Monday, May 31, 2010

Ditch Diving

Richard has been ditch diving to clean out several years’ accumulation of leaves in the drainage culvert by the Ruritan building. He also volunteered to clean the Ruritan’s roach coach, which was apparently really roachy. Not many people get so much joy from helping others and doing dirty jobs, and not many are so willing to work so hard all alone.

He was all ready set out mid-day on Monday to begin these tasks when I reminded him that the garden still needed tilling, but getting the tiller started proved to be as problematic as starting the tractor had been. The tilling would have to wait until the repair shop completed the equipment repairs, so he was off to the Ruritan building.

He returned to the roach coach several times, stopping in at the house to consult with me with on cleaning methods and collecting equipment. Even after the cancellation of the event for which he was cleaning, the cleaning continued. He never accepts his “at-a-boy” until the job is complete. Unfortunately, the grill that he hoped to display as like-new is pitted, so he probably won’t even want to admit that he’s the one who created the cleanliness.

Richard and I have been learning enough about how back-breaking traditional crop-raising can be and how difficult it is to continue as we age. This has led us to many a discussion regarding alternative planting and growing methods. We had both been contemplating raised-beds, especially in light of the trouble getting Mamie’s fifty’s era tractor and ninety’s era tiller ready to roll.
When I went over to weed, I spied a book, The Ruth Stout No-Work Garden Book in Mamie’s kitchen. Pointing to the first chapter heading, “Throw Away Your Spade and Hoe,” I declared that the book seemed like a must-read to me. When I asked to borrow it, Mamie declared, “You read it and tell me what it says.” So I am reading it and telling her and Richard exactly what I’m gathering from it.

The author promises that heavy mulching will eliminate the need for composting, plowing, tilling and most weeding. This is similar to the “lasagna gardening” that Mountaintop Mary has mentioned.

Even though I often accuse Richard of never hearing a word I say (to which he replies, “Huh?”) he must have been listening. He informed me that the reason he volunteered to unclog the drainage ditch was that he figured the mostly composted leaves could enrich our garden soil.

Every day, for the last week, Richard has pulled his trailer to the Ruritan building with his now well-running Bronco II. Every day for the last week, he’s come home with the load of leaves to wait out the rain. Every day for the last week, he has gone over to the garden and neatly distributed the leaves on a previously plowed and harrowed patch.

Now Mamie has informed me that I really must move the butternut squash plants and might want to consider planting another stand of corn. What I thought was going to be a beginning of next year’s garden method is going to get its first run this summer.

Richard and I are both absolutely ecstatic about his leaf relocation program.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Arbitration Agreements

If the way that our nation’s emergencies and industries, such as floods caused by shoddy Corps of Engineers work, and oil spills caused by unregulated industry, are handled by “government” is an indicator of how well we are represented in our republic, maybe it’s time to create a model of true democracy and skip the “representative” part. And maybe it’s time that our senate is comprised of people with proven wisdom rather than another bunch of popular people.

We were all taught to do research papers as part of our educations. This included checking and citing many sources, and yet we get most of our “facts” in this world of almost infinite information from only the sources that most agree with our pre-conceived beliefs. We are empowered to intelligently debate any subject, but still choose gurus who interpret the data and tell us what to believe.

We also were taught to listen when spoken to and to use our words, not our fists, to communicate, and yet we are often incited to fight as our first option in dealing with fear. We were taught problem solving and communication skills as a substitute for helpless whining and tattling to our teachers and other authority figures, and yet we still sit helplessly waiting for the “government” and the law to fix our problems. This has kept us in the power of lawyers, liars, and big-mouthed bullies, fear mongers, and class clowns.

We are fortunate to live in an age of instant, individual education and communication. With the internet, we are able to research almost any subject from almost any perspective that we wish, and to communicate our ideas without the corruption or interruption of our words. We are empowered as never before to have a voice in anything we believe. We are wasting our talents by endlessly forwarding half-baked and severely biased “information.”

I have read much about how horrible it is that the citizens of south Louisiana have been prohibited from rolling up their sleeves and doing whatever it would have taken to protect their coastland. Civil disobedience was made for just this sort of situation, but individual action would give the oil industry a huge loophole to run through in displacing liability. If we weren’t so cowed by the legal profession and influenced by the drama-driven media, we would take more action upon ourselves.

The reason we do not is that we continue to convince ourselves that our laws force the big guys to take care of the little guys. Our legal system exists to define and protect the status quo, not to protect right. We delude ourselves into thinking that if we align ourselves with a big enough and powerful enough group that we, as individuals, will be protected. We then anoint leaders as our protectors and dare not question them or the crowd for fear of being turned on, shunned, and possibly punished by the group.

History shows a pattern of the big guys buying off the most vocal and most connected of the little guys, and leaving the rest to rot. But history is written by the powerful and protected, not by the individual, so we know little about the truth of how we got to where we are.

It seems that most people have no idea what the tenets or history of their religion or political parties consist in. They simply choose the parts of the rituals that they find comforting, and go along. Why is it so important to so many people to pretend that they have a like-minded support group that they will close their eyes to any dissent or disparity in group thought? Is it really so hard to have civilized disagreement and discussion until we come to understanding of each other’s positions?

Christianity condemns legal action against our brothers (and, presumably, our sisters), yet we in this country that considers itself so Christian are the most litigious people in the world. The rule of our law favors fighting over cooperation. “To the victor belong the spoils”. As long as our system rewards those who have the most power to wage war and endless arguments, this promises to continue. What good are our churches if they are not promoting arbitration over legal action and protecting the individual over the institution?

It seems that what we need are on-call mediators to replace the legal action in this world. Maybe we should have to sign arbitration agreements to be admitted into the human race.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Longing for Louisiana

My Louisiana, the more bruised and bloodied you become
The more I long to be there to help lift you from your knees.
How I long to, once again, smell the scent of your salt breezes
How I hunger for the sound of seagulls laughing as they dive.

Your life is in my soul; you have made me what I am
I can never feel whole waking so far from you.
I need all that you offer, your people and your places,
To feel that I have a center in this too-large universe.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Hearing and Harmony

Just because you sometimes feel
Discomfort in what you see,
It does not mean that there
Is something wrong with me,
Nor does it mean that there
Is something wrong with you.
Maybe we simply need someone
To interpret our points of view.
If we’re both willing to listen,
If it takes more than one try,
We may never completely agree
But perhaps seeing eye-to-eye
Is a way to accept discord
And turn it to harmony
Your song as strong and beautiful
As the song coming from me.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

A Look at Love

The problem with love is that
It hurts so much as it heals.
It’s a form of physical therapy for the soul
Stretching us farther than we think is possible,
Ever pushing us toward greater resolve.
Just when we think we can hold no more
A door opens to new energy
We arise refreshed and ready
To beat back our own demons again.
The fear, the anger, the sadness of loss
Can only vanquish us if we stop loving.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Post-Parenting

I arrived home in the holler
Where there’s little drama or strife.
We can sit and watch the crops grow
In our semi-retirement life.

While it is true that weeds happen,
And rain is beyond our control.
I am now in charge of nothing,
Finished filling my Granny role.

After all the hustle bustle,
All the laughter and all the tears,
I think perhaps post-parenting
Are truly the most golden years.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

The Perfect Party

It should have been easy – an outdoor swimming party at a community swimming pool and pavilion. The menu was to be Rebecca’s favorite foods – nothing fancy or complex – grilled hotdogs, hamburgers, lots of fruit and baby carrots with various dips, potato chips of three varieties, and kettle corn. We were washing it down with real homemade lemonade.

The piece de resistance was to be Rachel’s decadent chocolate cake with cream cheese icing, beautifully decorated with piped-on spring flowers. I refused to carry the cakes, as I’m such a klutz. I would have beaten myself if I destroyed Rachel’s many hours of effort.

Rachel and the grandgirls had done all the shopping and prep work. I was recruited to make sure that all of the ingredients and the birthday girl got the pavilion set up in time, since Rachel had to be at post-planning in the school where she teaches third grade, and it was a regular work day for Larry.

We loaded the van from ceiling to running boards. Rebecca and her buddy Caitlin had party stuff under their feet and in their laps, but we got everything in – even the cake, which Rebecca was brave enough ( and strong enough, as it weighed about twenty pounds) to carry. Oh, how proud we were to arrive at the park with almost two hours leeway for a leisurely set-up.

The first thing Rebecca noticed was that the pool wasn’t open. Being a Pollyanna, I commented that they probably just hadn’t opened yet because her party was still two hours away. We parked and began set-up as I pondered on the predicament. I remembered that I had seen a reservations phone number on the pool fence, so we placed a call. We got an automated answer reassuring us that we would be helped as soon as the message was relayed, but without specifying how long that could take.

I spied a guy cutting grass who went into the pool enclosure to perform some task. I sent the girls to ask him about the pool problem while I continued to take stuff out of the van. Next thing I knew, Rebecca came flying through on the verge of tears. “There’s no sense setting up. The pool isn’t open today,” she said as she ran off with her phone.

As soon as Rachel got free from work, she called me for our status. I assumed that the first call Rebecca made would have been to her mother, but Rachel obviously didn’t know that anything was amiss. It fell to me to tell her that all her hard work to plan the perfect party was imploding. A swimming party without a pool didn’t seem too appealing. Fifty people had said they were coming, so Rachel and I agreed that the show had to go on. With a catch in my throat and tears in my eyes, I continued putting what was left of the party together.

I was down to the last bag of ice coming out of the van when Rachel called back. “Pack up. We’re moving the party to another pool,” she declared.

The girls wandered over with mobile phones in hand. It was their job to text the new location to all fifty party people. With their thumbs flying, they texted the news in no time. Rachel and Sarah arrived to help with the reloading. (This time, Rachel had custody of the cake.)

What a wonderful time we proceeded to have, with swimming, dancing, volleyball, badminton, Jai Lai, and even a bit of soccer as the sun set over what turned out to be a perfect party.

Monday, May 24, 2010

First Grandchild's Sweet Sixteen

I have no time to write.
Sweet Sixteen’s party’s tonight.
There’s much preparation to do
So I bid you a fond “Adieu.”

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Gardening, Grieving and Guffawing

Mountain Mama Mamie has been saying for the last two springs that she’s too old to garden. We refuse to believe that she’s really giving it up any more than we want to believe that she’s giving up her hens. She’s the first to admit that she sells the eggs to give people a reason to stop in to visit. Work is what has gotten Mamie out of bed for at least the last seventy-five years; what will motivate her if she gives up the garden and her egg business?

Mamie keeps us posted on what needs to be done in the garden and when it needs doing. She declared it time to weed the beets and carrots, adding that it didn’t matter that it was still too mushy to have Richard run between the rows with a tiller. What needed weeding were the actual rows, and she would help me do that part.

When I went over to weed the, I stopped in to tell her that I was going to the garden. Even though she had told me that she would help me with the job, I really didn’t expect her to. I figured it was just her way of impressing on me the importance of doing the work. I thought about not telling her until after I finished, but I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings by not telling her I was getting started.

As I bent to my task of cleaning out the carrot row, along came Mamie in her jeans and garden shoes to begin the beet row. We weeded and chatted and guffawed for about two hours, occasionally straightening up to peruse our potato plants and pull the bugs off the leaves. We continually congratulated ourselves on how productive our preferred exercise program was. Who needed stretching classes when we could bend and stretch all we wanted as we worked those weeds out of the soil?

As I neared the end of my row, ninety-year-old Mamie put me to shame. She had not only finished her row, she proceeded to weed the last little bit of mine. Finished with gardening, indeed! At this point Mamie announced that it was time to clean up and change our clothes to get to the memorial service for a long-time artist-in-residence in Coker Creek. She had already been dressed up once that day to attend her great granddaughter’s graduation ceremony. When I saw her at the service, she was looking bright as a new penny. The Energizer Bunny has nothing on Mamie.

Mamie knows a lot about pacing oneself and that there’s a time and season for everything. She also has much to teach about turning worry and grief into productive action. Her concern about the nation’s economy prompted her to recruit me and Richard into learning to garden. Her grief over the loss of her oldest son to death and the loss of her oldest daughter to Alzheimer’s prompted her to put on her gardening clothes and go destroy some potato bugs and weeds.

I’m lucky to learn from such an accomplished example of gracefully accepting life’s lessons.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

A Meal of Memories

I made a most marvelous breakfast
With little bits of leftovers
A piece of grilled chicken from
The lunch I’d taken to Rachel
Only to find that she’d already
Eaten a school lunch meal.

I added a pile of beef brisket
From the Mexican birthday dinner
With my Rachel and her Sweet Sarah,
And then squash, onions and peppers
That Richard had enjoyed for a supper,
And a bit of pimento cheese spread
That was threatening to go to waste.

After beating up a bunch of eggs
Produced by Mamie’s chickens
I poured them over the remnants
Of several remembered repasts.
This became a nice frittata --
Really a meal of memories.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Hair Affairs

Rebecca read while I cooked her breakfast; there were just the two of us in her house. I hardly ever get to see Rebecca at repose, so this was quite a treat for me, just enjoying the sight of her, my oldest grandchild. After dropping her at school, I drove to Tennessee and Richard, who was waiting for a ride from the repair shop where his beloved Bronco II is having a bit of work done.

My pick-ups included a visit to the vet to retrieve Gypsy. Every year at this time, we get her groomed for the summer. This requires cutting her eight-inch coat down to less than an inch, except for her beautiful white plume of a tail and her cottony top knot. This is how she looked when we first saw her, so it brings back adoption memories for all of us.

Imagine my surprise when Richard walked out with a dog that looked like a big-headed whippet! Gypsy had no hair anywhere; she was shaved down to the skin from her former top knot to her tail. Richard is right; she’s definitely not fat. She’s just a big-boned girl.

It brought back memories of when my mama used to cut my hair, forgetting that on curly hair you can’t cut bangs exactly the length you want them to be. What you envision and what the finished haircut look like are entirely different things. The wet bangs that barely touched my eyebrows when they were first cut became a slight fringe below my hairline as they dried.

It was small consolation to a six-year-old that the hair would grow back, but my bangs did grow. I keep reminding myself of this lesson as I grieve over Gypsy’s lack of hair anywhere -- not even a fringe of bangs over her big brown eyes. What was the groomer thinking?

This put me in mind of the time that Rachel went to her daddy’s house for his visitation week-end and returned as a stranger. There was a knock on the door; when I answered, there stood an adorable little blonde boy, about six-years-old. Who was this child calling me Mama and dressed in Rachel’s clothing? Oh my! It was my beautiful daughter who had struggled to grow hair that her grandpa didn’t say about, “I’ve seen better hair on salt meat.” I tried not to react so as not to make Rachel believe that she wasn’t still beautiful, but I can tell you, I was one mad mom.

Of course, I knew that her hair would grow back; meanwhile, people kept mistaking her for a beautiful boy. This led to drastic measures. My sister who was married to a Hispanic man had had her infant daughter’s ears pierced. I had been afraid of injury to Rachel’s ears when she was an infant, but I figured that my ever- cautious little doll could manage the piercings at the age of six. I had monogram earrings made for her, and off to the piercer we went.
I wonder if they make earrings for Great Pyrenees puppies.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Salivating for Summer

I was treated to three quarters of an hour with Rachel and her third grade students. Rachel has had the same students for two years now, and is grieving over losing them next year. She did admit that she thinks changing teachers may be in their best interest since they are beginning to act like her own children – not bad, but a little mouthy – which some adults may frown on. Since Rachel’s birthday is on the last day that these children will have school this year, and I won’t be in Atlanta on that day, I brought brownies and we all celebrated Rachel’s birthday together. What a joy it is to see Rachel in her child-filled environments!

I planned to take Rachel’s family out to an early birthday dinner, but it ended up being just me, Rachel and Sarah. Larry was getting new tires and Rebecca was studying for finals. As Rachel says, if we wait for all members of her busy family to do things together, we may never get to do anything. We had a lovely time at dinner, but the real fun began when we got home.

I had bought Rachel a cute exercise outfit, which her girls insisted that she try on. Rachel has always been one of the least vain women I know, so there was no way that she would think of seriously modeling any item of clothing. She came out of her room doing some kind of combination dance/ exercise number that was quite hilarious to watch with her bouncing, bending, and stretching all over the kitchen and dining rooms. Larry was quite embarrassed with all the talk centered on whether or not built-in sports bras are actually supportive.

I now sit here being serenaded by Sarah on the piano. She won’t be having a recital this year; she’ll perform a jazz rendition of Amazing Grace at church instead. I love hearing child-produced music playing in a home. Rachel wanted Sarah to pursue her music for the sheer joy of being able to produce these lovely sounds. It seems to be working. Many times, when Sarah has a free moment, she sits at the piano and plays. Sarah and her cousin Nick are also saxophone students; I hope this will equate to saxophone serenades for me this summer. And maybe Miya can do a dance number while Sarah and Nick play.

Summer on the water in Louisiana used to be filled with kids wet from swimming, crabbing, and boating in Lake Pontchartrain. Granny Camp In the mountains has its own set of adventures. We haven’t gotten them all planned yet, but Mountaintop Mary, Josie, and Gold Digger Bill have signed on for some activities.

I wonder if Eda will teach them to bake biscotti or those waffle cookies that she does so nicely. I know Mamie’s garden and gathering eggs will entertain them, and Jack’s knowledge of the surrounding woods and wildlife is sure to be a hit. Come on summer!

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Daisies to Dandelions

First there were dandelions; now there are daisies
Honeysuckle, goldenrod, yellow buttercup.
They dot the land along the highways and byways,
And have much of the pasture grasses covered up.

Blackberry brambles are a riot of white blooms;
The rains have made them especially prolific.
The big juicy berries should be coming on soon
For cobblers and jams that will be so terrific.

The seeds that we have planted should sprout any day,
Then the weeding and staking are sure to begin.
While the sun is shining, we are not making hay,
But we are looking forward to crops we'll bring in.

Raise your voices and sign praises for the seasons
Of growing, though they may seem to be very short.
They help us stay tuned to our Mother Earth’s reasons;
In this, we are blessed that we can play a small part.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Class Is Cancelled Crisis

We had planned to teach a couples’ cooking class, but only two reservations were made. This led to cancellation of the class, which we thought was a simple procedure of returning the two checks that secured the reservations – until Ivy called from the welcome center.

Richard answered the phone, and I heard him say, “I’d better let you talk to her.” “Hi, Ivy,” I said. “We’re at the welcome center,” she replied. Was this supposed to mean something to me? The welcome center has nothing to do with any classes, except to advertise them. I tentatively mumbled, “Okay?” “I knew I should have called before we drove up here,” Ivy lamented. “Are you still having the class?”

Oh, that’s what this is all about -- the cooking class! The Ruritan Club, where we were supposed to conduct the class, was locked up tight – and there is no phone there. There is also no cell phone service on our mountain; that’s why Ivy was calling from the welcome center. As I explained to Ivy that we had only received two checks and canceled the class, she queried me about the check that she had sent a month before. What check?

Now I was more confused than ever. Meanwhile, her husband, Hugo, was prompting her in the background to have me “whip something up” for them. I had just placed two carrot cakes in the oven for sending to relatives for their birthdays, but that didn’t qualify for dinner or that night’s dessert.

I was in my usual state of no foundation garments; Richard was in a raggedy t-shirt, and the kitchen floor really needed sweeping to rid it of all the wet leaves that had been tracked in with the storm. I laughed and assured Ivy that I’d let her know when we rescheduled to he cooking class.

As soon as I hung up the phone, I had second thoughts. We like Ivy, even though we’ve had limited exposure to her, mostly through Scrabble nights at the Tellico bookstore she manages. I thought it might be nice to get to know her better, and to make her husband’s acquaintance on a couple-to-couple basis. I called back and invited them over.

We threw on a bit of better clothing, performed a lick-and-a-promise sweeping of the kitchen, whipped up an Italian olive salad and Feta appetizer – and it was show time.

I had some garlic mashed potatoes and some mashed butternut squash leftover from a previous meal. Richard had prepared and frozen several portions of his leeks, peppers, fennel, and ginger salmon topping, which we combined with a nice salmon filet from the freezer. We now had the main course and sides. Richard rose to the occasion with one of his wonderful salads, which Hugo declared to be the best salad he’d ever had. We finished with bread pudding that I had also had leftover and frozen.

Ivy and Hugo got an abbreviated private lesson in couples’ cooperative cooking; we had a wonderful supper, and we seem to have made new friends.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Head for the Hills

The thunder storms boomed; our poor dog ran away,
Last seen -- a white blur heading over the hill.
We do have shelters under which she could stay,
But when the storms strike, she can’t seem to be still.

With creeks running over and trees thrown around
We feel rather safe in our wooden shelter.
We throw open the windows to enjoy sounds
Of the fierce storm throwing things helter-skelter.

We found our dog huddled under a tractor;
She knows something about shelter we do not
Could tractors being made of iron be a factor?
We thought that our work shed was such a safe spot.

Maybe our puppy accepts something we fight
Should we be seeking another place to sleep?
Our hillside root cellar – would it be just right?
As the storms raged, we would hear nary a peep.

I can see us now, on our cots between cans
Of pickled beets, beans, tomatoes and what not.
This could maybe seem like a workable plan
If only there was space for a chamber pot.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Don't Take Leisure Time Lightly

Summer vacation is only a week away, and I’m all aflutter. Rachel had Friday off due to a doctor’s appointment and Sarah stayed home sick, so I got a jump on summer by going to Rachel’s house this week-end. This facilitated just a bit of practice snuggle and leisure time spent with the grandgirls and their mom as they slide into home plate of the end of the school year.

While at Rachel’s, I finished a book that my niece Nikki sent me called Life Is a Verb. It is about living intentionally, as if you may be dead in thirty-seven days. The overarching message is that we must be more careful to cultivate and share the parts of us we want to leave behind when we go. Twenty-one years ago, when I was going through some very serious life changes that caused me to feel completely out of control my destiny, I was exposed to a similar philosophy in a series of audio cassettes that posited the question,”How would you spend your time if you knew that you only had six more months to live?”

Twenty-one years ago, I knew that if I was in that position, I’d want to quit my job, take my children out of school and spend my last six months celebrating life with them as we traveled the world together. Unfortunately, this doesn’t work in reality, as my children have people in their lives other than me. Even if I was dying, my children would still want to see their people.

I seem to always be living as if I only have a few weeks left to live, hence my wanderlust. I’ve always been greedy for time with the people who mean the most to me. I hunger for all the dynamic energy that surrounds the still growing, still discovering young people in my life. Now that my children are grown, I have to fight the same impulse to smother my grandchildren. They change so rapidly, I fell like they become different people between each set of visits.

I have always lived for week-ends and summer vacations, when there’s more time to simply be together. This is when I really get to know my people. Those early morning hours in our pajamas are the most precious times of all -- the reconnecting after a night of separation and sleep and the easing into the new day’s activities. I also love the bedtime rituals, especially when the children want to have a story read or a back rub or a special song before closing their eyes for the evenings escape into dreamland.

One has to practice relaxation skills when most of one’s life is lived in overdrive, as Rachel’s family's is. I’ll be going back to Atlanta for Rebecca’s sweet sixteen party next week-end, so we’ll get in a little more practice. All of this is building up to a summer promising lots of leisure, love and laughter with Scott’s brood, Rachel’s family and various other members of our extensive tribe.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Sarah's Soccer Games

Going to Sarah’s soccer games
And shopping and such
Gives me little time
For writing much.
And so,
I have
To go.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Scared Silly

Louise Barnes wrote in her blog about things to be scared of at night in the forest. I'm such a scaredy cat about all those things that go bump (and howl and shriek) in the night that I won't even put our dog away at her bedtime. Richard does it for us. I did buy some night vision goggles, just in case I ever need to go out alone after dark, but it's probably hard to control a Great Pyrenees with one hand while holding goggles with the other.

A normal person may love the pitch dark for all the stars that are visible without any ambient light. A normal person may also love the night sounds of woodland creatures that are heard but seldom seen. All I can think of is all the scary tales that were told to us as children in an attempt to make us want to be at home for supper as soon as the street lights turned on, like the one about the old man with the big sack that he put all the bad children in as he sneaked into their rooms at night. And don’t forget about Dorothy wandering through the woods with the lions and tigers and bears. Oh, my!

We may not have tigers, but we certainly have bears, although I’ve only seen one in our yard since we arrived here. And I’ve been told that there are mountain lions. While I like living close to nature, I prefer to have a less up-close-and-personal encounter than coming face to face on a dark night with a predator on the prowl.
My grandchildren and their parents love to run through the woods at night playing hide-and-seek. I would no more walk into the dark and wait for someone to sneak up on me than I would do oral surgery on myself. I don’t even drive after dark unless it’s on a well-lit multi-lane highway.

I know I’m a large woman, but I am still delicate about a lot of things. I have to regularly remind Richard of this fact. He does most of the heavy lifting and runs the tractor and any other power tools more dangerous than a vacuum cleaner. I stick to planting and picking and cooking and canning as he continues to do the more “manly” things. And I certainly don’t want him to stop braving the dark for me and our Pyrenees puppy, who is also delicate, even if big- boned.

Mamie asked me to drive her to Chattanooga to see her daughter who had been hospitalized there. I had to admit that I don’t drive the mountain roads after dark (with the exception of Richard’s recent emergency hospital visit – and we all know how I felt about that escapade). Richard to the rescue! He was our chauffeur for the trip there and back. This gave Mamie and me a chance to chat without having to watch where we were going. I was able to hear more stories of Mamie’s multiple adventures. There are benefits to being girly.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Planting Our Produce

Richard on a tractor -- a welcome sight --
He got the ground ready so that I might
Finish our planting before night could fall.
With Mary’s seeder there’s no need to crawl;
I rolled along the rows with many seeds;
This was so much less work than hoeing weeds.
It seemed much like magic as I planted;
A reprieve from bending I was granted.

Twelve tomato plants now stand in a row.
Lots of potatoes have begun to grow.
Lettuce, beets, and carrots all peeking out.
All the other seeds are waiting to sprout.
With a bit of rain, sun and a God’s favor
We’ll be eating veggies with more flavor
Than the offerings coming from afar.
Many tomatoes will soon be in jars.

Our grape vines now sport tiny grape bunches;
We like them for jams, but not for lunches,
Except with peanut butter and some bread --
No better lunch sandwich is to be had.
The fruit trees were not bitten by a freeze;
There will be jellies under Christmas trees.
Now we weed and watch and wonder and wait
For all these goods things to end up on plates.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Richard's Beloved Bronco II

Exercise class really kicked my butt, as in I couldn’t get my big butt off the floor. I don’t know what was different; I don’t think I gained any poundage in my posterior pouch. All I know is that, try as I may, my arms and belly muscles couldn’t get my derriere to moon the ceiling. I think I’ll blame it on all the hoeing I did the day before.

Greta had us all in stitches complaining that Deborah was asking an awful lot of us in commanding that we tuck our butts, suck our guts and breath – all while completing these various contortions. We’ve decided that Deborah must have escaped from a circus, so we’re considering starting Cirque du Coker Creek with her as the headliner. The girl is as limber as linguine after it’s been overcooked. I, on the other hand, feel more like an uncooked lasagna noodle.

After exercise, I arrived home to find a frustrated Richard. He was still trying to work out how to start the tractor. Richard calls this kind of situation “the infinite regression of steps”.

At first,we couldn’t fertilize because the ground was too wet. When the ground dried, we couldn’t plant until we turned the fertilizer into the soil. We couldn’t turn the fertilizer into the soil because the tractor wouldn’t start. We couldn’t start the tractor because the battery was dead. The battery was dead because there’s something wrong with the generator. So, Richard headed to the tractor dealer to purchase a manual on repairing a 1952 tractor.

He came home with the tractor manual, but he had other issues. His beloved Bronco II is acting up again. This is the last of his belongings from our pre-hurricane Katrina days (if you don’t count me, that is). He loves that truck like he loves our dog, and the truck is even useful (unlike our pretty puppy). The truck has been with him for twenty-one years and one hundred, seventy thousand miles. It is a part of who he is.

He’s always said that he’d get rid of it if it got to where it needed more repairs than it was worth. It’s been greasing our gravel driveway with oil for years; this was okay because it only cost a little bit to keep feeding the engine oil. The ignition and the alternator recently gave out, so he had them replaced – after all it was still a very reliable truck. Now, his new ignition is giving him fits, and the mechanic says it’s because his engine seals are failing so badly that they are flooding the ignition with engine oil. He can either decline life support in the form of five thousand dollars in repairs or bleed more money into his beloved Bronco II. What’s a daddy to do?

He called Charlie, who really knows and loves classic cars. The Bronco II is now officially a classic, having survived the crusher for over twenty years. Charlie’s going to give Richard a second opinion when he returns from his latest Antique Automobile Club of America event. Is it proper to pray for a possession that one feels is like a person?

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Tractor Troubles

We went to Mamie’s to beat the rain. Richard was going to really zip through those tilled areas, turning the soil and manure into a rich, smooth palette for our vegetable garden. I was going to follow along with the nifty rolling seed planter that Mountaintop Mary had offered to lend me after seeing the Mennonite farmers planting with a similar device. We were geared up to go -- and the tractor wouldn’t start.

I could bemoan the use of technology, waxing poetic about the reliability of horse-drawn plows and harrows, but I’d be willing to bet there are days that horses don’t feel up to their tasks of plow pulling and such. Here we were, ready to finish getting the garden in, and big clods of horse poop were impeding our progress.

Mamie informed me that it was time to hoe the weeds from between the potatoes, while creating the mounds that help potatoes to thrive. As I went down each row with Mamie’s special weeding hoe, I realized that Richard had insisted that the rows be spaced for running a walk-behind tiller between them. What the heck was I doing with this hoe in my hand?

On one of Richard’s visits to my area to let me know that he was leaving to retrieve tools and other needed tractor repair items from our house, I asked him about the possibility of simplifying my task with Mamie’s tiller. Since Mamie’s tiller is as old as the tractor, it also has seen better days. After complimenting me on the fine job I was doing, Richard let me know that I’m much too delicate to try to wrestle that tiller into submission. I kept hoeing while Richard went to Wal Mart to have the tractor battery tested.

By the time Richard returned, the rain had begun, which was okay because the tractor still couldn’t be used. The battery was still dead -- so dead, in fact, that Richard had been advised by Charlie that it would probably take two days to finish bringing it back to life. What’s a farmer to do? I took a nap while warming up the chili for the second-Monday Ruritan supper meeting.

I was jealous when Dave told me that he and his wife had spent the day sowing sixteen rows of corn. We only want about a fourth of that, but not a seed is yet in the ground. The ground is now too wet to run a tractor over; it will be a few more days of waiting. At this rate we won’t be harvesting until Labor Day. Now, I know Jack planted corn four different times last year. Maybe we’ll get early corn from him and we’ll be able to share our late corn at community suppers.

The plants I bought from the Future Farmers of America, meanwhile, are waiting to be placed in their rows. Mountaintop Mary has found a new source of FFOA seedlings in close-in Tellico Plains. My best bet may be to go to their greenhouse rather than attempting to sprout our own seeds.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Getting the Garden In

We will turn the soil to incorporate the poop;
On our knees, we’ll plant the seeds that will soon take root.
It’s time to get the garden in; there’s no more excuse.
I’d like to rest one more day, but can’t afford this ruse.
Rain’s coming tomorrow; there can be no better time
To sow the most tender plantings in this mountain clime.

We know that by some standards, we’re a little bit late
Frost and mud and our travels clearly delayed the date
For harrowing and planting and other garden chores
We’re just eating the last of our last year’s produce stores.
We think it’s okay if we don’t harvest quite as much;
Besides doing canning, I may read and write and such.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Mother's Day Musings

I guess I’m glad that my children no longer need a mother.
I never felt like a mom; I’d prefer to be a brother.
Brothers aren’t told to stay at home and to rock crying babies.
Sitting still is an exercise that often makes me crazy.

I always had too much to do when my children were at home.
Now when I visit their homes, I’m often left too much alone.
They have school and soccer, piano lessons, lacrosse and dance;
Their busy activity schedules hardly give us a chance
For hello hugs, games, or talking -- then our extra long good-byes --
No matter how much we wish for it, and everyone sure tries
To make more time for snuggling, conversation and some singing.
I miss their voices that used to be so constantly ringing
With their sweet laughter and with such sincere little child requests --
When they still thought that Granny and Mommy always know what’s best


It wasn’t until I was Granny that I began to see
When I took the time to be still, babies really did like me.
I spent much time rocking little ones when my kids had babies;
I found that it was a great excuse for my being lazy.
Now, it’s not until the summer and other big holidays
That we can all bask in our vacation time leisurely ways --
Mornings in pajamas with coffee and cocoa by the pot
Evenings spent at blazing campfires with s’mores, or maybe not,
Snuggling in the rocker or sometimes on the living room couch,
Singing karaoke until everyone’s voices run out

It’s Mother’s Day and I’m glad that I did become a mother
Even though I’ve often thought God mistook me for another.
I am lucky that my grown children still want to be with me
At our home with our kids and grandkids is the best place for me.

Slow Is the Way We Go

We took a break and went over to scoop
All the hen poop from Mamie’s chicken coop.
Trailrider has poop from more than one horse
We’ll get it soon for our garden, of course.

Now we’re back at home to tackle our mess
We’re taking it slowly I will confess
We will take time for a movie or two
It’s the way we work when there’s much to do.

Richard is now rattling pots and pans;
He’s already made salads. What a man!
I guess I’d better go and do my part.
It isn’t really that bad once I start.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Focus on Fun

We cooked for hundreds and fed fifty-three;
That was also counting Richard and me
That’s not to say we didn’t have great fun;
We’d have had fun if we’d fed only one.
Jack Darnell came in with his published book;
Everyone bought one who took a look.
Mamie was there with a few of her friends;
Shirley was there from our right-of-way end.

Our over-the-hill neighbors, there in force;
Their total number being five, of course.
Deborah was able to promote her class.
Exercise may help to relieve the gas
Caused by the beans, onions, and cheese and such.
Many people confessed they ate too much.
Tall Pines new owners came to meet neighbors
They felt that we’d done them a big favor.

The Schaaf family makes strollers for twins
Bill fixes engines and some odds and ends
One of his talents is for finding gold
He gives gold panning tours and is quite bold
In his knowledge of gold and Coker Creek
He shared some with us when he rose to speak.
He brought panning equipment and some sand
For showing how to find gold in a pan

Brave Betty, two Lindas, Don and Judi
Did all the serving and cleaning duty
At the hall so we have much less to do
Until Monday when we’ll have to scoop poo
Now to the kitchen with lots of chili
Our plans to scoop poop now feel silly
What were we thinking? It will take two days
Filling the freezer with chili in trays.

And cleaning and storing spoons, pots and pans --
I forget this part when making my plans.
We’ll focus on fun as we clean the mess;
How long this will take is anyone’s guess.
All in all, it seems everyone had fun.
I certainly hope we’ll do more than just one
First Friday Feast. But pot luck it will be;
Not so much work for my Richard and me.

Friday, May 7, 2010

First Friday Food Fears

Me and my bright ideas. What ever possessed me to think that we could feed all of Coker Creek on a couple of pots of chili? And why did I think that people here would be any different than people everywhere else that I’ve lived; that they would actually RSVP? All of a sudden, my friends are getting nervous about this; maybe that’s why I’m feeling a bit unnerved.

I had asked Mamie to call her friends and encourage them to come, seeing as the mountain people are rather shy about invitations from outsiders. I’m thrilled about her success since the whole object of this exercise is to mingle with a broad section of Coker Creek without the strictures of what other groups anyone belongs to.

When Mamie’s list of attendees grew to over thirty folks, she must have gotten nervous; she called and insisted that I come get four dozen eggs. She proceeded to share her recipe for deviled eggs, and even gave me her secret ingredient that was stashed in her pantry. I hadn’t planned on making deviled eggs, so thank goodness Richard’s game for being devilish today.

Mountaintop Mary has offered her cooking talents. When I told her that we were going to just wing-it, and when we ran out of food, we’d simply be out, she couldn’t help but exclaim that I may be crazy -- like I didn’t already know that. Since she won’t be bringing food, she’s going to help wash dishes, she says.

Several others have offered their assistance. Betty is bringing bowls and eating utensils; Don and Linda are coming for set-up. If this trend continues, maybe we can do this every first Friday. Hopefully, as a pot luck next time.

My entertainment for the evening has backed out, so I’m hoping to enlist my songbird next-door-neighbor Shirley to fill in. I had planned to have my next author Nancy read some of her poetry, but she suggested that we wait until her book is actually out in the stores. I agreed; now Nancy’s off the list of the evening’s entertainment.

Jack has promised to come and read from his already published book. Maybe he can also read something from his upcoming book of romance stories and poems, just to get a head start on marketing his new work. Bill may come with some gold and stories about his panning adventures. This would be very cool, as many people don’t know about his gold panning tours.

The iced tea is steeping while I’m writing. The beans are boiling as I believe they should. I have a back-up plan for more chips and cheese sauce if we run shy of chili, beans and spaghetti. After all, it’s not like we don’t have Davis Mountain Market five minutes from the Ruritan building and Sav-a-Lot within a half hour’s drive.

I hope that by show time I can say, “What, me worry?” and mean it. It’s probably the only way that I’ll interest others in making this a monthly event.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Chili, Cheese and RSVPs

Got back from a trip to the city;
Now it’s time for the nitty gritty.
Cooking for a crowd -- numbers unknown.
The Ruritan Club will sub for home.

Chili, spaghetti, and grated cheese
With a bit of onion, if you please
Nachos, cookies, and some brownies too
Tea and lemonade for quite a few.

This is not one of my better plans,
But Richard hasn’t thrown up his hands.
How it all goes, we will have to see;
Too bad people don’t RSVP.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Coker Creek Contortionist

Deborah’s done it again. She’s no bigger than a hummingbird, but she sure knows how to get things done. Already she’s busy hosting huge groups of bluegrass musicians and their fans every other week-end and playing inn keeper to their many out-of-town guests. She also assists Charlie in his many Antique Automobile Club of America functions as a judge and chapter president, which entails a fair amount of travel. Now, she’s decided to help the rest of us get limber through exercise classes.

Only four of us showed on the first day of limber lessons; this was probably due to civic responsibility. The class was held on election day. I know this excuse holds for at least one possible participant who is a poll worker. The real reason for the sparse attendance may be that we see how trim Deborah is and figure she’ll be a “physical terrorist,” as was Charlie when he was helping Jim recuperate from several surgeries. Jim is doing well, so it must have been just what he needed.

Thank goodness we had Wanda to keep us all laughing. I could no more touch my head to the floor while sitting spread legged than I could kiss my own elbow. Wanda had a sprained ankle, so she had a plausible excuse for her limitations. She made great fun of herself, which kept everyone entertained. I could almost pretend that I wasn’t in pain. But, there was little bitty Deborah, like she worked as a contortionist for Cirque du Soleil.

I felt very old as I watched eighty-six-year-old Martha following Deborah’s lead, which certainly humbled and surprised me. Nancy never surprises me in what she can do; I think all her time with her horses gives her quite a work-out on a regular basis. I was rather relieved when she confessed that she used to teach exercise classes.

Here I was with my big butt up in the air and Deborah insisting that I could get my feet farther toward the floor. Maybe in an alternate universe; I couldn’t even do that maneuver when I took dance at the age of six.

I stopped to see Mamie after class; she thought it was fairly funny that we’re taking time to exercise. She’s often mentioned to me that she can’t understand people who pay for exercise classes and drive many miles to attend them when we can get all the exercise we need in our gardens.

I know I’ll get lots more movement in the next couple of days, even though I’ll miss Deborah’s next class. Nancy has offered her horse poop for our garden and Mamie’s hen house roost is ready for harvesting of more fertilizer. Maybe I can figure a way to incorporate stretches into our sh_t shoveling exercises.
As Miss Jenny of Romper Room School used to sing, “Bend and stretch; reach for the stars. Stand on tippy-toe all so high. Bend and stretch; reach for the stars. There goes Jupiter; there goes Mars.”

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Fog Fairies

Fairly foggy should be the forecast
On many springtime nights.
The wood sprites have been waiting for this
To cloak their fairy flights.

I know they’re playing hide and go seek
Through the hemlocks and oaks.
Some people think they must be fireflies;
I know they’re fairy folks.

As the morning light squints through the mist,
The fairies fly away.
I can’t find even one watching us
As we begin our day.

The sunlight burning ever brighter
Clears the gauze from our sight.
I wonder if the fairies return
On every foggy night.

Monday, May 3, 2010

The Wonder of Weather

Here’s a most wonderful thing
About travel to a neighboring state
We woke to Georgia’s weather fury
While our home skies became a clean slate.

Now we’re back at home in the holler
With no reason for us to cry or whine.
The rain here watered plantings
While we sure enjoyed the city sunshine.

We didn’t plan this wonder
It was simply our good fortune and fate.
We were supposed to have bad weather
For our Atlanta week-end play date.

I’m watching the sun’s last rays
Glinting off of the pale budding leaves --
From thunder and lightening to sunshine
For as far as my grateful eye sees.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Are we Losing Louisiana?

We are once again crying
For the Louisiana that we love,
As the scent of salt marsh surrenders
To the stench of an oil slick.

The nesting birds are dying,
As are their future generations.
The land animals may not
Have anywhere else to live.

How do we continue
Testing fate the way we do?
Building ever more dangerous
Ways to wipe out our world.


How much worse would this disaster be
If the well was not gushing oil?
If, instead, the fuel was nuclear
Spewing from its gaping maw.

Then the young that are being killed
Would be our own children;
And there would be nowhere left
To live in safety on our earth.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Favorite Form of Friendship

We had a lovely day of outdoor play with Richard repairing the tree house. Well, not necessarily repairing it, but beginning the process. The floor supports had started to collapse, as they were made of sapling trees. This was not Richard’s design, but it falls to him to repair the various projects I encourage others to build on our “Granny Camp” land. The Huck Finn comes out in most who spend any time here. This tree house looks very much like the raft on which Huck and Jim traveled downriver, except it’s up in a tree.

As is usual with Richard’s repair projects, a great deal of interesting engineering went into this effort. The ground beneath the tree house is on quite a slope, and his task was to shore up the collapsed end of the platform. With a very elaborate system of stacked cinder blocks, boards, and the jack from his Bronco II, he was laboriously lifting the deck, a few inches at a time. As he got enough clearance to insert a pillar, he needed a second set of hands to hold the new support while he lowered the platform and repositioned the jack. I was to be that second set of hands.

I puttered on the porch, transplanting the various vegetable plants that Mary and I had scored at the Future Farmers of America sale. Every so often, I’d hear Richard calling me, and I’d mosey on over to help him. It’s really fun to observe his ingenuity. He once jacked up a huge deck at our house on the lake, all by himself using a similar system – only two days after having a stent put into an artery.

Why I’m the one needing a nap after this effort is anyone’s guess, but I did. (I really have to get my hammock out of storage and hang it between its trees.) As I snoozed in preparation for going to scoop poop on Mary’s mountaintop, Richard played with his new belt sander making “chick sticks.” These are simple sticks, a set of several hundred of which is the most marvelous toy we ever owned. I’ve been mourning their loss ever since Katrina, and Richard is now well on the way to completing a new set for our house in the holler.

Upon awaking, it was off to Mary’s to man the muck rakes. It can actually be fun to scoop horse poop as long as I’m with people I enjoy. Mary, Richard, and I made short work of it while Mary gave us an education on various items of interest to horse people. As Richard and I unloaded the barnyard booty onto our garden at Mamie’s house, I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the rich black “garden gold” that will soon feed our tomatoes, beans, and corn cobs.

Not only did we get organic fertilizer, we were able to further bond with Mary over shared labor -- my favorite form of friendship.