Rainbow Mist
she stood at the top of the falls
a treacherous plummet possible
oh, but look above!
a rainbow, God’s promise, kept her safe
At Niagara Falls – 1998
Travelin’ Shoes
I remember buying a new pair of white Keds as a young adult and someone saying, “they’re so blinding white, you might wanna kick some dirt on ’em.” That has stuck with me every time I see a pair of new white shoes, not yet traveled or broken in. And as a lover of well-worn shoes, this photo shared with me by my daughter-in-law sparked joy when I saw the love of living in one of my granddaughter’s shoes as she was fishing on the muddy brink of a pond.
Our shoes tell a story about the living we do!
Muddy Livin’
always have a pair
of well-worn travelin’ shoes
for muddy livin’
Independence Day Camping – 1971
In 1971, we lived in Reynolds, Georgia on Robin Hood Road and the corner of Friar Tuck. Mom was pregnant with my baby brother, Ken, and Dad was pastor of the First Baptist Church. We lived here in the pastorium, and those were days filled with such fun of childhood – it’s where I learned to ride a bike without training wheels. I’m still looking for pictures of my favorite Keds sneakers – Red White, and Blue. Those were my favorite colors in those days, and I can see it in the campground pictures where we camped over the Fourth of July holiday. Mom always proved that she could outfish anyone, even times when she went fly fishing.
I’m still sifting through old photographs as I digitize them and share them with other family members. It’s fun walking down memory lane.
Camping Out
Red, White, and Blue stripes
camping at Fernandina
with my family
Happy Independence Day!
Happy 250th Birthday, America! It’s a great day for watermelon, and a great day to be born. My son, his wife, and their children await the birth of a son and baby brother. Whatever we do today, it’s day to celebrate.
Watermelon Seeds
soon there will be six
in this growing family
he is due today!
Multnomah Falls Etheree
Last month, I attended The Stafford Challenge Writing Conference in Portland, Oregon with my dear writing friend Glenda Funk. She and her husband Ken were kind enough to take me to Multnomah Falls before I returned back to Georgia. I made such fabulous memories on that trip, and the Pacific Northwest holds beauty that is second to none. But as I write this, I’m reminded of Rainer Maria Rilke’s words about Rome from Letters to a Young Poet:
Finally, after weeks of daily self-defence, though still a little bewildered, one comes to oneself again and one says, “No, there is no more beauty here than elsewhere, and all these objects, which generation after generation has continued to admire and which the hands of jobbers have repaired and restored, mean nothing, are nothing, and have no heart and no value”; but there is plenty of beauty here, because there is plenty of beauty everywhere.
Multnomah Falls Etherwe
smiles
postcards
sunglasses
National parks
rolling suitcases
things that make travel fun
in the Pacific Northwest
and anywhere else in the world
where fresh discoveries in nature
take our breath away with striking beauty
Do You Want to go Walk in the Woods?
The question came from a fellow Georgian, a member of The Stafford Challenge at Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon on the last day of our poetry conference.
Do you want to go walk in the woods? one called out.
Seven of us set out to walk in the woods together on an adventure to see the world in the forest floor in the cloud-shadows of Mount Hood. And this is how we made friends.
Into the Woods
Into the woods, we go, we go
Into the woods we go!
When strangers set out on a walk in the woods
They return with new friends they know.
Instructions for Raising a Camper
As July kicks off and I continue to sort through old photographs and newer ones, I’m thinking of travel and vacations this month – reflecting on the experiences on the road, on campgrounds, and on educational conferences where we’ve extended the business to include personal travel as well. The earliest traveling I remember is going to camp and fish at Fernandina Beach, Florida with my parents and my mother’s parents. Granddaddy would put the truck camper on and pull the boat, and my parents would pitch a tent while I crawled into the camper with my grandparents. Early each morning, we’d put the boat in and go out fishing. I would crawl up under the front of the boat and nap on the life jackets and a blanket to get out of the heat. During fishing time, I worked the live well by catching bait with a net and taking it to whoever needed a replacement.
We took the boat out of the water each afternoon. We’d scale fish, fillet them, and cook some for dinner and still put plenty away in coolers to take back to Georgia. The sulfury-smelling showers in those campground bathrooms smelled like rotten eggs, but the memories they bring back are pure joy. We roasted marshmallows after supper, and I’d sleep above the cab with the windows open for the cross-breeze while the adults sat up by the fire well into the night.
I’m pretty sure that’s where the love of camping started for me. When I had my own children who loved to barrel race, we’d load the family and horses up along with my then-husband’s parents, and we’d pitch a tent by their horse trailer for small-camp rodeos. Our favorite was Buffalo River in Tennessee, where we camped right next to a river. The kids rode horses and did racing during the days, and the campground had a live band with two-step and line dancing each night, plus a cafeteria so we didn’t have to cook all the time. It was the first and only time I ever tasted rattlesnake from a trail ride where someone shot one to protect the horses, then brought it back to camp and grilled it up in slices. In those days, we were tent campers.
Soon, we graduated to a pop-up that we bought for next to nothing because the top was dry rotting and coming apart. I burned up a sewing machine stitching the repairs, but it was worth it because it lasted several years before we sold it and got a pull-behind camper with Florida windows and old tires that needed replacing right away. We used it for years while the kids were growing up, and we did the same things: swam, fished, cooked fireside, and played cards all evening.
Fast forward to my second marriage, and out of the blue one day my husband decided we should take up camping. I didn’t think he would like it since he likes to go out to eat dinner so much of the time and has a hard time sitting still. But we started looking for campers, bought a used Keystone Outback, and took it for a spin. And surprise of all surprises, he actually enjoyed it. We kept it for a few years and sold it, then bought a Little Guy Max teardrop camper that we kept for a couple of years and sold. Then we got another pull-behind – an InTech Willow, and kept it for a year before deciding to go with an RV. This time, we traded it in and got a Tiffin Wayfarer that both of us are able to drive and maneuver with setup and takedown, along with a good warranty. I can even dump the thing. I wanted to always be able for both of us to have the skill set to get us home if one of us takes a fall or doesn’t feel well enough to drive. At our ages, that becomes an important consideration when out on the road.
As I trace the love of camping back to the earliest days of my life, I believe those seeds were planted deep and bloomed and thrived. And it doesn’t matter whether it’s summer, spring, fall, or winter – – I’m always ready to back into a space, fire up the grill, and sit by a campfire, rooted in relaxation. Early morning coffee under trees filled with birdsong and the peaceful solitude of nature never, ever get old.
Kindling the Flame
Early days, camping
fishing, roasting marshmallows
kindling campfire love
Snow in Port Royal, Kentucky – Winter, 1967
Seeing is Believing Tricube – Kentucky, Winter 1967
All my life
I heard the
Kentucky
icicles
were tall as
human men
and today
I believe
it was true
Yellow Jacket Sweatshirt
Yellow Jacket Sweatshirt, 1969
Uncle Robert
Georgia Tech Engineering Grad
gave me my first Georgia Tech
Yellow Jacket sweatshirt
and my first gerbil, Brownie
in a cage with a wheel
which lasted longer than the sweatshirt
I still haven’t outgrown small critters
Winnie the Pooh and the Hundred Acre Wood
My mom’s mother worked in downtown Waycross, Georgia in the Sears and Roebuck Catalog Department. She took sales orders over the phone, and if my mother didn’t make the clothes I was wearing on her machine, it was practically guaranteed to have a Winnie the Pooh in the waist tag or on the left front chest. We got 20% off on everything – – at least, my grandmother did and so by default my mother did. When I think back on my childhood, this was my standard weekday garb. Shorts or knit slacks and a Winnie the Pooh shirt. The world had not yet thought of Velcro and light-up shoes, and honestly I think I am happy about that. At least I learned to tie my shoes early. Red Keds for the win! These were the days when dressing was so much easier – – this piece, that piece, shoes, and all the better if it actually matched. Oh, if we could just return to those days and clothes could fit as well as they used to. And if only the 100 Acre Wood were still a place as real as it once was.
L-R: Kitty (my grandmother’s good friend), me, Earl (my grandfather), Eunice (grandmother), and my mother, Miriam
What Remains
Hundred Acre Wood
remains only in the hearts
of children who knew
Common Threads 