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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Rewards of Rural Life

Mountaintop Mary and I had a most marvelous adventure in her big blue truck on a perfect spring day in the southeast Tennessee mountains. She picked me up at eleven, so we could start our day of dawdling with dining. This entailed a leisurely lunch on the Tellico River at my favorite Panini place, Kat’s Deli. Of course, because I’m doing Atkins, I had to forego my own Panini; in its place having a chef salad. But Mary’s Reuben made my mouth water just looking at it.

We met a bunch of Coker Creekers hanging out there, and had a grand old time making their acquaintance and inviting them to our First Friday supper. Mary never met a stranger, so it was easy getting involved in conversation with this bevy of “boys.”
One of the guys with whom Mary struck up conversation was telling her how to catch trout on the Tellico. Mary was very interested in this subject, as she wants to learn to fly fish. She says her favorite part of fishing is casting, so fly fishing would seem to be perfect for her.

Since Mary and I are planning on joining forces for Granny Camp this summer, I was interested in the fly fishing subject as an activity to add to our “keeping kids busy” repertoire. Our informative friend, Joe, suggested that we buy worms from the service station across the road. Mary and I found this funny, as we both know that we could keep the kids busy all morning with unearthing earthworms, with which her manure piles are quite literally crawling.

When I asked Joe whether he lived nearby, he allowed as he lived in the house with the dragon. The dragon he referred to is a huge topiary that faces the Cherohala Skyway. I connected his name and the dragon and almost jumped out of my skin with excitement. I was talking to Topiary Joe, the world-famous topiary artist. I’d been wanting to make his acquaintance ever since I got to these parts. Who knew he was so approachable?

We then wandered over to McMinn County to purchase plants from the Future Farmers of America program at a local high school. What a find that was! These kids start seeds in their school greenhouse, and raise them until someone adopts them. Mary and I scored all kinds of well-on-their-way-to-fruition vegetable plants for a fraction of what they would have cost at a nursery. Mary is just a wealth of win-win information.

While we were focused on farming, and we were so close to the Mennonite community farm in Delano, I asked if Mary had ever been there. I was amazed that she hadn’t been, so we took a little detour. Even though it was still early in the season for their farm stand to have much in the way of garden goods, I was able to purchase some of their outstanding baked bounty.

The sights that we saw were worth the trip all by themselves. There is probably not a more pastoral picture than that of the Mennonites and their beasts of burden plowing and planting in the spring. We were even rewarded with a parting pleasure of finding some of the children playing near their parents in the newly plowed and planted fields. The rewards of rural life…

The Daring Dandelion

I’m sure God has reasons
For the daring dandelion.
I hear that their leaves make good eatin’,
And that their flowers make fine wine.
Richard says their latex
May be used for industry.
Any useful thing that’s done with them
Would be just fine with me.

When we lived in the city,
It was considered quite absurd
To allow the plants to come to seed
To feed the hungry birds.
We’d attack our lawns with Round-up,
And hunt for the offending critters.
Here, the spent seed spore sentinels
Are our lawn bugs’ babysitters.