My Country Life

Down by the creek, near where I cross every day on my walk, stands a huge sweet gum tree. For as long as I can remember, the tree has shown signs of disease – a big gaping hole at the base and fissures that extend up the trunk. Nevertheless, it reaches like a rocket, perfectly straight and taller than all the others. A while back, in the dead of winter, I noticed a raccoon had crawled inside the den at the base of the tree and died. She had probably lived there her entire life. But on this day, upon returning from her nightly hunt, exhausted, she laid down for an eternal rest. It snowed soon after, and each time I passed I thought of her. When the snow melted, I left her undisturbed and covered her with leaves and dirt.

Those daffodil bulbs that I transplanted from LaMama's last year are coming up. I had forgotten all about them, so I was delighted when I noticed the sprouts. Especially since it's the first warm, sunny day we've had in a while. A week ago I was frantically wrapping pipes and preparing for the coming winter storm; today I'm sitting on the porch, without a jacket, enjoying this tease of spring. All those people who laughed at us and how we can't handle snow aren't laughing now, are they? Of course, I was in the country for the snow so I missed out on all the craziness in Atlanta. I felt for all my Atlanta friends; I've been there for plenty of icy events over the years, and it can be really scary. Since this one hit in the middle of the day, it made it even worse. Out here in the country, it was just pretty. I stayed home, sat by the fire working, and waited for it to pass. I haven't written for this blog in a while. I've been busy with writin...

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.