My Country Life

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.