Ramblings from the Homestead

We certainly have had some wretched weather...

2011-08-03T18:59:00.000-05:00

Postmarked:

Nottoway, VA

Mar 8 1938

Crewe, VA

R3 Box 39

To: Miss Grace Jones

P O Box 50

McLean, VA

March 8, 1938

Dear Grace,

I find I shall be unable to go to Jersey for another week that is before the 18^th I had run out of clothes until I really had nothing fit to go in. Ordered a suit from M. Ward & Co. and they claim for satisfaction they will have to make it to order taking about two weeks.

Really this may be better for me. I have not been at all well for some time. Can’t stand the cold weather or any exertion and we certainly have had some wretched weather. It may possibly clear up now!

I am sorry this has upset you trip. But I would like very much to see you.

If I keep well enough I shall possibly be up there not more than two weeks.

I would like to stay a see Mr. Palmer. If I am feeling well I shall do so. If so will let you know the time at Washington!

I expect quite a little opposition and discussion about terms of mortgage. Mr. Barton evidently expects easier terms than the contract calls for. I am disposed to make them the other way, as far as I can. I refused to commit myself in any way prior to his payment which entitles him to a Title deed mortgage. And with the amount he has now involved he will have no recourse but to accept my terms.

I hope to leave here next week, though it may be Saturday.

Shall be pleased to hear from you in the meantime.

I note Dot had to get rid of her help again and has gone back to Mrs. Wilson.

Hoping you keep well

Love and best wishes

Dad

Radio problems

2011-08-02T18:04:00.000-05:00

Postmarked: Nottoway, VA

Jan 24 1938

Crewe, VA

R3 Box 39

To: Miss Grace Jones

P O Box 50

McLean, Virginia

Monday

Dear Grace,

It was my intention to write you yesterday afternoon. But Woolsey, Ruth and the children came to listen to the Radio- I’m sorry to say they did not get to hear it, as it will not work at present. It worked well for about a week. After that it will just start run a minute or so and die out.

I am about convinced that the battery cable connection which they send attached to the Radio is faulty—the fuse inserted as part of the cable was not as it should be. A short time after attaching the battery, it went dead, and I found that the fuse had burnt out. I put in another one which I happened to have, and it now works as stated above (a few minutes and dies out). The cable was either faulty in the first place or the burning of the fuse damaged it to such an extent that there’s no continual flow from the battery.

However I am not doing anything until I am certain that the battery is alright—I am getting a permanent indicator from M. Ward & Co. (It should have come with the battery but failed to do so--) when it arrives I can tell if the battery is in good condition—If so the fault must be in the Cable- I will then try and attach another one.

I think you should make your choice on based on the price as enclosed for the aerial. If you see the people again ask them to give a little description of the Arvin radio there was practically not enclosed with it and no instructions.

I am learning quite a little as occasion arises and I suppose shall continue to do so.

I do not think there is any trouble or wrong with it outside the battery connection. They were poorly assembled which caused the breakdown.

We are having very bad weather here since last Monday and a promise of continuance. I had a bad cold last week and was practically laid up but am about alright again. I guess Mom will tell you all the other news about Dot, etc. I want this to go this morning so must quit.

Love from,

Dad

To Grace Jones...

2011-07-31T09:13:00.000-05:00

Postmarked: Nottoway, VA

Jan 6, 1938

Crewe, VA

R3 Box 39

To: Miss Grace Jones

P O Box 50

McLean, Virginia

Thursday

Dear Grace,

My principle thoughts about the radio were only of your generosity and thoughtfulness for our pleasure and happiness. The tone of my letter was directed mostly in an effort to find out if you actually got all that you paid for or all that was represented as part of the sale.

There certainly was no antenna system as you inferred. I wrote their head office in Columbus, Indian. They asked $5.95 for the antenna system, which is a ridiculous price—I got one from M. Ward & Co. which will answer perfectly for .69 cents. It came yesterday, and I expect the battery in a day or so by freight—In a special catalog they reduced the price of battery to ^.25 so what you have sent will pay all expenses. I have fixed the house end of the aerial and when the battery arrives Woolsey will help fix up the other end. So we will have it running in a few days.

Dot sent mother a Kerosene Iron and Ruth gave us a mantel lamp which is a great improvement over the old light. Lucy sent a small box of oranges and grapefruit from Miami. We received a card from Bert, a letter from Dot yesterday. Says she is having a lot of trouble with her help again. Mrs. Wilson can’t come back for two weeks. The girl she had not only would not do anything but Dot believes she robbed Fritz’ bank. So she fired her and when she wrote had no one.

I hope things have settled down for you by this, and that you are getting rested up.

I gave Dot and Shoe a Mah Jong set a year ago and later sent the book to them. No doubt they will let you have it if you wish.

The weather has been moderate since Xmas. Cold at nights but pleasant in the day generally.

I suppose you got the Presidents speech over the radio, or did you manage to go to the opening.

From present outlook-- indications are this will be a very eventful year-

With love,

Dad

( "Shoe" and Dot- Elmo Murray and Dorothy Kate Jones Shoemaker )

J B Jones to Grace Jones, November 23, 1937

2011-07-30T07:33:00.000-05:00

Postmarked: Nottoway, VA

Nov 23, 1937

J B Jones

Crewe, VA

R 3, Box 39

Tuesday, Nov 23^{rd 1937}

Dear Grace,

Your welcome letter received. Our mail seems to be dropping off recently- and many a day we go to an empty box. I must say that the actions of the supposed stronger nations recently have been ridiculous. XXXXXXXXXX XXX Brussels Conference has quit and admits failure—I think China’s only hope now is if she can get Russia to start something against

Japan

. And that is unlikely.

It is too bad the nurses are inclined to be antagonistic. I would advise that you keep them well posted as to their place, so far as you are concerned.

We are getting our coldest of the season just now last night ( Sunday) went down to 22 degrees and tonight I expect will match it. It likewise has been very wet, and they promise us more when the cold quits.

I had plenty of wood cut for winter early in October, and Woolsey had promised to haul and saw it. But so far it is all in the Woods. So wet, he got all behind with his planting (wheat) and one of his horses got lame, and is inclined to lay down when worked. However he has brought a little over for us. And will no doubt get it hauled shortly. He has not got any up for himself yet. They are going up to Baltimore Thursday and will probably stop over the weekend. Ruth said they would like to see you, but it would not be advisable for them to stop as things are at the Palmers. It certainly is a sad situation. I hope you don’t let it worry you too much.

It will not be much like Thanksgiving to you I am afraid—Shall get Mom to make a fruit cake which will be about the extent of ours. Neither of us seem to have much appetite for meat of any kind.

I still hope we will be able to make a trip to Florida when you are through. It would seem my only chance now—

Dot in her last letter said Shoe had heard from Dick again and he wrote like he would like to come back home—There was letter from Lucy last week she is still with Bert at the same address did not say what she was doing or whether she was working. Did not speak of going to Florida this winter (address 4326 South Greenwood Avenue)

While the magazines ought to come as you paid for them, don’t worry about them we get plenty to read.

I am feeling well, but can’t stand any exertion in the cold. Mom seems well, at times complains of pain in the back. I will keep her from working too hard if possible. This is all the paper so must quit now

Love from Dad

2011-03-17T06:34:00.001-05:00

Daybook today...

Outside my window – a cool spring morning and a beautiful sunrise
I am thinking - about walking the dog in a few minutes

I am thankful - for every little blessing that comes my way unexpectedly...and for my sweet husband
I am wearing – jammies and warm sox
I am remembering – new beginnings and how exciting they can be
I am creating -reenactment dresses, a new quilt, a wool braided rug
I am going – to work soon
I am reading - Shelter II by Lloyd Kahn
I am hoping – for peace in my life
On my mind - sisters, sons, and grandchildren
Pondering these words – Joy is peace dancing, peace is joy at rest
From the kitchen – freshly ground and brewed coffee and later, some oatmeal
Around the house – reducing and removing, letting go of the extra stuff
Some of my favorite things – my cat, Fester and little dog, Peanut

A few plans for the rest of the week – two more days of work... then a birthday weekend for David

My picture posting: Fish River at Big Daddy's

Memories of Fred

2011-03-13T08:24:00.000-05:00

Now just because I named my bantam rooster after my dad doesn’t mean Fred was small and cocky…. On the contrary, he was a big man, with a huge presence… I always found his big, calloused hands a bit frightening, and his gruff nature put me off. We had a fractious relationship in my teen years and beyond, but I have been assured he loved me with all his heart. I believe that now…. There were times when I didn’t.

Fred was a lot like me, although I didn’t readily admit it. He was a tinkerer, a wanderer, and an inveterate scrounger. He cared not one whit about the latest fashion, and wore his grubby jeans low and baggy. His flannel shirts and striped railroad cap were a signature… pushed back on his head, a two day growth of beard stubble that he loved to rub on my cheek to hear me holler, and a pair of sturdy black leather laceup boots were his usual garb. He cleaned up nicely, and I have memories of him, clean shaven and smelling of Aqua Velva, heading out the door in the evenings. The most I could ever get from him when I relentlessly questioned him about where he was going was “Out”.

He had a growl to his voice that would scare a mean pirate, and could get volume from it that must have had something to do with all the years of voice lessons. I still have never heard anyone who could yell as loud as Dad… A favorite thrill was to request him to “Roar” at the dinner table. While my grandmother flinched in ladylike mortification, he would open his mouth and with a deep breath, let out the word with such projection and force that the rafters nearly shook. We shivered in delight, mouths agape,and when it was over and he was just Dad again, we giggled and tried to Roar ourselves, and of course requested it again and again. One roar could create a lot of chaos at the table!

Fred built things. He restored and painted and drove us around town in a 1922 Model T Ford with a crank start, tootling the “ooga” horn whenever he saw someone he knew or even when a stranger waved. He restored a Fokker biplane on the dining room table, sewing sleeves of airplane fabric over wooden strut wings and then painting and shrinking the finished wings in the backyard. He painted it bright yellow, got a pilot’s license, and flew it out of Hanover Airport, until one day, working with a welding torch, he burned it to ashes.

His garage was a mess… a greasy sort of piled -up place that always had some kind of project going on, and a big Collie mix yellow dog tied in front to guard the door. The dogs name was Tallywowser, and although he seemed to love me, I stayed my distance from him, since I was told he was a guard dog and mean. I don’t think he was mean, because I remember him getting loose, going to hang out with the kids at the bus stop, and then diving under the nearest car when the dog catcher came for him. He snarled and growled until Dad could come and snap his fingers and get him out and take him home. One man dog who loved kids, I suppose.

Kin folks

2011-03-10T06:05:00.000-06:00

My great-grandmother, Isabella Grace Pierson Jones

taken when she was about 21

Packing Away My Pretties

2011-03-06T07:49:00.002-06:00

I can’t easily count the number of times I have moved in my life. It is probably around 30. That is a lot of uprooting and packing and unpacking. Now some of these moves happened before I was grown, and are not always accompanied by a happy memory… which is why I write about them now.

When I was in my twenties, facing another move, a wise friend gave me a poster. It showed a kitten curled in a flower pot, sleeping blissfully, and proclaimed “Home is wherever your heart is”. It was a comfort to me, as I wrenched up my shallow roots yet again, and prepared to nest in another unfamiliar place.

Many times the moves I made were due to financial hardship, family problems, or perhaps a desire to start anew a life that was rocking like a ship in a rough ocean. Whatever the reasons, there were sweat and toil, loss of possessions, new house issues and new landlords and locations to deal with. I always thought, thanks to my Dad, who loved to wander, that I had a bit of the gypsy in me. I still think that, and I still do love to wander, but at 50 something, I find that moving is getting much harder.

I embrace the small house concept. I love the idea of just enough room for living, without a mortgage- paid- through –the- nose on the extra space for …what? Collections? Too many clothes? I had dreamed of a big Victorian or farmhouse style home, with many rooms, a library for my extensive book collection, a den to display my remembrances and momentos, a central hall and formal dining room. Now I find myself moving toward a tiny home… a home built lovingly by our own hands and one with, unfortunately, no room for extensive collections and souvenirs. So I pack away my pretties, pink depression glass candy dishes and creamer and sugar sets, antique plates and collections of teapots, and I remember packing them away years ago. They stayed packed for a long time, and travelled from New Jersey to Alabama with me. They lived in a storage locker, and when I broke a beautiful Limoges plate, I kept the pieces to one day use in a mosaic project. My craft room will require many boxes for the unfinished projects.

You see, I love to go to garage sales, and the thrift store, and come home with “treasures”. I indulge myself at a small cost this way, and pick up tiny flowered egg cups, pitchers for my collection, and a pretty bit of decorative lace for my overflowing fabric and sewing stash. My motto for years was “you can never have enough fabric”. Or maybe it was books. Um maybe it was … you get the idea.

It is enough. I have more than enough. I will store the pretties and the broken plates once again… and one day give them all away. I will then be truly free of the need to cart my life around in totes and boxes, newspaper and bubble wrap.

Now I know this might sound sort of sorry… but let me ask you this, reader… If you were to move to a drastically small, but basically free, home next week, how much would you sell, give away, or put in storage?

So I am writing about the process, and in this way, working my way through it as the pretties disappear into boxes and the walls clear of pictures and “Stuff”. And it feels good… cleansing… lightening… letting go of what is truly unimportant to make room for what is.

Little Cucumber Miracles

2011-02-23T18:31:00.000-06:00

After a totally frustrating day at work, it is one of the most pleasant things I can think of to come home and play in the dirt. So, I smiled while I scooped the dark, moist potting soil from a green plastic bag into the tiny green pots that are now holding rather leggy cucumber seedlings. What was I thinking? It is February!! Even on the Gulf Coast, this is too early for cukes, and they should just go right in the ground when the time IS right. But, I will tend them, nevertheless. They may be out of time with the rest of the cucumber/summer garden world, (sort of like me) but I’ll see what they can do. I won’t even angst over them if they don’t make it, and I will be happy with earlier- than-early cucumbers if I get a few.

Maybe this casual but caring attitude is what I need to take with me into the world, too. Loving lightly the things that are just small stuff… whether the neighbor’s cat walks on my car each night and leaves cat prints over the roof and down the hood… whether the people in front of me in line at the grocery store take too long to count out exact change, giving me an opportunity to peruse all the news that’s fit to read about Brangelina and Jen….whether the computers or phones or other technology work as I wish they would… somehow, all is well in my world. Frustration disappeared when I potted those tiny seedlings. Miracles in a dirt world… The small stuff that God smiles on makes me smile, too.

January weather and stuff

2011-01-10T06:00:00.000-06:00

January --- a new year, a new start, a new attitude... for better or for worse, my constant companion blues are fading... I see a little more clearly... (except for weird eye issues which are physical and not the emotional and spiritual seeing I am referring to...) it has been time to let go, hold on, take a stand, back down, reverse motion, make changes, focus on the details, look at the big picture... life is such a dichotomy sometimes! I'm just walking through it... one foot, one foot, breathe in, breathe out... and have no time in my life for people who want to trip me as I go... I have learned to go around them... and to embrace the wonder-filled magic of the positive people in my life... the ones I can trust.

Happy New Year!

One Year Later

2010-12-11T13:30:00.000-06:00

One year ago today, my sister Nancy went home to be with the Lord. I miss her EVERY day, and I am so thankful we had the time to spend together, all too short time... I know she is still with me in my heart and always will be, and even though the tears come still when I miss her, I can find joy at the thought of her dancing with the angels.

I will never forget images of her dressed in her ugg boots, tights, a tunic and a cape of some kind... a weird huge cowboy hat, and had a sword she made from something. She called it her Cancer Fighting Suit... Lord, she could make me laugh! Silly things remind me of her...orange butterflies, tunafish cans, Gypsy Vanner horses and mules of any kind.
I have memories of riding in her dark green jacked-up, airbrushed, tricked-out, redneck truck with the windows rolled down, radio blasting- Wild Thing.... and a little happy Jack Russell who howled "I love you" to her...of caramel ice cream and her popping out of my laundry room to surprise me on my birthday... Sophie and Zelda and Big Momma Hoadah....arguments and hugs, laughter and tears... these are the best memories... ♥

She was diagnosed with Stage 4 Colon cancer almost one year to the day before she died, but she went down fighting. She travelled with her husband to Montana for a week, courtesy of The Dream Foundation: http://www.dreamfoundation.org/ and visited the bison, went horseback riding, and howled at the moon. She worked at the horse rescue facility up in Murphy, NC, and went down the Nantahala River on a raft trip... all this with a colostomy bag and between bouts of chemo... she was so strong!

She kept her sense of humor almost till the end... I lay in the bed with her and talked to her last Thanksgiving... she was ready to stop fighting almost then... and in so much pain...anyway, can ya tell I miss her! ?

Feeling Witchy?

2010-10-11T07:22:00.000-05:00

Friendship?

2010-07-16T21:12:00.000-05:00

True friendship exists simply for its own sake. It is cemented by two who equally value friendship simply out of a desire to do so and can exist across cultures, and genders, and time, and distance. It is the easiest of the three to form; it is the most rare to find. Indeed, the greatest thing I can do for my friend is to simply be their friend.

__________

Fade

2010-07-14T17:39:00.001-05:00

Selma Reenactment

2010-05-31T21:03:00.001-05:00

Tannehill Reenactment Memorial Day Weekend, 2010

2010-05-31T21:00:00.001-05:00

Selma Camping

2010-04-28T21:18:00.002-05:00

View Full Album

2010-04-08T20:38:00.003-05:00

Daybook today...

Outside my window – a perfect spring night... peepers
I am thinking - of the time I have left in my life to make it my own... Carpe Diem

I am thankful - for every little blessing that comes my way unexpectedly... today's rain on the roof made work almost a pleasure.
I am wearing – black slacks, black and white print blouse with butterfly sleeves, and big fuzzy house slippers!
I am remembering – to keep fighting
I am creating -a huge genealogy database
I am going – to sleep soon
I am reading - just finished March by Geraldine Brooks
I am hoping – for good camping weather the next few weekends
On my mind - two sisters, two sons
Pondering these words – Acceptance and surrender ( but keep fighting)
From the kitchen – black beans and turkey and rice a la David
Around the house – spring cleaning is needed~
One of my favorite things – my snuggly cat, Fester
A few plans for the rest of the week – one more day of work... then a weekend to putter to my heart's content here at home...
My picture posting: Pine at Little River... straight overhead

One In Five

2010-02-28T09:45:00.004-06:00

http://hubpages.com/hub/One-In-Five-People-In-USA--Soup-Kitchen-Lines-Is-A-Child

For Not Learning

2010-02-05T06:32:00.003-06:00

Tell the bison not to go

where they have always been,

instruct the elephants to read

and yield their ancient memories

of where the water is.

Force wolves and bears to learn

the boundaries that have never been-

the ink that lies unseeable

between this tree, that blade of grass.

Teach them all to read the maps

that are invisible. Make them know

what is not real, does not exist

to moon or stars, and stubborn as they are

kill them for not learning

what we will not share.

© February 3, 2010 Carol Snyder Halberstadt

Back from a long break...

2010-01-18T05:57:00.004-06:00

Daybook today...

Outside my window – dark, cool and breezy...
I am thinking - about a lot of things.... my sister and how I miss her, my sons and my husband who is off tramping through the woods for a week
I am thankful - for a long conversation with an old friend
I am wearing – black cords, pink sweater, pink socks
I am remembering – Nancy
I am creating -a baby girl gift
I am going – to work today
I am reading - Sand Creek Massacre by Hoig
I am hoping – for mercy and healing
On my mind - my sister, my sons
Pondering these words – Letting go
From the kitchen – peanut butter sandwiches
Around the house – craft room is ALL organized, now I can enjoy it!
One of my favorite things – this coffee bucket filled with hazelnut
A few plans for the rest of the week – Work and relax
My picture posting: Yellow Hair, Sioux -- just love this picture

2009-11-22T18:42:00.004-06:00

Daybook today...

Outside my window – dark, cool and breezy... fall-like weather after the rain last night
I am thinking - about what I am thankful for... dear friends and family
I am thankful - for so many things... but today for my church and my God
I am wearing – black sweats, black socks, and white 3/4 sleeve pullover
I am remembering – Thanksgiving a year ago... we went to a Pow Wow~~ awesome
I am creating - haven't started the new creation yet... just finished the baby blanket
I am going – to finish this and go to sleep
I am reading - Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel
I am hoping – for safe travel and lots of time with family
On my mind - my sister, my sons
Pondering these words – Christ, the King
From the kitchen – cranberry pecan bread and chicken soup
Around the house – oh we are so messy! Yarn is organized, though, so at least I know what I have....
One of my favorite things – my dog, Peanut, and my cat, Fester
A few plans for the rest of the week – Work one day, then back on the road to Florida
My picture posting: Newborn Mason and his Grammie who loves him SO much!

Thursday, November 5, 2009

2009-11-05T18:18:00.003-06:00

Daybook today...

Outside my window – dark, cool and breezy... fall-like weather and a full moon
I am thinking - about change and feeling stuck
I am thankful - for my sweet husband and for time with family when I can get it
I am wearing – work clothes… black slacks, olive green shirt
I am remembering – past World Series when the Yankees won
I am creating - a baby blanket for a new little boy coming to the world soon
I am going – to work on paperwork and organize my desk
I am reading - Reading the Mountains of Home by John Elder
I am hoping – for doors to open and for healing miracles
On my mind - my sister, my sons
Pondering these words – Be still, and know that I Am.
From the kitchen – sausage and peppers
Around the house – books everywhere~!
One of my favorite things – this weather
A few plans for the rest of the week – tomorrow is Friday, oh the weekend hallelujah!!
My picture posting: Dancing with my Grandson, Mason

Grief

2009-11-03T13:34:00.002-06:00

Nothing can fill the gap when we are away from those we love, and it would be wrong to try and find anything. We must simply hold out and win through. That sounds very hard at first, but at the same time it is a great consolation, since leaving the gap unfilled preserves the bonds between us. It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap. God does not fill it, but keeps it empty so that our communion with each other may be kept alive, even at the cost of pain.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer – Letters from Prison

Daybook today...

2009-11-03T13:17:00.003-06:00

For today - Monday, November 2, 2009

Outside my window - Sunny , cool and breezy... fall-like weather on the Gulf Coast.

I am thinking - about feeling better physically, mentally and spiritually...

I am thankful - for my sweet husband and for being aware of the small gifts each day

I am wearing - navy sweats and sage green tee shirt (home from work)

I am remembering - that my birthday is next week

I am creating - a baby blanket for a new little boy coming to the world soon

I am going - to the recliner to rest, maybe to the chair in the sunshine to pray and rest

I am reading - Reading the Mountains of Home by John Elder

I am hoping - to get some letters in the mail

On my mind - my sister, my in-laws, and my sons

Pondering these words - For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord; plans for good, and not for evil.

From the kitchen - cracking pecans, leftover turkey chili for supper tonight.

Around the house - messy~ I need to feel better so I can putter around and do what I do...

One of my favorite things - sunrise

A few plans for the rest of the week - getting back to work, doing the day by day, feeling better!!

From my picture journal---

Prove a point?

2009-11-02T11:23:00.002-06:00

There comes a time when it is no longer important to prove one's point, but simply to live, to surrender to God and to love.

~Thomas Merton~

The Road to Joy

To Live by Faith

2009-10-05T06:54:00.002-05:00

To Live by Faith

By Fr. Dominic Rover, O.P.

To live by faith
is to live peacefully, prayerfully,
hopefully, hopelessly, outside myself.
At peace with myself
yet outside myself.
Not leaning on myself, old rubber-legs,
but leaning on God Who stands up straight
and begs us, almost, to lean on Him,
God with His daily gift
of hard rocks and white flowers.
To live by faith
is to live outside myself.
To live by faith is to be at home
and yet a stranger in my own house.
It is to be sure about God
yet unsure about everything that is not grounded in God
yet sure about everything
because everything can be grounded in God.
To live by faith
is to stop justifying myself
to stop frowning
to stop whimpering
like a cropped poodle on Pablum
To live by faith
is to stop wondering why things don’t turn out right.
To live by faith
is to stop talking –– when talk is fear or frenzy
or a giddy cover-up,
when talk is all about
setting things right, my way.
Dear God, to stop talking!
To live by faith is to be silent, to be dumb,
to be led dumb to the shearers,
to be at peace without the silk or the slime of words.
To live by faith
is to be content to be silent
so that He can speak
with the wordless words of the Word.
To live by faith
is to need to be obedient
which is to enter the world of another
as guest and quiet victim
and secret sharer.
To live by faith
is not to be sour about anything
because Jesus is sweet
and His plans for me honey to my mouth,
with bitter seeds in it, yes,
that explode each hour like Contac,
to become–– small beads of honey,
each of a different taste.
To live by faith
is to die to my own thoughts about myself,
to die to any plans
any plans
any plans
I might make for myself
(Lord Jesus, be Lord of me, and let your plans
for me come true before my dreams despoil them!)
To live by faith
is not so much to leap
as to fall,
not so much to hold fast
as to let go.
To live by faith
is a lovely awkward dive
from a 20-meter board
that always ends, blue splash and all,
in a daring clean-cut entry
into water,
an element not mine,
so cold at first,
but easier after awhile
when my warmth, poor little fish,
becomes one with the warmth of the water.
To live by faith is a gold-medal dive
that is all His doing
and yet my dive,
my fall,
my womb-like watery homecoming.

Reflection

2009-10-03T20:18:00.003-05:00

Look deeply... I got lost in his eyes today.

a farm that is no more a farm

2009-09-18T20:39:00.001-05:00

Directive

by Robert Frost

Back out of all this now too much for us,
Back in a time made simple by the loss
Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off
Like graveyard marble sculpture in the weather,
There is a house that is no more a house
Upon a farm that is no more a farm
And in a town that is no more a town.
The road there, if you’ll let a guide direct you
Who only has at heart your getting lost,
May seem as if it should have been a quarry—
Great monolithic knees the former town
Long since gave up pretense of keeping covered.
And there’s a story in a book about it:
Besides the wear of iron wagon wheels
The ledges show lines ruled southeast-northwest,
The chisel work of an enormous Glacier
That braced his feet against the Arctic Pole.
You must not mind a certain coolness from him
Still said to haunt this side of Panther Mountain.
Nor need you mind the serial ordeal
Of being watched from forty cellar holes
As if by eye pairs out of forty firkins.
As for the woods’ excitement over you
That sends light rustle rushes to their leaves,
Charge that to upstart inexperience.
Where were they all not twenty years ago?
They think too much of having shaded out
A few old pecker-fretted apple trees.
Make yourself up a cheering song of how
Someone’s road home from work this once was,
Who may be just ahead of you on foot
Or creaking with a buggy load of grain.
The height of the adventure is the height
Of country where two village cultures faded
Into each other. Both of them are lost.
And if you’re lost enough to find yourself
By now, pull in your ladder road behind you
And put a sign up CLOSED to all but me.
Then make yourself at home. The only field
Now left’s no bigger than a harness gall.
First there’s the children’s house of make-believe,
Some shattered dishes underneath a pine,
The playthings in the playhouse of the children.
Weep for what little things could make them glad.
Then for the house that is no more a house,
But only a belilaced cellar hole,
Now slowly closing like a dent in dough.
This was no playhouse but a house in earnest.
Your destination and your destiny’s
A brook that was the water of the house,
Cold as a spring as yet so near its source,
Too lofty and original to rage.
(We know the valley streams that when aroused
Will leave their tatters hung on barb and thorn.)
I have kept hidden in the instep arch
Of an old cedar at the waterside
A broken drinking goblet like the Grail
Under a spell so the wrong ones can’t find it,
So can’t get saved, as Saint Mark says they mustn’t.
(I stole the goblet from the children’s playhouse.)
Here are your waters and your watering place.
Drink and be whole again beyond confusion.

Daybreak

2009-09-10T06:15:00.001-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rVnRFWn7aP8&feature=related

Night Prayer

2009-09-09T19:25:00.000-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tVu7m1xswmk&feature=related

New reads and seeds

2009-09-07T18:56:00.005-05:00

Just finished reading:
Jack Hinson's One Man War: A Civil War Sniper by Tom C. McKenney
GREAT book... the Civil War has always touched a nerve with me, and I have been researching the Land Between the Lakes, where Jack actually lived during his lifetime. With David's Alabama Tory connection to his great-great-grandfather Mathew D. Harbison, who was from Northern Alabama, and fought for the Union, I feel history come alive when I read about the horrors of the conflict. I would love to go up to LBL and camp, hike and just be on that historic ground.

Broken: A Love Story by Lisa Jones
Beautiful and moving, set on the Wind River Reservation, a story about a crippled Arapahoe healer, being part of... and brokenness. Highly recommend it~

Having an extra day off this weekend was SO nice! D and I worked together in the yard a little bit, I shopped and cleaned and baked bread and laundried and read and we canned about 24 pints of pear butter. We are planning a camping trip soon!! The weather is starting to cool, the leaves are dropping and turning colors, and our fall garden is peekin up through the soil reaching for the sun of the now shorter days

Froogle= Library

2009-08-13T06:47:00.003-05:00

I ordered Ladder of Monks; gave it to D.

I didn't order the others~~ I will get them at the library...

What am I reading? Barbara Kingsolver's Prodigal Summer...

Next on the list : One Second After.

What I've Ordered...

2009-07-19T07:00:00.003-05:00

I ordered some books from Amazon; they should be here soon...
and I will let you know how I find them.

Too Deep For Words: Rediscovering Lectio Divina by Thelma Hall

Sacred Reading: The Ancient Art of Lectio Divina by Michael Casey

The Ladder of Monks: A Letter on the Contemplative Life and Twelve Meditations by Guigo

Gone: Photographs of Abandonment on the High Plains by Merrill Gilfillan

Hellooo

2009-07-16T20:06:00.002-05:00

No one

2009-07-16T06:48:00.003-05:00

Wandering through fall colors, crackling dry underfoot...and then it slows me... and I see right away that no one lives here.
My heart beats a little faster as my steps take me to stand at the base of the porch stair. I push the dried leaves with the side of my foot, and see that the wood is good, it will hold me. One foot, then another, and then I am close... close enough to peer through grimed windows.

Bones of old houses and leavings of sad lives... I spot an enameled cookstove, covered with newspaper, oilcloth, mouse droppings, a tipped mug. Immediate wonder at who left their life behind for strangers to find. What illness, crisis, or calling led to the last locking of the door and the resolute walk away? What knarled hand slid down the old banister for the last time, or watched as the trees waved farewell?
No one lives here.

2009-07-13T18:51:00.002-05:00

Thought for the Day

A great deal of virtue and piety is simply the easy price we pay in order to justify a life that is essentially trifling. Nothing is so cheap as the evasion purchased by just enough good conduct to make one pass as a "serious person."

--Thomas Merton--
Conjectures of A Guilty Bystander: 195.

Choosing the truth...

2009-07-07T06:47:00.003-05:00

Our vocation is not simply to be, but to work together with God in the creation of our own life, our own identity, our own destiny. We are free beings and sons and daughters of God. This means to say that we should not passively exist, but actively participate in His creative freedom, in our own lives, and in the lives of others, by choosing the truth. To put it better, we are even called to share with God the work of creating the truth of our identity. ...To work out our own identity in God, which the Bible calls "working out our salvation," is a labor that requires sacrifice and anguish, risk and many tears. It demands close attention to reality at every moment, and great fidelity to God as He reveals Himself, obscurely, in the mystery of each new situation.

Thomas Merton. New Seeds of Contemplation (New York: New Directions Press, 1961): 32.

Thought for the Day

We do not know clearly beforehand what the result of this work will be. The secret of my full identity is hidden in Him. He alone can make me who I am, or rather who I will be when at last I fully begin to be.

New Seeds of Contemplation: 33.

Good morning~!!

2009-05-14T07:03:00.001-05:00

In a couple days, I will head off to Florida. Please keep me in your prayers as I travel and visit with my family.
More posting soon.... I promise!

Updated picture and Hello~~

2009-05-04T06:48:00.003-05:00

It has been a Lonnnnnnnnngggg time since I posted anything... bizzy bizzy in a tizzy all the time. Work, play, clean, run on the treadmill... work, play, clean, run... you get the picture.

Nancy

2009-01-03T08:20:00.009-06:00

There is no better friend than a sister. And there is no better sister than you.

Lance Armstrong said, “If children have the ability to ignore all odds and percentages, then maybe we can all learn from them. When you think about it, what other choice is there but to hope? We have two options, medically and emotionally: give up or fight like hell.”

What Cancer Cannot Do
Author: Unknown

Cancer is so limited...
It cannot cripple love.
It cannot shatter hope.
It cannot corrode faith.
It cannot eat away peace.
It cannot destroy confidence.
It cannot kill friendship.
It cannot shut out memories.
It cannot silence courage.
It cannot reduce eternal life.
It cannot quench the Spirit.

This is what happens

2009-01-03T08:05:00.007-06:00

To lawn equipment during hunting season...

We picked a road

2009-01-01T18:48:00.012-06:00

...it was a road in Blakeley State Park, Spanish Fort, Alabama. We have hiked at the park on three separate days in the last week.

The first day, we hiked about a mile. It was warm...in the 70's and humid. We ate a leisurely picnic lunch at the gazebo under monstrous, twisted live oaks dripping with spanish moss. A breeze stirred the treetops, but only occasionally reached us on the ground with enough force to stir the dried leaves.
After lunch, we drove up to a parking area, and walked down a slight hill to the Blakely River. The Explorer, a covered excursion boat, rested sleepily at her moorings. No tours today.

We walked along the river, high enough above the cypress knees and palmetto fans and dark mud patterned with raccoon tracks. Spiky sycamore seedpods crunched underfoot, and bicyclists passed us, accompanied by their bandanna-wearing dogs wet from a cooling dip. Near the shoreline, the breeze was steady.
The path turned left, away from the river, and climbed back toward the picnic area, and we crossed the gazebo grounds again. This was the site of the village of Blakeley, bustling metropolis of the 1800's and county seat of Baldwin County, until yellow fever wiped it out completely.

Crossing the road, we headed down toward a swampy creek through scrubby trees and pines, always pines. The smell is intoxicating, fresh, clean.
On first glance it was an easy stroll, but we soon were clambering over timbers being built above the old bridge. Halfway across, the treated lumber of the new bridge abruptly stopped, and a 2 foot drop to the old bridge (with no handrails) was negotiated. We jounced along a swaying footbridge that crossed a black and barely moving slough, and then up a small, steep hill. A fallen tree, held up by the root system now tilted crazily skyward, bounced like a porch swing when I sat on it to rest.

One more hill to negotiate...up and over, and we crossed another swampy creek with a brand new bridge, bearing a sign boasting of being built of some exotic South American wood, supposedly safer for the environment than arsenic-laden treated lumber (but most likely a part of the huge de-forestation of the rain forests).

We passed one of the most amazing live oaks I have ever seen, full of pockets and burls and animal dens in the gigantic roots above the ground. Next trip, I will get a picture of that one.

On our next visit, we hiked a different trail, meandering over a wide, flat path between pine, magnolia and hardwood trees, all sharing a uniform gray color in the warm December air. Temps in the 70's again.
This trail led eventually down a hill, past a huge washout, eroded by the torrential sudden downpours typical of the South Alabama climate. Deeply cut, with overhanging sides of red clay, it did not prevent us from creeping carefully toward the edge to peer into the tangle of privet and yaupon about 30 feet below. We gave the washout a wide berth, and dug in down the steep and sandy trail to a short footbridge at the bottom. This was Shay Creek, and it burbled over a small waterfull in the deep shade of this little draw. Clear water flowed merrily over small pebbles and dark fallen leaves, and I splashed my hot face gratefully with the cool water.

Refreshed, we trekked up the steep hill on the other side to the primitive campground, where just one or two tents showed signs of visitors. A flock of goldfinches pattered away from us, one after another, like skittering raindrops on the branches, and we ate lunch under more towering pines, which whispered to us of the silence and peace to be found in this cathedral of the woods.

Pick a road

2008-12-18T19:05:00.007-06:00

Pick a road, any road, and follow it.

Follow it to the rest of your life.

No expectations.

Just possibilities.

When ya' leavin'?

Charlie Knight, Ute

Pow Wow

2008-11-28T16:59:00.010-06:00

Justice?

2008-11-08T19:01:00.003-06:00

You know, so much of the time we're just lost. We say, "Please, God, tell us what is right; tell us what is true." And there is no justice: the rich win, the poor are powerless. We become tired of hearing people lie. And after a time, we become dead... a little dead. We think of ourselves as victims... and we become victims. We become... we become weak. We doubt ourselves, we doubt our beliefs.

In my religion, they say, "Act as if ye had faith... and faith will be given to you." IF... if we are to have faith in justice, we need only to believe in ourselves. And ACT with justice. See, I believe there is justice in our hearts.[1]

[1] Frank Gavin, as played by Paul Newman, The Verdict

Tilt

2008-11-08T18:18:00.002-06:00

What makes a world tilt? How do you know when one last straw loaded into your bag of tricks becomes enough to tip you over backwards and cause you to lie stunned, helpless, cursing life, yourself and the straw… and finally stilling, to fall upwards into the bowl of heaven above? When do you feel God's presence surely? Is it in the tipping-over free-fall moment of human failing that His grace is revealed? Or is it the moment you close your eyes, only to see clearly?
When in weakness our hearts cry out or when through our numb lips and tears we laugh at the strangest things, like Alice through the Looking Glass, (it is all so very odd)… a tea party invitation that tickles our funnybone…

No. No comfort to be found, none wanted, you see… the pain is what sustains me through this moment, this day. It is MY pain.. do not try and take it away, understand it, explain it, analyze it… Leave me to it. I own it.
In this moment, let me hold my loss and anger, let me breathe it and then… and then...

I will let God find me and heal me as love and mercy return. I have but to ask. And I will ask, no, plead my prayer for His healing… for the shame to crawl back to wherever it came from… for the enfolding of my heart with forgiveness and peace; peace still as snow, new-fallen ; as a mist over a still lake in morning’s first light.

Restore me to vertical, Lord… bring me to my center again and burn your love into my heart…you who see me so clearly… you who know me before I form the thought… and so I pray.

Bog Blog

2008-10-26T20:40:00.000-05:00

Last Saturday, David and I walked through the Weeks Bay Pitcher Plant Preserve. The weather was warm, breezy, perfect for the outing... A wide boardwalk keeps hikers feet out of the flora and away from the fauna. This boardwalk meanders down through open field and woods to the mouth of Fish River, where it joins Weeks Bay. The pitcher plants were not in bloom when we visited, but they were beautiful, nonetheless. We sat a while on a shaded bench, and admired the play of sunlight and shadow on trunks and leaves, and were still... listening to birdsong, frogs, and the wind in the trees. It was a perfect example of God's beautiful creation...

Thank you, Lord!

Piano lessons

2008-10-25T08:15:00.001-05:00

Polished and dark, the baby grand sat solidly in the corner of the living room. As you entered the front door the stairs rose directly in front of you across a small vestibule. To the right, along the wall, sat a small slant-front desk with cubbyholes and tiny drawers. The desk was forbidden territory, but the piano was not. A black and white vase always perched atop the piano, and a large fern on a stand sat nearby. Sunday afternoon light from the front window slanted across the keys as I practiced.

I cannot remember how old I was when I learned how to play, probably five or six. I was given a scale fingering book, and my chubby fingers picked at the notes. Every Good Boy Deserves Favor. It was how I was taught the line notes, and F-A-C-E were the notes inside the lines. I still remember the notes from the lessons in the language of a child.

My first piano teacher fades from memory, but by the time I got to the second teacher, I knew the basic notes. Mrs. Dusseldorf was a flat faced elderly German woman from a nearby town, and I was dropped off for my hour lesson at mid-morning. Her tiny apartment was behind a shop of some kind, and its doorway opened into an alley. It was very clean, and very dark. I was petrified of Mrs. Dusseldorf. I can still hear her counting out the cadence… VUN and Doo and ZRHee and VOUR and VUN And Doo and ZHRREE And Forr… Up and down the scales we went, but apparently I couldn’t stay in time, or I was a bit undisciplined in my practice for her tastes, because after just two or three unhappy attempts to learn from her, my grandmother moved my lessons to our church, and the choir director, Mr. Wilkes, taught me from that point on.

Other than questioning at one point whether it was really necessary to stick my tongue out in concentration to read and play the notes, he taught me well. I took my lessons on Saturday morning, and always brought a tuna sandwich for my lunch. The Sunday School hall was empty and dark, not at all like the usual Sunday bustle.

I progressed to playing recitals, formally attired now in a frothy pink confection of a dress, black mary-janes, and with blond curls tamed and ribboned. Chopin and Beethoven became familiar friends as my fingers grew nimble with practice on grandmother’s baby grand.

My dad, an accomplished player and singer, would sometimes yell from the back room. “Flat!! Flat!!” when I hit a wrong note. He played mostly by ear, and it was a treat for us when he would sit down, looking rough and incongruous at that elegant piano, and play and sing. He had to be begged to do so, as if he realized that upon hearing his talent one might question why he tinkered with cars and trucks and railroads instead of playing concert halls. He must have learned from a book of Stephen Foster songs, because favorites were “My Old Kentucky Home” and “Way Down Upon the Suwannee River”, ringing out in his strong, clear tenor voice. I hoped to be able to play as well as Dad one day. My tastes ran more to classical music, though, and I continued to practice, moving to Tchaikovsky and Bach.

Of course, the Baptist hymnal stayed open on the piano at all times, and one day, after hearing a cute boy from the church choir sing a solo rendition of “In the Image of God”, I learned and practiced that song over and over again. Today, forty years later, I can still pick it out on the keys.

Nosy bird

2008-10-17T20:27:00.000-05:00

In about a minute this feisty fellow found the door I had left propped open. When I returned from inside the house with a broom, there he was, trapped at one end of the screened porch, beating his wings against the screen. I ran for cover and yelled for D... who came up the steps, took his hat off and gently, so gently, put it over the bird, then flipped the hat over and held him. He spread one wing downward and we admired the white patch on it. A few indignant squawks and one very fierce eye later... D tossed it gently out the door into the air, and it made a beeline to a nearby pecan tree, scolding us the whole way.

The Journey

2008-10-15T20:29:00.000-05:00

One day you finally knew

what you had to do,

and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode

deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do

--determined to save

the only life you could save.

Mary Oliver

Traveling light

2008-10-15T18:35:00.001-05:00

When we set out, I had no idea it would turn into a summer on the road. Honestly.

We gave the phrase “traveling light” a new meaning. Simply hitchhiking away from the familiar, leaving behind roads and houses that we recognized, and sailing off on a grand adventure with just the clothes on our backs, and twenty five dollars in our pocket. From northern Wisconsin we made our way south, then east, meandering through state after state, begging meals at Burger King and Dairy Queen, offering to pick up the parking lot trash in the hot sun for a chicken sandwich, fries and a drink. We lived on the kindness of strangers; we slept curled in the corners of backseats, jolted awake by turns and braking… a surreal world of lights in darkness, and the swoop of semi trucks as they passed too close for comfort.

Down through the late summer haze we traveled, to the Florida Keys, burning our skin in the blinding sun and our feet on the hot pavement. We swam the sugar sand beaches of Panama City in our clothing until the lifeguards chased us off. Someone bought us some beer, and when one of the bottles crashed to a gas station driveway, things quickly turned ugly. Police had more tolerance of vagrants back then, and we got off with just a warning to leave Ft. Lauderdale.

The road and the rides led us through the tiny villages of Alabama, dark faces peering from porches and eyes that never left us for a moment. The heat was like a hand pushing us, and we swam through wet air toward the mountains. Somewhere near the Mississippi line, a trucker picked us up. At a rest stop, he climbed down to gas up, and we saw a small gun in his glove compartment. We never dreamed he would use it on us.

Perhaps ugly words were spoken. Maybe he was sick of two unwashed hippies in his truck. I am not sure what caused him to wave that gun and tell us to get out, but the next thing I knew, we were standing in the light of early dawn, watching the truck roll away with our meager possessions, including my shoes. It wouldn't be until San Antonio that someone threw their flip-flops out their car window to me as I danced on the hot pavement.

Never said it was pretty...

2008-10-15T18:20:00.002-05:00

A hound dog puppy screaming for its life because she can’t aim the gun, she takes a shot of whiskey after doing this thing, after it is all messed up. Does it while the kids are home, and let them hear the screams, the shots. Calls the vet to do the rest. Just get rid of those puppies.

He backs up the truck, rigs up the gates and plywood walls , jabs the pitchfork in the sow’s white flesh and pushes her, screaming, toward the ramp. Over and over. Again and again. Cursing, slipping, jabbing, yelling. I just retreat, small in a corner, hands twisted and NO I can't help you please the pig is so big and scary and her sounds--like the puppy and its raining and dark and I cannot see... God help me to remember how to pray.

I was twelve.

Empty

2008-10-14T06:32:00.001-05:00

The call came during the meal.

We were gathered at rough benches and a long wooden table in the unfinished kitchen of the old farmhouse. Did I know, somehow, twelve years old, what that call meant?

How in God’s earth does a man sit back down and go through the motions of a meal, when that call has been to tell him of the death of his mother? And then why tell his little girls to get into the pick-up truck and drive us to a nearby empty farm, to a barn, used only for hay storage? Why take us to a secret place to speak one sentence? “Your grandmother has died.” Why? Was the grief and her death to be kept from the rest of the family?

Do not speak of it. No tears. Ignore them, and they will stop flowing.

It was all warm sunlight pouring through wavy glass windows, playing a pattern with the marching squares of a pastel quilt. Clean, warm, and familiar. Collections of books, pennants, dolls, horses, pictures, small stones. Rag rugs on creaking, polished wooden floors. Leather-bound Bible on the table. My grandmother Dorothy’s house.

And here it is: cold and dark room, unfinished walls. No closet. No curtains. Just the bed and the dresser. Night sounds. Harsh reality. My father’s farm.

Bits

2008-10-11T09:29:00.001-05:00

I almost didn’t write it. It seemed, at the time, a story that was perhaps tragic, comic, amazing, but certainly not worth the time it would take to put on paper. I kept it inside, and told it out in bits and pieces to people I met. I heard it too many times, though. They said I should write a book.

I knew that someone would read it who knew me then… someone who remembered. And with that knowledge was the realization that the past would always drift through me unless I put it down for you. All the dark, almost forgotten, repressed, if you will, details.

I have, of course, changed the names to protect the guilty. No innocents here. Not unless you count the children… but I am getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning, or before.

How to start before the beginning, you ask? A history, if you will pardon my use of the word. A search and a delving into generations past… Perhaps their lives will tell me why mine pointed in the direction it did, or shed light on why some primal and mighty works of God; the peaks of the Rockies, the endless waves of the sea, the vast and rippling prairies, humble me. There arises in my heart a wave of joy and emotion too vast to name when I stand in the presence of God’s creation.

To some, history is a vague mist, impossible to imagine and harder still to internalize. They hear the word, and their eyes glaze over. Boring. What do they care what some moldy, ragged sailor lived and felt all those years ago? Why should they wonder about some long-dead, unwashed woman who lived in a rough cabin and carved her life from the wild? Yet, I wonder it…are my tendencies to migrate passed through my genes? I hear stores about of my great-grandfather, who stowed away on a ship bound from England to the United States. Does the restlessness still run through my ancient memories, and give rise to my own tendency to put down shallow roots? And how do I explain this pull toward gardens and birdsong and wild walks through dripping green and leafy tunnels, of my joy in scrambling over rocks toward the top of a mountain to stand at the highest point and scan the land falling away below me, wind in my hair. Not all people know the path taken by their ancestors and relatives to arrive at this moment in time, and not all wish to disturb sleeping memories full of pain and sorrow. I want to peer into the mist. I want to discover what blood flows in my veins, what lives, whether well-lived, or eked out of existence, have shaped the telling of this tale.

So I will begin with the happy days. There were years of them, stretching out together through hazy summers and shivery, slushing winters. We lived in a two-story brick house, tucked around a gentle bend in the well-traveled main street of our town. Our house was the first on the right, a taller-than-it-was-wide house, with tall, symmetrical windows and a small stoop that curved over two brick steps in the center and led to the front door. Three small windows at the top of the door admitted light to the living room and stairway of the house. The front walkway was cement, and decorative furrowed lines in a crazy quilt pattern ran through its length. Well-trimmed yews with small, slimy red berries grew happily next to the foundation, and larger boxwoods shadowed them. The one car garage, on the right and opening to the front of the house, had two tall doors made of painted wood with small windows. Built in the 1930’s, in this small development each house on the street resembled the next, although some were faced with stone instead of brick.

Dorothy

2008-10-10T21:46:00.000-05:00

The clear images of my grandmother have faded with time. I recall sensible shoes and plaid shirtwaist dresses, sewed painstakingly on the old black Singer permanently parked in a corner of our dining room. I’m not sure she ever wore slacks for her gardening chores. I believe it was those deep pocket dresses, sewed from cool cotton in subdued gingham checks or tiny prints. A wide brimmed straw hat gave some protection, not against the sun, but against the confused blue jay who insisted on landing on her head. She had an irrational and intense dislike of birds, but this saucy and otherwise completely wild creature apparently decided she looked like a tree, and had an amusing habit of swooping down and startling the poor woman into unladylike screeches so very uncharacteristic of her.

She gave me the years that saved my life.

Mystery

2008-10-06T06:40:00.000-05:00

Mystery: meditation, contemplation, unfolding revelation... immersion in that which eludes our desire to control and possess.

Problem: that which demands analysis, action, resolution... swimming for our lives toward the shore of "answer"...

Mystery: fascination, unknowing, veiled in darkness, tantalizing mist, unfolding, evolving, ongoing...

Problem: frustation, impatience, detached from our heart, reasoned and calculated...

Problem must be solved...

Mystery must be lived...

Hearts and Hands

2008-10-03T20:23:00.002-05:00

A cluster of six small homes sit facing each other at the end of a gravel road. The homes are small, unmatched, and at first glance unremarkable. It isn’t until you understand that each donated home was actually moved in entirety to its tiny lot, then prepared for occupancy, that you begin to know the formidable determination and understand the gentle heart of the woman who lives here as well, among the grateful families she has helped. Without her, the probability is that they would not have a roof over their heads.
Not all of the houses are occupied. Two of the latest acquisitions sit empty, facing the small, newly grass-sodded play area and bare community garden plot. The empty houses need electrical and plumbing work. They need sheetrock, paint, a host of details; small things done in anticipation of a loving family presence. There is drainage work to be done on the newly formed road. The need is great. The telephone rings constantly, and her sadness is apparent as she answers the calls; this community has no homes available, at least not right now.
Answering the call of Jesus is easy, when you spend an afternoon with her and with the residents.
The single mother who smiles as she pitches in to help clean up, the physically challenged teenager who shyly shows a hand-written page of her prayers… these are all reasons to “Come see”, as Mother Teresa often said… and what you do see will move you… to compassion. “Come see”, and you will stay to help for a few hours.

CHC teens spent a week here this summer, building decks and a playground, laying sod, singing, laughing, and praying in the blistering heat.

And now, the first volunteer work day ... Much was accomplished! Piles of debris washed in by the recent rain, boards, sticks, and rubbish were carted off, and a beautiful flower garden now welcomes residents to the cul-de-sac.

The weather is much cooler now, and we plan to continue clearing around the greenhouse, in anticipation of starting seeds for the community garden. There is also plumbing, electrical, sitework, raking, clean-up, mowing, planting, and more to be done.

After we work in the cool of the morning, lunch will be shared with the residents.

Needed expertise: electrical… plumbing….sheetrocking…strong backs and willing hearts…

Wedding Vows

2008-07-06T17:05:00.000-05:00

June 28, 2008 Wedding vows~~

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone. -- Thomas Merton

He who is filled with love is filled with God himself.--St. Augustine

Let There Be

2008-03-03T20:16:00.000-06:00

There are certain advantages to being early risers. Every morning is beautiful. Some are simply more exceptional than others. This sort of beauty lasts only a few moments before the clear rays of the sun dissolve the brilliant hues.

Let there be. It was and is. And it is very good.

-David-

#1 Garden

2008-03-02T12:37:00.000-06:00

We started #1 with a shovel and a rake shortly after moving in three years ago. It took two 4 x 20 beds to realize that Troybilt had a better idea. No. You don't need 40 acres and a mule. A few 5 gallon buckets on your patio or deck will grow more than you might think and it's a heck of a lot of fun. In fact, a deck garden is a sight to behold. We grew one in New Jersey. If it will grow in the ground it will grow in a bucket. You just have to remember to keep it watered.

#2 and #3 are in the lower part of the property.

Azaleas

2008-03-02T12:31:00.000-06:00

They were already blooming three weeks ago but a rude blast of freezing cold air set them back.

Last April's corn

2008-03-02T12:10:00.000-06:00

Last year's corn coming up... yummy! I can't wait to get started on a new crop.

Spring has arrived and plants that mean something to us

2008-03-02T11:26:00.000-06:00

Yesterday and today were just gorgeous gardening weather. D and I spent some time in the rows; I picked the last of the mustard greens ( and he tilled the row under- great green manure!!) He dug the last of the turnip roots. Today, we planted flowers galore. I overplanted the new bed he tilled in the front yard, and weeded and cleaned out and then replanted the front bed with Shasta Daisies and Purple Conflower. We bought some seed from CheapSeeds.com and that is what I used. You cant beat their prices.
Also, started in the greenhouse are some Sweet 100 tomatoes, some yellow squash and some butternut squash, a few giant pumkins, some basil and chives and jalepeno and bell peppers. The spinach is coming up nicely, as are the carrots and another planting of beets. The beets we have growing now seem not to have done as well as we would like-- maybe the cold winter we had got to them. The kale, however is beautiful! D picked a mess of it, and we will process and freeze it. The swiss chard is also ready to pick. We have been eating turnip greens and roots, collards, cabbage and mustard greens since January. My bronze fennel has overwintered, and so have the marjoram and oregano and are spreading like crazy in the herb bed. The lemon balm is coming up from the root in several places. I have lost my valerian plants... I think maybe it was too hot and dry last fall, and then too cold this winter for them. The mint I planted in the small square bed is doing nicely, though. I have planted some red and blue morning glories and some white moonflowers along the edge of that bed, and they will show off in a few months.
Yesterday, D moved the strawberries to a new permanent bed. He put down black plastic, and then planted 27 plants through it. We will mulch it deeply and hopefully will get some nice berries this year. The seedless blackberries we got last year were big and juicy, and so we would like to start some more of those, as well. Our grapevine is still small but we are hoping it will produce in a year or two.
We have been busy planting tiny cedar trees *(well, D has been busy!) along the side property line where it looks right into the neighbors backyard. In a few years, it will be a nice privacy screen and the birds will love it too.
I cleaned up around the pecan trees, and started to pull the Mexican heather out, but then I noticed that it was trying to come back from the root in several of the plants. So I gave them a haircut and left them to grow. They looked nice in a ring around the tree.
Our azaleas are out and blooming in the front yard ( the east facing side of the house) and soon the daylilies will bloom. I love it when they come out!
The English dogwood we have transplanted from D's parents place is lining the lane leading into the house, and last year it showed off in the spring. I am hoping it does again this year.
List of things we have either started from cuttings or dug up and transplanted from his parent's farm down the road:

Elephant ears- growing near the front corner of the house

Tiny button mums in a beautiful deep maroon/brick red color- growing near the front steps

Redbud tree- grown from a cutting I took from their front yard

Wisteria- two nice sized ones I started from cuttings

Blueberries- 5 blueberry bushes dug from around the parent plants ( which are HUGE and very prolific)

Sand pear- I took a cutting and it rooted!! It is about 3 feet high now

English dogwoods- they spread like crazy and we dug a bunch out and rooted them; they are growing out by the lane

Cedar tree- found growing in the planter box at the "little house", now in our backyard

Fig trees- 2 that we dug and started from their place

Mulberry tree- a pretty big tree we dug from their place and is now growing near the work shed

Cedar trees- a line of about 20 that are on the property line

Spider lilies- growing near the shed

Spirea- growing in the front yard

Crape myrtles- we took a bunch of cuttings and rooted them, and they are growing all over here

Live oak- out near the lane and our signpost

Red oaks- 3 growing in the memorial garden

Wild cherry tree- growing out by the lane

On a trip to Eufaula one weekend 2 years ago, we found a little country store selling fruit trees. We lugged home a persimmon, a peach, and our muscadine grapevine.

D's cousin gave us a bunch of loquat trees, and a plum tree. My friend Shelley gave me some ferns, which are now at home in the north bed, alongside some hosta and some Gerbera daisies, a hydrangea and an aucuba Gold Dust. In the west beds, we have some Lantana growing near some obedient plant and scarlet sage ( which the hummingbirds love!!) . The obedient plant and sage, D's sister gave us. In our front beds are some white Iris his other sister gave us.

We have a row of small lorapetalum shrubs down in the lower yard, which D received as a gift from one of his lawn customers.

Two small pine trees have seeded themselves out near the lane, and we will let them grow there.

Big red amaryllis are growing out near the shed, and the 3 small citrus trees we planted on the south end of the house are doing well, considering the cold winter we had. We have one Meyer lemon, one Satsuma ( which had EXCELLENT fruit this past year) and one little kumquat tree.

Our plans for the summer include, in addition to gardening itself, of course,

digging out and finishing the small pond near the greenhouse

installing a larger pond down in the bottom for irrigation purposes

rigging up a passive solar water heater to cut our ridiculous electric bills down

finishing the screening of the front porch

God is good. We love our little 3/4 acre, and eat well from our gardens. Each year, we try and incorporate one or two new things that we can make for ourselves instead of buying. This year, I would like to try making yogurt, and we are going to be growing some amaranth for greens and flour.

Of course, working full time doesnt leave us a lot of time for doing what we love ( gardening, birding, camping, etc.) but we are working towards self-sufficiency.

Next post, chickens and rabbits to enter the picture...

2006-01-01T07:59:00.000-06:00

Welcome

2006-01-01T07:58:00.000-06:00

Morning Glory

Happy New Year

2006-01-01T07:28:00.000-06:00

OK. I couldnt resist joining the ranks of the bloggers. Happy New Year, everyone... to all my dear friends, near and far-flung (and far-fetched), family and anyone else who stumbles on my silly blogspot!

I will try and put some pictures up, and keep a sort of log of our doins' here at the humble 3/4 of an acre we call Homestead Hermitage & Gardens. David and I love to putter around in the gardens and the yard, and I will be keeping my gardening records here.. He is also in the process of getting his woodshop up and running.

The latest addition to the family (HA HA ) Is Oscar. Oscar is a portable sawmill, and he sits in the backyard. David has cut some pine, some cedar and some popcorn boards already. The next project will be his wood drying shed, an extension on the storage shed to cover Oscar and shelter him from sun and rain while he plays with the wood. He hopes to have a greenhouse built soon so that I can start my herbs, flowers and veggies for the spring planting season!

Last year, without a greenhouse, I overwhelmed myself with seedlings, of herbs mostly. I grew purple and green basils, oregano, marjoram, dill, parsley, sage and LOTS of lemon balm. I planted out the lemon balm in the flower bed surrounding the satellite dish, and around the birdfeeder in the front yard. This year I have taken cuttings from my coleus and impatiens, and will have a head start on planting.

I know I am rambling, but just trying to see how this all works. So... will publish this and then add to it as the rambles come to me!