My Country Life

Melvin in Thanksgiving Scarf November 22, 2013 December 21 will mark the first anniversary of my move to the cabin. It seems to have flown and dragged, all at the same time. When I look back, it seems like just a flash, but when I was actually living it, time certainly did not always seem to zip by. This past year or so, from the time I was laid off in mid-2012 to now, has been a soulful mix of joy and loss, loneliness and blissful solitude, and some serious fear that occasionally turned to courage. Life presents us with challenges, and we get to see what we are made of. Last September (2012) I began a daily practice of gratitude; it helped me stay in the moment and not worry about the future. Soon I started using my iPhone to capture these moments of beauty. I posted some of my gratitude photos to Instagram and shared a few favorites here on this blog. It's fun to look back through those snapshots in gratitude. When I noticed they always left me smiling, I decided to compil

White Oak It’s a beautiful fall morning here at the cabin. Cold, clear with a little wind and perpetual leaf drop. The tulip poplars, sweet gums, maples, dogwoods, cherries and most of the hickories are bare. A variety of oaks, elms and beech trees provide the late season color. The white oak is the predominant tree here, and it’s in peak color right now—a striking burnt orange canopy. The water oaks are golden and dropping leaves fast. The southern red oaks and the post oaks have just a few crinkly brown leaves remaining and will soon join the ranks of winter. The elms and beech trees are covered in yellow, and I can still see a hint of green in their foliage. Interestingly, the beech leaves won’t drop until next spring; they will turn a light tan and remain attached all winter until bud-break. I can’t see the sour woods from where I sit. Maybe I’ll pay them a visit on my walk this morning and savor these last days of fall.

Yellow Hibiscus at Jekyll Island last week. Learning to appreciate and write poetry at 50-plus is proving to be a fun challenge. I shared my poem to a deceased person (this week’s assignment) with the class last night. You can read it here . I like my poem, and the lady next to me told me she loved it and talked about her own father; I could tell she was sincere. (My siblings all said they liked it, but hey, what else can they say?) The teacher thought it was too straight forward and she didn’t like the ending. She didn’t like that Daddy was sitting in a recliner watching television in the end and actually suggested that I change it to something "more interesting." I think she meant something more worthwhile.  “Well, it is about my dad. We didn’t sit around reading poetry and playing the violin. He worked hard in a blue collar job all week, all his life, and he liked to sit in his recliner on Saturday afternoon sometimes. It’s a fond memory for me,” I replied, with att

Daddy 1979 The latest assignment for my poetry class is to write a poem to a deceased person. Here's my poem to my father who passed away on June 2, 1998. I'll be sharing it in class tomorrow night.

I enjoyed my first fire of the season yesterday after returning home from a week at Jekyll Island. Cold weather arrived while I was away so the cabin was chilled to the bone. The seasoned cherry from last winter and the pond pine that Jack brought me made for easy fire-starting. Later I added some of the new "green" wood that I recently cut to create a slow-burning fire that lasted through the night.

I'm enrolled in a poetry workshop at Emory this fall. This is the first time I've given poetry any serious consideration. I'll be reading lots of poetry and writing some too. The first class was last Tuesday, and my first assignment is to write a narrative poem to share with the class this week. Following is the poem that I wrote.

Wildflower down by the creek. Looking for the good in every day is something I try to practice. I'm always happier when I take time to notice what I have sometimes called the "happy grateful bits," the sweet little things that happen around us all the time, the things that we tend to overlook in favor of all the things that irritate us or cause us to worry. You know, things like traffic, weather we don't like, the job we do or don't have, how much money we have in the bank, people who bug us, etc. But I've learned that whatever I give my attention to expands, so I choose to give my attention to the good stuff. Here are today's happy grateful bits.

Golden Rod and Beauty Berry Today I'm grateful for . . . this stunning combination of golden rod and beauty berry that I spotted right behind LaMama's house. UGA's win over LSU yesterday and texting with my brother during the game. this perfect fall weather. the opportunities for rewarding work that continue to come my way. Lamar is feeling "great" today; said he hasn't felt this good in a while.

My morning spot here at the cabin. I'm loving this fall weather. This morning I had to wrap up in a blanket again to sit on the porch, and it's about time to dig the heaters out of storage (no central heat here). Oh, and I can't wait for the first fire in the wood stove, but that may be a while.

Beauty Berry (callicarpa americana) Today I'm grateful for. . . the native beauty berries that are magnificent right now, three does that crossed my path this morning, the morning light of late September and the long shadows of fall, geese honking in the distance and a cow moo too, Melvin snoring at my feet, always having more than enough.

My brother visited last weekend, and while he was here he built a simple wooden structure to fit overtop the big fake rock that covers and protects the well-pump. This gives me good workspace where before there was just wasted, unusuable space. The big wooden counter is solid and sturdy but can be easily removed for well-pump maintenance. We used materials that I already had onsite, so I didn’t spend a dime. I love being thrifty and making use of stuff I already have.

I took this picture yesterday while I was in Atlanta. I noticed this little lovely while walking in Avondale Estates. I'm not familiar with this plant so I'm hoping some of my gardening friends will educate me. (9/15/13 Update per Cheryl Aldrich, this is an anemone.) White fall flowers (I love white flowers) atop stout stems that didn't flop, and if I remember correctly, it was blooming in dappled shade beneath the mature trees common to Avondale. Of course, it was out by the street, so I imagine it gets several hours of sun at some point during the day. It's a beautiful fall morning here today. The temperature on the porch at 8 o'clock was 59 degrees and sent me back inside for a blanket. I love the nip in the air and the reddish tinge on the dogwoods. Many of the sweetgums have already started dropping yellow and brown leaves. It feels like fall, and I love it. That's the latest from my country life. Wishing you well, as always. ~Pat

The Flag in downtown Avondale Estates I walked to downtown Avondale Estates this afternoon to photograph and observe the city’s 9/11 memorial. To mark the occasion, the city has installed 2,983 flags, one for each of the victims in the 9/11/2001 attacks. As I made my way there, a jet pierced the clear blue sky, and I was reminded of that morning 12 years ago when hate boarded planes and filled the skies. The unimaginable became reality.

Mama and Lamar October 2011 Yesterday, we held the first official semi-annual LaMama Work Day. It was a beautiful late summer day, clear and warm with low humidity. Perfect for heavy yard work and family fellowship.

with my nephew, Joseph Christmas 2011 On October 19, I will be participating in the Great Strides walk at the State Botanical Garden in Athens. Great Strides is a national fundraiser for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation (CFF). Events are held around the country in various cities throughout the year. This walk at the State Botanical Garden is sponsored by the Northeast Georgia Chapter of the CFF.

Late Summer Morning The big old gnarly cherry tree–the one over by the driveway–has been dropping leaves for more than a week now. A carpet of brown, yellow, and gold already covers the surrounding ground. In silence and near stillness, another floats to join them. Then another. Then three all at once. Randomly and softly. Soothing and hypnotic. Wildflowers adorn the edges of the driveway and the dirt road. Tiny yellow star-shaped blossoms sit atop delicate, airy, bright-green stems. Pale pink beaded ones and brilliant blue orchid ones mingle in the morning sun. Lacy white bouquets divide the familiar golden rod from the plentiful happy yellow daisies.

As I walked through the woods yesterday, an occasional leaf floated softly and silently to the ground. Some yellow, some orange, some curled a crispy brown. Why so early, I wondered. We’ve had plenty of rain. Maybe too much? The official start to fall is still a month away, but we are in the waning days of summer. I suppose this is how the seasons change – leaf by aging leaf. Just like me; I am not young one day and suddenly old the next. So it is with the change of seasons; one gradually slips into the next. This subtle passage of time is a wonder to behold, a prayer for the soul.

Today I harvested one peach and a couple handfuls of figs. We are still getting lots of figs as long as I remember to pick them daily, just as soon as they start to turn. Otherwise the birds get to them first. It appears we are about mid-way or better through the fig harvest. As for the peaches, there were a total of four on the tree this year, which is an awful plenty when you consider we didn’t even know it was a peach tree until a few weeks ago. We just picked all four of the peaches; there was one for me, Mama, Lamar, and Jolyn. I already ate mine, and it was very good. This tree is definitely worth the trouble to move it to a better location this fall.

My last day of coaching at CFRX, 12/18/13. I did my first CrossFit workout six years ago on August 15, 2007 at age 46. To mark my 6th anniversary, I decided to take a look back through the years at what I have learned along the way. I’ve had the good fortune of learning from a variety of great coaches through the years, the main ones being: Patrick Gallimore, Shana Alverson, Chuck Carswell, Damon Mosley, Laura DeMarco, Kelly Levens, Michael King, and Emily Bridgers. I’m grateful to each one for what they taught me.

Yesterday I drove to nearby Royston for a little truck maintenance. My left front tire had been leaking air, and I needed an alignment. Rather than driving into Athens or waiting for my next trip to Atlanta, I decided to look for a local solution. After calling a couple of places, I settled on Carroll’s Quick Lube and Tire Service in Royston, a sweet little town about 12 miles northeast. Heading northeast from here takes you farther away from the expressway, farther away from Atlanta and Athens, and even deeper into the heart of rural living.

Waiting for the School Bus 1969-70 School Year Recently, Sue Collins, the editor of two magazines that I write for, asked for a back-to-school memory to share in the August issue. I wrote the following poem which was published this month in both BuckHaven Lifestyle and Perimeter North Lifestyle . I wanted to capture it here on my blog for safe keeping.

Fresh-picked Figs The fig tree at LaMama’s is loaded down with figs, and some are starting to ripen. I had my first fresh fig of the season last night. Mildly sweet and oh, so yummy. We discovered peaches on the cherry tree – the cherry tree that Mama originally thought was a Joe Pye Weed plant so she planted it way too close to the house. I kept telling her it was not Joe Pye Weed, and when it bloomed pretty pink blossoms this spring, I declared it a cherry tree.

Melvin gets a ride in the cart that Daddy built. Yesterday I worked in LaMama’s* yard. I love gardening and yard work, and they can’t manage their big country yard anymore. So most weeks, I spend a few hours pulling weeds, trimming hedges, and mowing. Or whatever is needed. I enjoy doing it, it’s good exercise, and they need the help, so everybody wins. Recently, I re-discovered an old cart at LaMama’s. It is one that Daddy built back in the late 60’s or early 70’s. Daddy passed away more than 15 years ago, in June of ’98, and I miss him still. Especially when I come across an item that is quintessentially Daddy. Like this old wooden cart that connects to a riding mower. He designed it so that the back lifts off for easy removal of the load, and the tires are the hard kind that don’t easily rot and don’t have to be inflated. Some forty years later, it is still rolling, still very useful and functional. As I worked with it yesterday, I thought of Daddy designing the

Morning Glories blooming out by the road. Good Morning The sun has not yet cleared the tree tops, in the shade morning glories bloom, white with a purple center. The last of the blackberries dangle just out of my reach, beyond the ditch that never drains. Perfect hoof prints from a recent visitor have dried a crusty red and remind me I am not alone.

Rain drops on grass. After the Rain Beads like glass glisten in the morning sun. A walk in the tall un-mowed grass leaves my feet soggy.

Two tiny red mushrooms. I noticed these two tiny red mushrooms a few feet off the driveway the other morning, on my walk. The bigger one was maybe two inches tall, if that. Beautiful and perfect, don't you think?

Danielsville Farmers' Market Yesterday, Mama and I visited the Farmers’ Market in Danielsville, about five miles down the road. I recently saw an ad for the new market in the local paper so we decided to check it out. The market is located at 715 General Daniels Avenue. Hours are Tuesday 4-7 p.m. and Saturday 8 a.m. to 1 p.m., with the intention of opening 7-days a week in the future once a planned facility is completed.

Yesterday on my morning walk, I noticed this purple mushroom. I've never seen a purple one before; I considered that the crazy color might be caused by something other than the inherent qualities of the 'shroom. Upon googling it, I learned there is such a thing, but they are kind of rare--at least not common. I counted six of these in the same general area, beneath a water oak beside the driveway. I sent a picture to my brother, and he couldn't recall having seen these before either. Considering he lives and works on a 50,000 acre wildlife refuge, and has spent his entire life paying close attention to God's creation, I think it's pretty cool that I got to see these on my very own property.

Melvin, my 14-year-old, almost deaf, vision-impaired corgi found his prance again after losing it for a few weeks. His frolic up the driveway last night was almost youthful. The fireflies at dusk reminded me of summer evenings as a girl, running barefoot in the cool grass after supper, catching lightening bugs in one of Mama’s mason jars, air-holes hammered into the lid with a nail.

The first thing I did upon arriving home after several days in Atlanta was stroll out my quarter-mile driveway and walk along the main dirt road to soak up some country life. Then I sat down and wrote the following: Welcome Home A single ripe blackberry, almost out of reach, is my sweet reward for precariously straddling this ditch that never seems to drain. Bright green baby muscadines dangle overhead, and a black swallowtail butterfly floats about. The neighbor's dogs that normally bark and run out to greet me are not here today. No one is. Only the crunch of the gravel beneath my feet and the lonesome call of the mourning dove break the silence. Like a Saturday afternoon from my childhood, maybe I will find Daddy on the other side of the screened door, in his recliner, watching The Porter Wagoner Show .

All American Daylily 'Lady Lucille' Listen Listen to the squeak of the nuthatch and the ceiling fan stirring the thick morning air. A cardinal whistles nearby, then the familiar, tick, tick, tick. Listen to the lonely coo of the mourning dove and the buzz-hum of the hummingbird. She darts by, then stops on a dime, in mid-air, her wings a blur. Then gone again, as fast as she came. Listen to the chickadees complaining down by the dogwood, or is it the titmouses? I can’t be sure. Listen to Melvin’s feet on the gravel path, making his morning rounds. A small plane drones overhead, faintly, then stronger, then fades away. And in the quiet, between the sounds, God speaks. I listen.