CORONAVENTURES

    Three little birds    Pitch by my doorstep    Singing sweet songs    Of melodies pure and true    Saying, "This is my message to you."    Singing: "Don't worry about a thing    Cause every little thing is gonna be alright."                       --Bob Marley

When I taught American Literature at Baton Rouge High, I always looked forward to the Transcendentalists.  Ralph Waldo Emerson's lofty but spot-on musings about isolation and self-reliance inspired me, but Thoreau's distilled observations about the natural world struck a chord in me like nothing else I taught.  Had I been less of a traditionalist and more open to new ideas,  I'm sure I would have also loved teaching the poems of Mary Oliver as well as those of Wendell Berry.  But they weren't in the textbook and I had never studied them in college, so I was ignorant of how much their appreciation of nature could resonate with me.

My students were polite (meaning I never SAW their eye rolls) as I waxed eloquent about Thoreau, describing how he watched the battle of the ants at his woodpile and detailing how the red ants and the black ants reminded him of Patroclus coming late to the Trojan War.   His discussion of loons, however, and his evoking their haunting call inspired in me a love of that particular bird.  It was not until I retired and visited New Hampshire and Vermont that I finally heard them in the wild.  I don't have a pond to play checkers with the loons, watching them dive and guessing where they will surface.  Heck, I don't even have any loons.  But I do have 2.4 acres in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and I do have a front porch that offers me my own particular glimpse into the world of nature.  I have become, without really aspiring to be,  the Bird Woman of Ridgehaven.

The song sparrow was the first bird I came to love when we bought this house.  I delighted (mostly) in his early morning trilling, which I had never heard before.  To this day, he (or one of his progeny) sits on top of the blue bird box, singing his heart out ALL day long.  I also have come to love the noisy Carolina wren (even though she tries to build a nest every year in the garage) as well as the Carolina chickadee, who scolds regularly if I haven't put food out or if I get too close to the nest box I provided this year, now hanging on the porch.  The beautiful pairs of Eastern Towhees make me smile with their "drink your tea" calls, and they are some of my favorites.  I look forward to the arrival of the rose breasted grosbeaks as they pass through in the spring, and the cardinals are always a joy.  I love watching the red bellied woodpecker endeavor to get at the food in my caged feeder with his long beak.  The irritating blue jays get greedy if I put out food they can get to, but I like them nevertheless.  I can't forget the hummingbirds although they are not yet numerous at the feeders, probably because there are plenty of flowers blooming at the moment. However, I derive great pleasure from thwarting the pesky (and dangerous to song birds) European starling by not putting out any food he likes (and sometimes with my BB gun).  The starlings have replaced you-know-who as my favorite target. 

But... I have become obsessed with bluebirds.  

To make a very long story short, I have been trying to attract bluebirds to the property since we moved here.  And I've been successful.  But last year, after spending a LOT of time looking at posts from various bluebird Facebook sites, I decided to make a bluebird trail.  Now I have a total of five nest boxes scattered around the property, and FINALLY again this year a pair decided to nest not only in several of the more distant boxes, but also the one in the front yard.  The opportunity to delve into the daily habits of this couple has given me more pleasure than just about anything I do.  I laugh and tell people that I probably have spent $100 on every egg that has hatched in the past three years.  I can only pray that most of them made it to adulthood.  I have bought nesting boxes, roosting boxes (don't confuse the two), predator baffles, water containers (heated and unheated) and FOOD out the wazoo.  I buy butter bark, butter bark bits, dried mealworms, live mealworms, and suet.   I have even begun to make my own suet, which also requires peanut butter and non-medicated chick starter food.  (Of course ALL the birds love many of these delectable items, and when it's not time for baby birds to be hatching, I also feed them a variety of tasty tidbits.  Upon closer examination, I guess I love most birds.)  Even the raucous crows that live in the woods serve their purpose.  We had been told by a neighbor that she thought a fox was living under her back porch.  I have been on the lookout, and a couple of days ago when the crows were raising a ruckus, I followed the noise and saw them harassing the poor, bedraggled fox.  She was doing a good job of ignoring them, but a few days later I saw her again because I looked where the crows were congregating.  I guess they are at least good alarm systems, if nothing else.  I think of my mother often when I feed the birds, because she loved them too.  This connection to My Sweet Gladys probably is one of the reasons I find this activity so enjoyable.

I have done a poor job of getting to the point, but here it is:  

When I sit on the porch and watch the birds,  which I sometimes do for hours at a time, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for being able to live in such a beautiful setting.  Since the middle of March, when the world as we knew it shut down, I have been in self-imposed isolation.  My social circle has shrunk to four people whom I see on a regular basis.  I know that this kind of isolation has bothered others who are more socially interactive than I am, but I have actually enjoyed it.  I do not miss substitute teaching (although the extra money was nice), and I have fallen into a rhythm to my days.  I sleep until mid-morning, do a few chores as needed, walk the dog, prepare meals on my night to cook, read read read read read (I have neglected that in recent years), and watch TV in the evenings.  My days are calm, unhurried, and totally lacking in stress.  I recognize that many Americans are not nearly as fortunate as I am.  There is no point in going into the political ramifications of all that we are enduring as a nation, but I have found that if I withdraw from the endless repetition of cable news shows and Facebook posts, I am much more at peace.  I WISH I could say that I have come to new insights about myself or the world I live in as a result of my communing with nature, but I haven't quite arrived at Bob Marley's "every little thing is gonna be alright" because I fear we are not nearly out of the woods with this pandemic.   But on the porch, serenity displaces fear--at least for a while.

So I will continue to watch for the bluebird fledglings to come to the feeder, to chase away the starlings, to laugh at the woodpeckers, to hope for another glimpse of the fox, and to thank God for Ridgehaven.

I WILL REMEMBER YOU, WILL YOU REMEMBER ME?

DON'T LET YOUR LIFE PASS YOU BY,

WEEP NOT FOR THE MEMORIES 

REMEMBER THE GOOD TIMES THAT WE HAD?   --SARAH MCLACHLAN

Today, August 10,  a good man, Thom Barber,  was laid to rest.  I knew him as a friend and colleague, and I have spent a great deal of time thinking about him ever since I found out almost a week ago that he had passed away.  Like anyone my age, I have had loved ones die, but this death hit me hard and I've been trying to figure out why.

I hadn't spoken to him in the  six years since I retired and moved, and for a few years before that we had only a nodding acquaintance and polite exchange of words as we passed in the hall.  But there had been a time when I felt I knew him pretty well.  We spent many summer days teaching enrichment classes at LSU, where we taught next door to each other and shared lunch time almost every day.  At one point in time at Baton Rouge High we were pretty close.  He invited me on some Woods and Waters campouts, drove me around in his Miata, tried to teach me to fly fish, and we even dated for a short time, although neither of us was looking for anything serious.  We shared a few picnic lunches on the lawn at BRHS, and if I rooted around  I could probably find a picture of us at prom that year.

But things change and people change and relationships end, although I always considered him a friend.  I envied him as a teacher because he had such an easy rapport with his students, who for the most part adored him.  Back then, I was too much of a tight ass and a stickler for maintaining high academic standards.  I recall a conversation I had with him once when he told me it was a lot easier teaching an elective class such as he did because you could loosen up and have more fun.  I was astonished when he told me that he never gave a grade below a "C", thinking that he wasn't hard enough.  But he taught those kids more logic, more philosophy, and more life skills than I ever dreamed of, and he challenged them to think--really think--critically.  I could have learned to be a better teacher from him.

I think Thom was a solitary man by nature.  Yes, he had friends, but he also spent a good deal of time by himself.  In another life he might have been a contemplative monk.  I used to tease him that you should never trust a man who didn't read fiction, but he was also a great fan of Homer Simpson.  He was a good cook and when I first knew him delighted in baking bread and giving it away.  When one of his friends got sick, or needed a hand, Thom was there to help him out--mowing grass for his neighbors or taking someone to the doctor.

As I write this, I realize that all of Thom's friends and colleagues have their own "Thom" memories and stories.  I bet they all center around how kind and caring he was, and how good a listener he could be if you needed one.  He was genuinely a nice, decent person who made the world a better place.  It makes me sad that he died alone, but then again, that's maybe how he would have wanted it.  I just hope he had some inkling of the impact he had on so many people.

If I take anything away from Thom's death, I hope it is that friendships need to be nourished in order to continue to grow.  I didn't do my part to continue to nourish ours.  I no longer live in Baton Rouge, but I THOUGHT about calling him when he retired to tell  him congratulations.  I knew that many of his former students had come on his final day to honor him, but I just wanted to tell him there IS life after Baton Rouge High.  I thought of him (and many others) who lost their homes in the flood, and I THOUGHT of calling him to see if he had recovered.  I am ashamed to admit that I didn't even go by his room the last time I visited BRHS.  I will regret my inaction for a long time.

I do have dear friends whom I maintain close relationships with, but there are many other people in my life, both past and present,  that I don't see or talk to often enough.  I know that LIFE gets in the way, and I am as guilty as the next person of putting off making contact.  I know that one day, I might get another phone call informing me that one of them has passed away, and I will once again be left with the bitter taste of regret.

My thanks to the former students who posted pictures of Thom.  I don't remember who I borrowed these photos from, but thank you.

"KEEP ME SEARCHING FOR A HEART OF GOLD. AND I'M GETTING OLD." NEIL YOUNG

NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY

Robert Frost, 1874 - 1963
Nature’s first green is gold, 
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

This poem has been on my mind all week as I have driven around Waynesville, which is finally experiencing the peak of fall colors.  Although the hues are somewhat muted this year, the oranges and golds and magentas are stunning, and the hillsides blaze in the sun.  This is my favorite time of the year, and I revel in the beauty of my surroundings.  We frequently rejoice with a "We LIVE HERE!!" expression of amazement, but never more so than when Autumn is hitting her stride.

Yet alongside the trees that are still at the peak of their perfection stand other trees which have already lost their leaves.  This stark contrast is a reminder of what is soon to come, when we will have moved on to another lovely time up here in the Blue Ridge.  This cusp of seasons brings a hint of melancholy--a realization that "nothing gold can stay."

This realization has been intruding into my consciousness a bit more than usual lately.  Perhaps it's because I recently turned 67.  When I go to the doctor for my annual checkup now, Medicare  "wellness" reports butt into my life by asking questions about how often I fall, or if I need help with medications, or if I'm unusually depressed.  (Carol and I laugh about how we dread the "test" when we're asked to draw a clock indicating a specific time and we are nervous until we get it right!  Those of you digital kids out there--you sometimes have to think about how 2:17 looks on a clock face!)  I'm relatively healthy for my age and I never shy away from telling anyone how old I am, but the looming threat of diabetes, the old age blemishes, and the facial features that are losing their fight against gravity are a daily reminder that I am really not the 35 that my inner Donna tells me I am.

The inevitability of change is nothing new to any of us, of course.  Matriarchs (or patriarchs) who have held a family together pass away. Siblings grow apart, regardless of the bond of love.  Children grow up and embark on lives of their own, somehow unwittingly diminishing ours. Estrangements arise in families, creating breaches never even imagined in years past. Relationships alter,   bringing wisps of sadness.  Spouses die--an unfathomable seismic shift forcing unwanted changes in routines and customs.  But babies are born, new friendships are made and new opportunities created, and sometimes even dear old friends move to town.

I'll close this now before I resort to a cheesy rendition of "The Circle of Life" (even though it may be appropriate).  Or maybe a better ending would be:

"Ob-la-di ob-la-da life goes on bra

La-la how the life goes on"!!

It does indeed.  And I'm grateful for every day of it.

"OLD FRIENDS, MEMORY BRUSHES THE SAME YEARS..." Paul Simon

On the way home from town today--March 19, 2017

Today I was reminded again of the  cliche of how quickly time passes--how inexorably the years slip away.  I had breakfast this morning with an old friend from Baton Rouge, Faith.  She is the kind of friend you can pick up and be comfortable with even though you haven't seen each other in literally decades. We've kept in touch--mainly through Facebook--but haven't really been part of each other's lives in a long time.  

As much as I enjoyed the brief visit with her and her friends, I would have loved to have been able to curl up in front of a fireplace and talk.  You know--really talk.  About how she is managing her life as a relatively recent widow.  About how she spends her days.  About what her joys and fears are. About my life.  I sat across from this woman who looks wonderful, in spite of the passage of years, and think about the women we were when I first knew her. We were English teachers working in a difficult situation, one which grew intolerably bad until we fought back and exposed some major malfeasance in office from the administration. This was one of the most difficult times of my life, and having had Faith endure this with me cements the bond we had.  Of course, we had some wonderful fun times as well.  Anyway, it was great seeing you today, Faith, and I hope you come back up here sometime so we can have a longer visit.  Wanda has talked about us all meeting sometime in Louisiana.  I'd love to come to Breaux Bridge and have you show us around your neck of the woods.

I'm the second from the right if you can't tell.

Speaking of old friends,  I have two best friends, women who have known me since 1963 when we were in the 7th grade.  We have literally grown up together I suppose.  One of them, Brenda, recently moved to Waynesville!!  At dinner last night we were commenting on how we seem to quickly lapse into some strange hillbilly accent that we acquired years ago but only bring out when we're together. I love this lady dearly--she's kind, compassionate and funny as hell. She knows me better than just about any other human being on this planet.   Her sweet husband died in June, and the past 18 months have been difficult, to say the least.  I think she is beginning to be happy again, little by little.  It gives me great joy to know that she's close by.  I was not able to do much to help her when her husband was sick, which made me feel like not much of a friend at times.  I look forward to showing her more of the area when it gets to be Jeep weather again.  Her new mantra is "I am free of fear".  Encouraging words to live by for sure!

Carol recently got two new knees, and I'm kind of jealous.  I've been dealing with more and more knee pain that has severely limited my ability to do much of anything on slopes.  It's almost time for yard mowing, which definitely includes mowing slopes, and I need to be ready to do that. I also haven't been able to do any hiking, which has been fine up until now.  Carol will be good to go soon, and i want to be able to share some hiking adventures with her. I can't live on pain pills and knee braces, so I hope I can find a solution to this problem.  Another aspect of old age, I guess, and one I certainly don't like.

Spring has almost arrived at Ridgehaven.  I think our frigid temperatures of the past few days are over.  The daffodils are fading, alas, but we have a few tulips coming up. The goldfinches are turning gold again.   Blue birds are scouting for a nest in the box in the front yard.  Sweet Bella will no longer need her sweaters to go outside.  And it's almost camping weather again.

Life is good, and I'm glad to be alive and relatively healthy.

"I WISH IT WOULD RAIN"--THE TEMPTATIONS

"Hello there, it's been a while.
Not much, how about you?"

I just realized that I haven't blogged since December of 2014.  Not sure why.  Don't hold your breath on this one.

In 1969, I walked onto the University of Texas at Austin campus to find an atmosphere that I had never experienced.  The Viet Nam War and the corresponding anti-war movement were still raging, and the Civil Rights Movement continued to divide the country as well.  America was in turmoil.  Many of my professors made their liberal views clear, and class discussions often veered off the topic of the course and into current events.  Movies such as Billy Jack (man, that one ages me) offered anti-establishment doctrines that had previously been foreign to me.  The audio library was a popular hangout, where I listened to Civil Rights protest songs and anti-war artists that still comprise my favorites play lists.  This exciting, liberal milieu energized me and put me on a road to more progressive thinking than I had ever experienced.   I will always be grateful for my time at UT because "the scales fell from my eyes" in many ways.  I am forever changed by my exposure to ideas that have shaped the person I am.

However, there was a part of me that hung back. I'm not sure why.   I had been reared in a conservative Republican town in West Texas by conservative parents, and although I never remember discussing politics with them, I do recall heated exchanges with my father in my teens about images that invaded our living room every evening from Civil Rights protests.  I found it unconscionable when he was not as outraged as I was that people such as Bull Connor could even exist.  I have, in recent years, told friends that if I had it to over again, I would have done more for the Civil Rights Movement.  I would have joined in protests to help bring an end to what I considered to be one of the biggest injustices I had ever witnessed.  Yet I did nothing except soak up the rhetoric and listen to Judy Collins sing:

 It isn't nice to block the doorway. 

 It isn't right to go to jail.  

There are nicer ways to do it, but the nice ways always fail. 

It isn't nice, it isn't nice, 

You told us once, you told us twice,

But if that's Freedom's price,

We don't mind.--Malvina Reynolds

Similarly, I didn't protest the Viet Nam War.  While I listened to the arguments for both sides and was particularly moved by the huge number of Viet Nam Vets on campus who had become anti-war militants, I still believed that my government had to be right about what was good for the country. I was patriotic.  I had two brothers who served in the military.  Slowly, I was moving toward waking up to the lies of LBJ and the motivation behind them, but I sat in the library working on a research paper while 20,000 students held a march to the Texas State Capitol.  Richard Nixon changed my world view forever, Dick that he was.  I never blamed soldiers for going to Viet Nam, even if I felt they had drunk the Koolaid and swallowed the party line.  What were young draftees supposed to do?  I had problems with the Gung Ho "I love the smell of napalm in the morning" types, definitely.  But even when I had begun to change my thinking, I was still inactive.  I took no steps toward DOING anything, other than voting, to alter the situation my country was in.  I guess my problem is that I could see both sides of situations.

Fast forward to 2016.  

My Facebook feed has been inundated with posts about the deaths of young black men at the hands of police in what appear to be totally unnecessary uses of force.  The hardest ones to read are from some of my former students who still live in Baton Rouge, my ex home town, and who post about legal protests that turned nasty.  And who could not be horrified seeing the cold blooded premeditated murder of the Dallas police officers?  I feel great pain for both sides of this issue, yet I do nothing.  Not anything so much as repost a poignant image or a plea to end the violence.  I have almost reposted "I support Black Lives Matter" pictures, yet I didn't.  So why didn't I?  Did I not want to offend certain people?  Did I NOT believe that ALL lives matter?  (As a side note, I read an article the other day that has had me thinking a great deal.  The essence of it was that you can't argue that ALL lives matter until you accept first that this country cannot move forward until we stop denying the fact that Black lives HAVE to matter. By arguing ONLY that ALL lives matter, we are denying the institutional racism that anyone with a brain knows permeates our society.)  Similarly, I was about to repost a meme stating that Blue Lives Matter, but I didn't.  Why not?  Because I hadn't also posted something from the "opposing camp"?  If I first don't support the thoughts and feelings and outrage and heartbreak of those who have endured institutional racism in ways that I cannot even imagine, then it is disingenuous to say that All Lives Matter.  I'm not putting this very well, but I wonder why I  can't bring myself to repost anything at all.  Again, I find myself with a lot of thoughts on the subject, and, as always,  I am trying to look at both sides of the argument.  But I sit and do nothing.  I wonder why.  I detest the unnecessary police violence, yet I also support the men and women in blue who protect us every day while risking their own lives.

This has been a strange summer.  An unsettling and unsettled summer.

     Don't even get me started on politics, but I fear for the future of our country on so many levels.

     I have lapsed into a more lingering physical and emotional funk than in a long time.  I'm getting better, but I'm still not completely out of it.

     I have found myself deeply saddened and disheartened by some events in my family and in the life of one of my oldest and dearest friends.

     It has been so hot and dry that my front yard is burning to a crisp and the shrubs and trees are suffering.

However, many good things exist in my world too.

     As I have written this, a God-sent rain shower dropped an inch of much needed moisture  (and some hail) on Ridgehaven.

     We spend a nice few days at the beach with Carol's son and his family, including their sweet little 17 month old daughter.  She is a beautiful African American child who brings joy to everyone, and I pray that she will not have to grow up in a world filled with racial strife.  I'm not sure I could bear to see this child of God hurt by prejudice.

     I've had five blue birds fledge and another four eggs are in the nest as of now.  Who cannot be happy to see blue birds in their yard?

     It's Jeep season!!!  And even with the heat it's been fun.

Ok...that's enough of my musings for today.  Until next time.

     

     

     

Sing We Now of Christmas

"Walking down 5th Avenue, the lights so bright, faces glowing.
Windows dressed up with toy trains, a colorful display.
Snowflakes falling, New York's calling.
Land, sea, or air, I joust can't wait to be there for Christmas in New York, New York."

                    --"Christmas in New York"

Reflections on Christmas Past and Present

For some reason, Christmas has always brought a bit of melancholy for me.  I don't get seriously depressed, as some people do, but I don't full out enjoy it as many people seem to.  I've always preferred Thanksgiving.  In the past, that holiday brought my family together, with a great meal and good interaction among  my parents, my brothers and their families, and me.  We pretty much served the same meal as we did at Christmas, but the whole celebration seemed more relaxed. None of the materialism that makes Christmas so unpleasant to me.  Even as a kid, I found Christmas to be somewhat anticlimactic.  As I grew older and began to teach, I couldn't fully enjoy the days leading up to Christmas because of the pressures of end of semester grading, exams, etc.  When  I often didn't get out of school until December 22 and then had to do Christmas shopping, Christmas seemed to be more of a hassle than a pleasure.  My Christmas spirit usually came late, if at all.  Temperatures in the 70s or 80s usually didn't help me get in the mood either.  I'm sure all my  friends from the South can relate to the many times when we had the AC on earlier in the day so we could have a fire on Christmas Eve.  Fortunately that's not the case in Western North Carolina.

I do, however, ultimately get into the Christmas spirit, albeit sometimes at the last minute.  I am reminded of one Christmas many, many years ago when my friend Ann and I went to see the movie Scrooge on Christmas night.  I came out of the theater very much in the mood for Christmas and wishing that I could relive the day, more "into" it all.  Perhaps I'd learned a lesson from old Ebenezer himself.  Last night's excursion to downtown Waynesville helped move me along this year.  After a visit to one of the local breweries (two of their craft beers might have helped my mood), we walked the streets of downtown, enjoying carolers, one of the local high school bands, a reenactment of Bethlehem, horse drawn wagons full of little kids, and various other festive participants.  Waynesville is a charming little town, and last night its Norman Rockwellian aspect really came through.  I was glad to be living in such a laid back little community, and I couldn't help but compare it to what must be going on in Baton Rouge and other larger cities with people fighting traffic and crowds at the mall.  As we drove into our own refuge on Dolata Lane, we were cheered by the sight of our little evergreen tree with its Christmas lights glowing in our yard.  Since neither of us is going to be home for Christmas this year, we've kept our decorations to a minimum, but that little tree makes us smile.

Looking back over what I've written, I have to face the fact that one of the reasons Christmas is not as meaningful to me at this stage of my life is because I miss my parents.  My friend Brenda talks about how hard it is to be an "orphan" even at our age.  I miss my dad sitting quietly in an easy chair while eating his parched peanuts, taking joy in watching his grandkids.  I miss being in the kitchen with my mom, chopping ingredients for cornbread dressing and nibbling on her wonderful peanut brittle.  I miss all the Christmases with my brothers and their families when we were able to gather together, knowing even that that it would not always be so.  I know circumstances change and people change and priorities change as  the older generations pass and new ones are born and grow into their own lives, but it doesn't keep me from missing the old days..."Memories light the corners of my mind/Misty water-colored memories of the way we were."  I miss you, Bill and Gladys.

On a brighter note, this year I have no papers to grade or exams to give or averages to compute.  I am currently substitute teaching, but I can now say NO THANKS (and have done so) to working on that frantic Friday which is the last day before Christmas.  As much as I usually enjoy herding cats (my euphemism for teaching middle school kids-- to whom I refer to myself as the Grinch's Grandma), I have decided not to engage in that craziness this coming Friday.  That's definitely a benefit of retirement.  And I am very much looking forward to our upcoming trip to New York City and New Haven to celebrate with Carol's daughter and son-in-law.  Two and a half days of seeing the sights--store front windows, Radio City Music Hall, Times Square, the 9-11 Memorial--followed by a Christmas Eve service at Brick Presbyterian Church on Park Avenue (where her son-in-law is the organist!).  That's going to be a pretty special Christmas, if you ask me!

Then, on Christmas Day, we'll take the train to New Haven for a few days.  Yale Library, please be open!!  I'll feel like a real big city girl, visiting the Big Apple then Yale!!  It will probably be more excitement than this little old mountain lady can stand.

What Will Christmas Future Bring?

No one knows, of course, what future Christmases will bring.  Will we entertain family for a Ridgehaven Christmas someday instead of always traveling to another destination?  Will we have little ones sledding down our hill?  Will we form our own new traditions?  Today, right now, I pray for continued good health, for continued blessings too many to count, and for the opportunity to let the many people I love--family, friends old and new, former students-- KNOW I love them and always will.  LOVE--that's what Christmas is all about, isn't it?  If you take away all the trappings and hassles and distractions, we are celebrating the love that is the greatest gift of all.  Now that's what I call a gift!!

Merry Christmas from Ridgehaven!!

"Moons and Junes and ferris wheels, The dizzy, dancing way you feel As every fairy tale comes real."

Eleven months is a long time...

I can't believe it's been almost a year since I've written anything in this blog.  I don't know why...maybe because I got behind and got overwhelmed.  Maybe because too many of my days seem like the one before and the one before that.  But then again, I think of some of the awesome, atypical days I've had since August of last year, and I realize there's NO WAY I can think this year has been mundane.

When in Vermont, ya gotta love cows!!

September...My long awaited and greatly anticipated trip to the Northeast to see fall foliage. Vermont and New Hampshire, with a brief glimpse of Maine, Massachusetts, New York, Connecticut, New Jersey and a few other states thrown in along the way.

It looks just like the catalog!!

Vermont was bucolic and pleasant, with rolling hills, dairy farms (lots of dairy farms), and beautiful lakes WITH LOONS!! Yes, I finally got to see and hear my loons!!  We had good cheese, drove pretty much 3/4 of the state from bottom to top, and enjoyed ourselves greatly.  We were a wee bit early for perfect foliage, but then we headed to New Hampshire and the White Mountains. The foliage there was at peak and again we drove and drove and drove, seeing as much as we could in the few days we were there.  I also got to visit one of Robert Frost's homes and a loon center in New Hampshire.  Talk about excited!! (I can't seem to upload some of my very, very favorite pix, so this will have to do for now.)
  

The rocky outcroppings of the White Mountains were very different from the peaks of Vermont, and being the mountain woman that I am, I think I preferred New Hampshire.  Both states were quite lovely though.  Our little trailer, Dora the Explorer, did quite well for us and served our needs nicely.  This was the longest trip we've taken in Dora, and since we were outside most of the time, her confined spaces didn't bother us.  In fact, she served, as she always does, as a nice little haven for us when we returned "home" each night.

I could post a million pictures of this trip, but you get the idea.

I never saw so many white steeples.

Sunset on the Atlantic

Mt. Washington in the backgroun

Hi guys!!!

 Dora the Explorer

October brought fall, my favorite season, but the colors were muted this year, perhaps because of all the rain we had over the summer.  An especially nice part of October was a visit from Jean, Carol's sister.  I was sorry to see that the colors were not "up to par" for her, but we enjoyed the visit nevertheless.  While she was here, we visited Mt. Mitchell (where there was more color).  

Winter brought very frigid temperatures to Western North Carolina (as it did to many states), but we enjoyed it nevertheless.

 A pre-Christmas visit to the Biltmore with my friends Dave and Brenda Morrison put me in the Christmas spirit, 

and a visit to Denver to spend Christmas with Carol's family made for a busy holiday.  My winter days were broken up by substitute teaching, with a longer stint as a history teacher for a woman taking maternity leave.  This experience reinforced my decision that my full time teaching days were over, done for, in the PAST!  It wasn't a horrible experience, but I realized about half way through the nine week stint that I was NOT happy with the time it took to read ahead, teach, run off papers, and grade. When I recognized that there was a good reason why I retired, I vowed this would be my last long term subbing assignment.  Now I'm happy to sub on a day by day basis, taking nothing with me but my leisure book and bringing home nothing but that same book!!  

While I was teaching full time, Carol was dealing with contractors and workmen on a daily basis. The result was a beautiful new kitchen!!  We still have a kitchen  in the country, but we sure don't have a country kitchen anymore.  It's quite lovely and we're really proud of it. That kitchen,  plus a new backyard space and patio (with new plants and a chiminea) and ALL the work that goes into those projects accounts for much of our time this spring.  All of these projects have definitely improved the property as a whole, however, as have the many other projects we've completed in the past two years.  

Proud Aunt Donna with Katie

Way to go, Laurie!!

      
      May brought graduation visits with my niece Laurie, who graduated from law school in Nashville, then my niece Katie, who graduated from SCAD as an animator.  I'm very proud of both of these women and love them dearly. Way to go, ladies!!

June was...well, what can you say about the trip of a lifetime?  Carol, her sister Jean and I took a land/sea trip to Alaska on a Holland America cruise.  Traveling together for the first time, we found we enjoyed each others' company and liked the same sort of activities, for the most part. We started in Fairbanks, did a brief tour of Denali, eventually made our way down to Seward and started our cruise part of the trip.  We had booked a room with a veranda (I definitely suggest that) which allowed us to see lots from our room AND to alleviate the feeling of confinement in a relatively small cabin.  We all like the outdoors, and we had booked excursions based on that.  We experienced river cruises, fjords, glaciers, wildlife galore (sea birds, sea otters, whales, bald eagles, seals, bears etc.), more glaciers, and a float plane trip to see fjords from the air.  I cannot begin to tell you all that we took in on this trip.  I suppose my overall impression of Alaska is that it is much more beautiful than I expected and much, much more vast.  Great expanses of wilderness that are almost incomprehensible make me happy that it is part of the United States.  Seward's Folly indeed!!  Alaska is still WILD in many areas and I hope it is forever maintained in just that pristine state.  We also greatly enjoyed Vancouver, Victoria and Vancouver Island.  A highlight of that visit was Buchart Gardens, which is every bit as spectacular as people say it is.  It was simply stunning.  To top off our visit to Vancouver, I went to my first concert with The Fray! Thanks, Ben, for being such a good host!  

Here are a few of the many photos from our trip.  I just picked some that make me smile.

Canoeing on the way to a glacier.

Walking on Davidson glacier.

The view from one of the hotels.

Pretty cool, huh?

Sunset from our veranda.

Jean and I in the float plane.

Mt. St. Helen's on the flight to Portland.

Just a nice memory from Buchart Gardens.

You get kind of silly at high altitudes.

Ah yes...Alaska summers!!

It gets kinda windy on a fjord...FYI.

View from the float plane above Misty Fjords National Monument.

So...now it's July.  Where has this year gone?  I have been here at Ridgehaven over two years. Two wonderful years.  Two years that have brought me more happiness than I ever dreamed possible.  I can't say I've "accomplished" much.  No Great American Novel.  No volume of poetry. Not even much reading that would be considered "worthwhile."  But I'm living on a wonderful property that is nicer than I ever dreamed  I could  own, I have hours and hours to while away my time doing whatever I choose.  I am healthy with few exceptions (even my knee is doing well now, thank goodness).  I do feel old age creeping into my joints and my back muscles, but so far it hasn't kept me from moving nine million, four hundred sixty-five thousand, two hundred and twelve (more or less) wheel barrows full of rocks (don't ask), or mowing the property, or hiking a little bit.  

Back at home for a while, I have these things to look forward to...a new clutch of blue birds hatching and returning with their youngsters, watching rainbows from the front porch, sitting on the new patio with a fire in my chiminea, and most importantly, Laura's wedding here at Ridgehaven in early August.  With relatively few chores left to complete before that joyous time, I have only a few concerns...will the grass I accidentally killed off grow back in time...what book will I read next...when will the new season of Sons of Anarchy begin... and when will my next nap start?  I think I know the answer to that last question.