wax must not walk in the sun’. So now I know that after working in the sun all day Erik needs to sit in the shade for a while before using his brain.

August

Wandering Through The Garden
from Hat Tree to Bottle Bush
the Garden Greets
the Beginning of Spring
the Early Pre-Spring Riser
Narcissus Jonquil
Stands Tall Knows her Beauty
the Sun Warms the Plants
as the Bright Yellow Jasmine Blooms
Primrose Bursts Open Below
the Tulips Speak Cheerfully
Flaming Parrot
to the Angelique Fringe
Apollo Dutch Iris
with the White and Yellow
Brings Thoughts of Winter Snow
and Summer Shine
the Queen of the Garden
with her Three Point Crown
the Great White Trillium and Now We Wait for the
Two Preying Mantis Egg Cases
to Hatch as Days get Warmer
New Life
Returning Life
Brings a Bounty
of Beauty and Color

If I Were A Flower
If I were a flower I would be a sunflower.
A sunflower is open facing the sun, always
looking outward. Being tall reaching farther
up than other flowers. I am not tall and have
wondered what it would be like never
needing a stool to reach something.
Being tall the sunflower was given the gift
of being closer to the sun and its warmth,
and closer to the first drops of rain.
The sunflower reminds me of sunshine.
Their bouquet brings a brightness even on a
wintry day.
Sunflowers are the color of friendship. They
are a friend to birds who eat their seeds.
Juncos, Black-capped chickadees, and the
Blue jays are frequent visitors to the cache
of seeds the sunflower holds. The little black
ovals the sunflower carries are a guaranteed
way to draw the birds in closer.
One of my favorite things is watching the
birds where I can sit and be entertained by
my feathered friends as they flit from branch
to flower to feeder to branch to crack open
their treasure.
So now you know why. If I were a flower I
would be a Sunflower.

July

Old Cabin In The Hills

Leaves have fallen
trees are bare.
She sits alone
tucked between the hills.

He built her strong
standing the test of time.
She holds him safe
protected from rain and wind.

Lazy creek wanders past
she listens to melodic rippling.
Providing a meal maybe
quenching thirst.

He is old now
life has ended.
She stands alone
a sad and lonely sight.

Cars pass by
no one notices.
Once a part of yesterday
now a forgotten today.

off of highway 74
Jackson County, North Carolina

_____________________________________________________________________________________

In A Valley In The Woods

Sitting on a mossy rock I can feel the cool through my pants. Next to the rock runs a stream. I hear the soft splashing as the clear glistening water flows over rocks. I hear a fly or bee buzz past enjoying its travels through the serene.

The muddy floor of the stream is a shiny medium brown in contrast to the dull light browns of the decaying leaf litter on the forest floor. Beside me are two ferns growing side by side one a lighter green and feathery the other a darker green with smooth leaves.

I spot a tiny red oak just beginning it’s life, three leaves on a spindly stem. Branches and twigs scattered all about some freshly fallen some becoming part of the earth, each becoming food and homes for the little creatures that inhabit this space in a valley in the woods.

Creek near Franklin, North Carolina