If Andy Warhol had taken a photograph of my grandchildren............maybe?

                                             Belle and Lena

1987

            In the white house President Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinski have an affair behind closed doors. Dow Jones closes above 2,000 for 1st time (2,002.25). Bryan Gumbel co-hosted his final “Today” show on NBC-TV. Secretary of State Margaret Albright announces she just discovered that her grandparents were Jewish.  In a small town in Alabama twin sisters sit on a veranda.

                Belle and Lena sat in twin green rockers on the front porch of their old Victorian house located about a block from the center of the small town they lived in. An ancient wisteria vine grew draped around the front porch rail and pulled relentlessly against it. A few out of season  fragrant purple blooms peeped from the dense green foliage and perfumed the air. Tired from picking cucumbers in the garden most of the morning and magically turning them into sweet pickles for much of the afternoon they briefly retired to the front porch for a late afternoon rest and a glass of iced tea. They loved to sit on the veranda in the early evening to watch the few cars and pedestrians that passed in front of their home.  Their neighborhood had declined and practically all of the children had long ago grown up and moved away to cities and towns far away from this small side street in Junction Center. Many of the adjacent houses were in need of paint and general upkeep. Little was done at this point to maintain the appearance of the area as nobody seemed to care very much one way or the other. The parents who so lovingly raised their children for the most part now occupied the town cemetery that was located just behind the new high school. The grave yard that had been there since the town was established was an overgrown place where the tombstones baked in the hot midday sun and wind blown buffalo grass, Queen Anne’s lace, other tall weeds and wild flowers gently caressed the knees of sun baked monuments situated above the departed former residents. It was ironic that the youngest and most vigorous of the town’s inhabitants should spend so much of their life being educated within sight of the graves of departed former town’s people. Their deceased grandparents, relatives and many old friends rested just over a dilapidated barbed wire fence that kept cows and horses from trampling the headstones and markers that defined the cemetery’s boundaries. The fence that separated the living from the dead was installed years ago so that the adjacent fields of lush peanuts and cotton didn’t overlap and impinge on the graves. There at the center of the cemetery stood a tall singular obelisk, the grave marker for a former wealthy local doctor. It towered over the graveyard and could be seen at some distance. It was a grey speckled granite edifice that marked the center point of the burial ground with the other graves circling like satellites.

                 The sisters rarely went to the cemetery to visit their relative’s graves because, as Belle was fond of saying, “Honey, we'll soon be spending all of our time there so why go now it if we don't have to!” Their final resting plot was determined many years before when their aging parents bought the white graveled plot in the south west corner of the field that was surrounded with rectangles of marble. One enormous camellia bush grew in the middle of the plot but offered scant shade to the marble headstones.  Purchased from the local United Methodist church they knew even as young girls that eventually they would spend eternity beneath the dirt and stones here in this modest grassy field.             Their parents and their younger brother Curry were all ready there eternally sleeping below the orange clay and dirt. Curry, their younger brother died while still in high school from a football injury to his right thigh bone. He suffered many months and finally died from blood poisoning after a botched surgery in a futile attempt to restore his health. The sharecroppers living down the dirt road who helped Stanford with the farm chores heard Curry’s pitiful cries in the night from all the uncontrolled pain he suffered. Finally when it was over and he had finally passed away the broken hearted parents and sisters placed him beneath a pink marble slab inscribed with his name, date of birth, death and the message that read, Curry, beloved Son of Mavis and Stanford, brother to Belle and Lena. Belle said upon each visit, “It is very unsettling to see your name inscribed on a tombstone every time you visit the cemetery; I must say! It is like an invisible metaphorical hand waiting to pull you underground! It just gives me the creeps and I do not like going there at all!” she said. Belle reminded Lena, “Speaking of metaphorical hands, remember the time all those buzzards took up to roosting in that old dead oak tree in the front yard of the house a few years ago? It was the most unsettling thing I have ever experienced, not counting seeing my name on a tomb stone. That, if you remember is the main reason we had the tree cut down, well that and the fact that it was going to eventually fall on the house!  I honestly hate those damnable harbingers of death and doom!”Lena exclaimed.

            The sharecroppers that lived two hundred yards down the dirt road farmed several acres rented on shares from Stanford and his wife. They were black, very poor and struggled to make a living. His name was Luthor and his wife was Vie. They had two children, one boy Costanel who was sixteen and a daughter Janie who was twelve. Costanel helped his father on the farm and had finally gotten large and strong enough to be very helpful with the farm chores.  He sometimes drove the tractor with his father following behind planting the seeds and sowing fertilizer. They attended a Baptist Church further down the road where the Sunday school rooms doubled as an elementary school during the week.  On Saturdays Vie and Janie could be seen in the small yard with a blazing fire beneath a huge black cast iron pot filled with boiling water and dirty clothes. The weekly wash took the better part of the day and the clean clothes hung in the yard for most of the afternoon and sometimes would still be there on Sunday morning.

           

                The sleepy town square was just a half mile away. It was surrounded with ancient live oak trees that offered shade in the sweltering months of summer in the small township and provided a gathering place for the citizens and country farmers who brought produce and small animals to town for sale, show and barter. The town hall along with numerous assorted mercantile stores as well as a restaurant called Dan’s Down Town Diner circled the small green space that was the epicenter of the diminutive town. Once a bustling site for Saturday morning gatherings the square now serves as a place for pigeons and squirrels to reside and carry on their incarcerated lives within the surrounded confines of the square. Most of the now deserted storefronts have rusted tin and plywood nailed to what once was windows and doors providing entrance to the treasures within the stores. Hand painted “keep out!” signs offer warnings that trespassers would be prosecuted should they transgress. In the small town there were precious few people to trespass anymore anyway, so no one understood the purpose of all those signs! Belle rose from her rocker and shuffled towards the kitchen to replenish the amber colored liquid in her ice filled glass. “You getting another drink?” called Lena as she pushed her foot against the floor propelling her chair backwards and forwards creating a minuscule breeze that motivated her artificially colored red, beauty parlor curled hair. Inez at the beauty parlor had assured her that she was still young enough to wear that particular color even though Belle thought it looked absurd. Out in the street she noticed two black children on ragged out bicycles being chased by a black and white dog racing down the street shrieking to each other in fear of the pursuing canine. Lena heard one of the children scream, “It’s a Dalmatian dog and he’ll bite the shit out of you!” The children and the dog disappeared into the distance, still screaming and pedaling frantically with the dog following in hot pursuit.

Lena

The Day at the Train

                                                                                                                                                                         October 1943

The Second World War had been in progress since 1939 with 100 million people from 30 different countries involved before it ended in 1945. Holocaust; Dr.Joseph Mengele begins his service as a medical officer in the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. Anne Frank’s diary will not be published for four years.  

                Lena and Belle at seventeen had recently finished high school. Wearing a new flowered dress with her hair only just fixed Lena felt very beautiful and didn't want to walk in the heat and dust the mile and a half to town just to see a passing freight train. Lena was a beautiful girl and she knew it. Her face was slightly more symmetrical than her twin sister’s and therein lay the difference. Not by any means was Belle unattractive because she certainly was not. In fact many people thought she was the prettier one. Their father had taken the wagon pulled by two enormous mules into town earlier in the day and had not returned so walking was the only option. After learning the train was packed with young men, soldiers headed off for war in foreign countries she agreed to go with Belle who was determined to go no matter what. The walk to town was very hot even during the fall of the year like this particular sweltering dry day in October. After reaching town they stood with sweat beads on their foreheads near the railroad tracks and watched impatiently for the train to round the distant curve. It came into sight spewing black smoke from the smokestack and slowing somewhat. Ear piercing whistles emanated from the train as it approached the main intersection where Lena and Belle were standing.

            The train rolled past in a whirling cyclone of dust and debris. From the dry red clay beside the track the air turned orange as the wind from the passing train cars stirred the dry powder into the air whipping it skyward. Many fresh faced young men in khaki uniforms hung out of the windows of the train waving, whistling and shouting enthusiastically at the two beautiful young girls when the rush of wind blew their dresses up above their knees and whipped their flaxen hair about in all directions. Families and groups of other people standing beside the tracks clapped their hands and cheered the soldiers as they blew quickly into and out of the small town on the chugging train. Through this cloud of detritus the train passed rapidly. As the final car passed Lena saw a man standing on the rear platform outside the back of the caboose. His left hand was grasping the pole that supported the roof over the platform on which he stood. A dark suit covered his tall frame and there was sadness about him that she could see from the distance where she stood beside the track. His black brooding eyes were set on some distant point beyond where the tracks came together and met in the distance. He was the most beautiful man Lena had ever seen with broad shoulders and hair as black as coal. He stood still except for the movement caused by the gentle sway of the speeding train. His eyes remained fixed on the distant horizon. Lena felt her heart come unfixed from its usual place in her chest and fall noiselessly into the stones and dirt between her feet. The image of this stranger was burned into her mind like a tattoo. Besieged by this handsome outsider she turned to her sister and said, “That’s the man I am going to marry!” The train rumbled off into the distance gathering speed as it passed away into the countryside, growing smaller as it moved further away down the tracks. Lena could not avert her eyes from the diminishing train, longing for one more glimpse of the stranger. Tears filled her eyes and silently ran down her cheeks.

                The mile and a half walk back home out the dusty dirt road seemed like a hundred miles. As Lena walked toward home she began to think and imagine exactly how she could meet the handsome sad man she had seen at the rear of the train. Maybe one day he would show up on the door steps of her home selling Singer Sewing Machines. When she opened the screen door and looked into his eyes she again felt her heart shift in her chest and thought she might faint as a great heat wave encompassed her. She felt that looking into his eyes was like staring up in to the night sky filled with stars. Perhaps she might accidentally pass him on the street and fortuitously brush his shoulder. He would stop and say, “Oh, pardon me miss. I did not mean to bump you.”  Lena would blush but still gaze into his dark brown eyes and knowing that she was all ready besotted with his charm would gently touch his arm and say, “Oh, it was nothing at all, sir. Don’t even mention it.” Thinking about these scenarios she felt faint but continued walking towards home next to Belle who by this time was sweating profusely. Their bulldog puppy Tige saw them approaching and raced across the dusty field to meet them leaping and cavorting in the rows of peanuts as they crossed the field approaching their house.

                Father mentioned the passing train that night at the dinner table and what he heard while in town earlier in the day. “Sad, sad how terribly sad it was, “he stated. Lena asked, “What was so sad? Belle and I were there watching the train pass and saw nothing sad, “she said. Their father continued, “There was a young man on the train from over near Mobile; a young Methodist minister carrying his deceased wife back to north Alabama for burial at her ancestral home. She died in child birth and her coffin was in the baggage car.” Lena’s mouth dropped open and she let out an audible gasp. Belle looked at her and said, “That was the man you saw on the back of the train and said you were going to marry him! It had to be!”Again Lena blushed.

Night at the carnival

November 1944

Russian troops land on Kertsj peninsula, FDR, Churchill & Chiang Kai-shek meet to discuss ways to defeat Japan, FDR, Churchill & Stalin meet at Tehran to map out strategy,  Chic Bear Sid Luckman passes for 7 touchdowns vs NY Giants (56-7), Jewish ghetto of Riga Latvia is destroyed.

            It was a bright November morning when Belle woke up and looked across the room expecting to see Lena asleep in her bed. She was not there. From down in the kitchen the smell of bacon drifted up into the bedroom and its tantalizing aroma lured Belle from the warm comfort of her bed. She walked down the wooden steps holding on to the banister rail. The textured wooden steps pressed up into her bare feet. There in the kitchen her parents were sitting across the table from Lena. Belle heard her father say, “You are not going to Mobile by yourself and that’s all there is to it!” Belle realized that she had entered midpoint in a conversation that had been going on for weeks in their family. Lena was determined to go to Mobile for a job interview that she had heard about from a cousin who lived in the coastal city. The teaching job was in a small school on the outskirts of Mobile in the country side.  Belle knew that Lena had little interest in teaching and did not like the Mobile area. She thought it was too hot in Junction City and the idea of going even further south to live in hotter temperatures was not appealing at all. Belle knew that Lena had ulterior motives for her move to Mobile. Lena looked at Belle for some support but Belle did not meet her glance. “Dad” Lena said, “Belle and I could take the train to Mobile and then get someone to transport us to the school for the interview. I am not going to sit around Junction City and waste my life waiting for something to happen!” “Belle, if I decide to let her go would you be willing to go with her to Mobile for the interview?” her father asked.” “Maybe,” Belle replied, looking at Lena with a sly grin.

            From the front yard the machine gun barking of Tige filled the air with urgent yapping. Stanford rose from his chair and ambled across the breakfast room floor to look out the front door. “Good Lord! What in the heck is all that about?” Stanford exclaimed. The girls jumped up from their chairs and moved toward the windows. Passing in front of the house on the sandy dirt road was a large truck filled with men dressed in clown outfits. Multicolored streamers flowed behind the vehicle and drug through the orange dirt on the road. Attached to the sides of the truck on the fenders were large festive signs that stated, “The Carnival is here! Come tonight and get half price admission!”A loud man shouted,”See the two headed dog, the snake woman and the crocodile man, alive and in person!” He shouted, “Come see the man eat a live chicken, the bearded lady and the one thousand pound man. See the sultana ladies from the harem of the sheik of Arabia!” A young boy perched on the rear of the truck banged an oversized drum in the dust from the road as the truck moved slowly down the road. One of the several blond women was dressed in purple transparent gauzy wrappings and as she leaned from the truck she exposed a surprising amount of cleavage from her sequined halter top. Stanford said, “Get back in the house girls! It’s nothing but a bunch of trash blowing down the road!” Everyone knew that carnival folk were just a bunch of riff raff and were always up to no good. “They are nothing but thieves and criminals!” Stanford said, “That’s all they are”. Little more was said about the passing ménage. Belle looked intensely at Lena and gave her a furtive wink. After breakfast the two girls helped with the dishes and then went out onto the front porch and sat on the swing. Belle began, “I am going to that carnival tonight. Do you want to go with me?” Lena replied, “You are not going anywhere. You'll get your throat cut at that horrible place!” “We’ll see!” Belle muttered. Over the distant horizon a dark thunderhead rolled into view. “Looks like we might get a little rain,” Belle muttered.

            That night after much politicking from Belle she and Lena fabricated a story convincing their parents that they needed go to a neighbor’s house half way into town. They left at dusk and walked the winding road toward the small town. Finding the carnival was no problem as there was only one place where things like carnivals and fairs had enough room to set up and operate. Approaching the entrance to the carnival they walked through an unexpected milky mist that had appeared at a depression in the ground like a gauze curtain draped across the landscape near the entrance to the carnival. They paid a small fee for the both of them to enter the grounds and moved into the midway where many of the town’s people were all ready there walking around looking. Barkers’ called to the passerby’s trying to lure them into the tents set up for housing the attractions. Men shouted, “Only costs a nickel. Come on in!” The girls paid the admission fee to see the one thousand pound man and passed into a brightly lit tent where a huge man lay reclined on a dilapidated mattress. He was immense. There seemed to be no end to him. His mass covered the mattress and spilled over of the edge onto the floor. Only a thin white covering wrapped his midsection. Overwhelming fleshy tissue seemed to encompass the entire room. Eating what appeared to be a chicken dinner there was a greasy glistening sheen circling the man’s mouth and clinging to his hands and fingers. He looked at the girls and winked. They left and went to the next tent.

            A sign announced “See the two headed dog, right this way!”  Belle and Lena paid their nickel and walked through the curtained door. The large room contained hundreds of formaldehyde filled bottles on wooden shelves. Many of them had fetuses with huge blue veined heads, snakes and worms that had been removed from the digestive tracts of children, a human heart, a child’s hand and many other things that made the girls blush and turn their heads away. In one corner of the shelf was a large fluid filled bottle with a small dog that looked as though he had two heads coming from a thick neck. One bottle contained a uterus and partially birthed immature baby. The girls were repulsed and left the tent after just a minute. They pushed their way through a yielding canvas curtain that opened into a tented room where many men sat in chairs smoking cigarettes staring intently at a raised stage where a ferociously blond, completely naked woman lay repeatedly thrusting her pink private parts into the open air. It was the woman in the purple gauze wrapping with the immense cleavage that passed in the truck earlier that morning. Belle and Lena retreated from a side door into the cool humid night air. A large bald man with a chewed up cigar and a stubbly beard just outside the tent said, “Hey! No women allowed in there!”

             They walked into the little crowd fearful someone from the town had seen them pass out of the tent where the blond woman was performing her show. Further down the midway they ran into two boys they had known at school. The four of them began walking together and talking about their plans now that they had finished school. Lena said, “I am moving to Mobile, Alabama and find the man of my dreams!” Belle commented, “Yeah and I am flying to the moon!” The boys both laughed. Belle and Lena left the boys and started for the front gate of the carnival and the trip back home. They were very quiet and the weather was worsening by the minute. Lightning flashed across the night sky and large drops of rain started to fall. Thunder rumbled across the distant fields and the trees beside the road began to quake and whip around in a synchronized dance with the wind. The girls knew they were going to get wet. The mist that shrouded the fair entrance had now expanded and encompassed the country side like an opaque curtain making it difficult to navigate their way back home.  Another flash of lightning briefly lit up the night sky and Belle saw a dark shadowy figure following at a short distance in the heavy fog behind them. She grabbed Lena's arm and pulled her closer.

.....to be continued……maybe?

Explanations

                Lena was the name of my Mother’s aunt who lived across the street from us when I was a small boy living in Midland City, she loved to grow flowers

The character of Lena is my mother’s sister

Belle was the name of the character of the prostitute in “Gone with the Wind”

The character Belle is another of my Aunts, fictionalized

Junction Center is a combination of Midland City and Headland, Alabama

The dark stranger on the train is my Uncle

Mavis was the name of the mother of a friend

Stanford is the name of a former neighbor

My father sold Singer sewing machines when he lived in Kentucky, was young and first married  

Curry was my mother’s youngest brother who died in high school from a leg injury

Tige was my grandfather’s bull dog

Inez was a beautician who did my mother’s hair for more years that any of us could remember

                “Dalmatian dog” is what the black children in our Jonesboro neighborhood called Jesse and Checkers (my Dalmatians) when I walked them around the block.

When I was a small child I went to the movie in down town Dothan alone late one afternoon and walked home afterwards. It was almost dark as I passed down the sidewalk leaving town and saw a trailer that had written on its sides, “See the fattest man in the world, only a quarter!” Having a quarter left over from the movie I paid the money and walked in. The window you looked through to see the immense man was too high for me to see over into where he was laying. Being so short I  jumped briefly up and caught a glimpse into the space where he reclined. In that tenth of a second my eyes saw over into the man’s little room and I saw him.  Although it was for less than a second it burned into my mind like a brand and after all this time I have almost perfect recall as to what I saw.

 In Dothan Alabama we had many fairs and carnivals come through town especially during the Peanut Festival. The sordid attractions I saw there, including the formaldehyde filled jars, the naked blond woman and the two headed dog are reflected in the “Night at the Carnival” section.

The Long Walk Uphill

Walking up the small mountain above the house into the wooded hillside this morning with Moose and J.D. I could not help but notice the many changes that have occurred since I was there years before. Asking myself why it had been so long since I had visited that particular spot I paused and pondered its beauty and made a small vow not to let so much time pass again before I returned. It has been too many years since I had been up to the higher elevations at the rear of our property. The dappled sunlight freckled the forest floor and moved with the currents of the wind as the trees danced above us dodging and burning spots of light on the forest floor. I climbed the incline towards the national forest that conjoins the back property line. Still early enough in this spring of 2014 I did not have to worry about the ticks and red bugs that feast on humans and own this part of the forest later in the summer. It was cool and breezy, a perfect crystalline blue day for climbing through the heath thickets and the rhododendron hells and was quite comfortable despite the rigors of the climb. The mountain laurel and rhododendron remained sound asleep and barely showed any hint of the spring time change in their as yet unfurled blossom and leaf buds.

The forested slopes were different since I had last visited. The many trees had grown larger and consequently weeded out the smaller, weaker versions of themselves and consequently proffered a more open vista than I remembered. There were a number of downed giant trees lying on the ground, sad like so many fallen warriors, decomposing, shedding their bark and now soft spongy interiors back into the moist yielding covering cloaking the earth. They had succumbed to high winds, heavy snows, disease and whatever other force that was at work there while I did not visit them. They lived their lives up on the hill exchanging with me, oxygen for carbon dioxide unseen and unthought-of by anyone. The inclined hill was covered with leaf litter and detritus shed by the indigenous trees and other plants from past years that had grown so deep that my feet sank into the spongy, moist depth of it. Not so many years ago an intentionally set fire on Rich Mountain burned for weeks and destroyed the nurturing cover and smoked the air so heavily that many people had to leave and find other places to stay till the leaf litter had finished burning. It took weeks.

This rarely explored area of the Rich Mountain wilderness is extraordinary with the fresh flush of spring on its face, still dripping with dew from the early morning. There was no sign of the showy orchid with the striking purplish and white bloom that appeared a few weeks ago nor the pink lady’s slipper that produces erotically, exotic pink blossoms for mother’s day each new year. I missed them as I walked this morning but am sure I passed within spitting distance of them and didn't notice. Moose and J.D. were with me running rampant through the underbrush so my attention was somewhat diminished for plant watching as my dogs are so entertaining. Periodically they would stop and have what seemed to be an all out fight just this side of a bloodletting for no apparent reason. Moose pounced on J.D. and intentionally rolled her for some twenty yards down the steep incline while her teeth snapped the air searching for a piece of Moose’s flesh. Afterwards they continued their trek undaunted by what had just transpired and seemingly devoted friends once again. They are mother and son and seem attached to each other but fisticuffs do occasionally happen, usually over food.

Coming down the hill returning home after a long strenuous hike I heard the rustling creek and noticed the showy white double file virburnum extravagantly blooming down by the water with wedding cake audacity, shedding petals and stamens with excessive abandon into the icy water.  upward

A Night Storm

                Lying on the small bed on the screened in porch that faces the creek a gathering storm rises up over the mountain to the west, preceded by a low ominous rumble. The storm clouds boil and mix in the dark sky like a cauldron of witches brew. Three warm dogs lying on the undersized bed insistently pressing their bodies close to me in the dark snuggle ever closer like tangled spaghetti.  J.D. trembles and pushes her head as close to my face as she possibly can. She is frightened by the approaching turbulence. Something deep within her ancestry is telling her that danger is eminent. The storm clouds loom over the Western horizon and push over the crest of the adjacent mountain as dark clouds gather in a darker sky. Wind rises up from the same direction making the leafy trees dance in synchronized perfection while a glimpse of lightening ricochets off the side of the porch. Moose stirs imperceptibly as one glistening eye opens questioning me as to just what is going on. The heat from his body warms the backs of my knees which overlap him and rest over his ribcage as he almost sleeps there, almost.  A shudder passes through his giving frame while the rise and fall of his rhythmic breathing beneath my weight raises and lowers my legs in conjunction with the inhalation and exhalation of my own. His ribs press up against my underside massaging and warming me from the bottom up with undisguised affection.

                J.D.’s breath smells briny like shrimp and squid as she licks the soft crepe skin under my chin and looks at me with large questioning eyes that sparkle in the darkening twilight, searching for guidance. She continues to thrust her smelly tongue over and over into the crevice beneath my chin. Disgusted I push her off the bed but she immediately recovers her spot, instantly forgiving me for displacing her. I can tell that she is nervous and concerned about the approaching tempest but her profound trust and confidence in me over rules her instinct. She believes I know best and acquiesces to my judgment. Brownie with all four feet and legs sticking straight up, twitching in the air continues her repetitive, comatose snoring unconcerned about the approaching storm. At the first clap of thunder however, she will leap suddenly up and race hysterically through the house seeking cover and protection, yapping and howling the entire time. Of course there will be none because our open home rocks with the rolling thunder and lightning as it reverberates through each and every crevice and corner of our dwelling. Brownie will find no refuge except at Linda’s hip, trembling in the chair next to her. Still at this point the three dogs huddle ever closer and it feels as though they might mysteriously trespass directly through my skin into my body and become a part of me, as though proximity alone would protect them from the storm.

Kite day at the Katz's on Big Creek Road at Black Ankle Creek Road. A beautiful day filled with sunshine, delightful people and excellent food. What more could a person ask from a wonderful spring day? I only wish we could have stayed longer.

Watershed

                I woke up this morning to the sound of rain falling on our tin roof. The precipitation had been predicted and was needed because it has been a week of more without any and things were beginning to get dry. The rain hits our roof and follows a labyrinthine path through assorted gutters and downspouts before it reaches the ground. The house is a compilation of two separately built structures, one old one and a new addition. They fit together in a very interesting but complicated way. It is convoluted because of the way it had to be configured in order to actually work and deliver water away from the foundation, which it sometimes does. What it causes when it rains is a cacophony of sounds as the water races down the roof into an assortment of metal gutters switching back and forth before it goes into the plastic drainage pipes underground and on toward the creek. Dripping rain from the top most roof falls to the second story, into the surrounding gutters, through numerous leaks, splattering and making noise and so on. The sound is more noticeable when you are lying in the dark stillness of your bed sleeping in silence in the night and early morning before the world wakes up, before the animals stir. We have lots of water to deal with here on a normal dry day but much more when it rains.

                This morning after coffee I walked up to the larger trout pond to make sure it was draining according to design. It was. The falling rain was dimpling the surface and making concentric rings within rings across the normally placid face of the pond. Reflecting the early morning light in a multitude of facets, it really is quite beautiful when you stand there and watch the falling rain fracture the level surface of the pond’s face reflecting the surrounding trees. It becomes an amazing abstract painting filled with lines, forms, textures and movements. Of course you have to stand there in the downpour to see the myriad attraction it offers. The orange, golden, silver, black and white spotted koi dart back and forth just beneath the surface watching for the possibility of a food morsel mixed in with the influx of detritus. A tiny succulent worm or beetle often gets wiped from the needles and leaves of the surrounding trees and shrubs resulting in an unexpected repast for the hungry fish. They are basically vegetarian but will accept a bit of protein if it is available. In the rain all things above the pond, which is an inclined forested plane going up to the top of the mountain till it reaches the national forest, contains many types of vegetable and animal matter that is flushed down the mountain by the precipitation and gravity.

                The watershed above the pond releases a great deal of debris, much of it edible. Microscopic organisms still dormant, hiding beneath last fall’s decomposing leaf litter along with any and everything else eventually winds up washing down the hill, passing under the small driveway through a metal culvert to end up in the koi pond. There it settles with much of it sinking to the bottom making the depth of the depression shallower with each passing year. The floating material continues to the overflow and passes along on the way to Big Creek, the Toccoa River and Lake Blue Ridge. Whatever comes down the mountain becomes a food choice for the ravenous koi when it is swept into their receiving pond. There are yellow bellied water snakes living in the pond competing with the koi for sustenance and I am certain occasionally feed on the smaller fish as well. You almost never see the snaky interlopers but I know they are there because if you build a water feature they will come, along with tadpoles, frogs, salamanders, crayfish, great blue herons, kingfishers and so much more! The pond has been here since 1976 and has changed in various ways after all this time. When first built the depth of the water came up to my clavicle but now it is only navel deep, quite a diminishment in depth. Someday, I am sure I will have to have a backhoe come in and return the pond to its original profundity but that involves so much botanical destruction and expense that I will delay it for as long as I can.

                When we first bought this place in 1974 our plumbing was, to say the least sort of primitive. When you turned on the cold water spigot in the kitchen or bathroom it was not unusual for a small dark spotted salamander to come slithering out of the faucet, looking exactly as though he was made of brown glistening water, which is probably not far off. The plumbing and electrical wiring in the old cabin was installed after we purchased the place and was never quite up to standards, not that we cared. It was a place of almost constant pleasure, awe and excitement. In the early years we worked ourselves to death with so much that had to be done on our short week end visits but we managed. In those days I dreamed of the time when I would be retired and have a weed less garden and yard; it seemed like an achievable goal back when I was still young and foolish.  That time has come and gone and after much reflection I have determined that weed less gardens are things to be dreamed of, seen on television and in gardening catalogs, certainly not a realistic goal for a man my age.

tbd

                                                                A Walk Before Dusk

 Linda and I walk down our dirt road most afternoons just before dusk here at Big Creek. Today it was threatening to rain, or sleet, or snow but we walked anyway. We have done this for 40 years as of this fall. It is hard to believe that much time has passed since we bought this place. We walked this road before we owned our first house in Jonesboro, before we had children and before all the aunts, uncles, grandparents and most of the generation of relatives my parent’s age died. I still miss them. We walked this road when we were very young, when we were strong and vigorous. We walked this road when we still held hands and walked, hip to hip. We heard somewhere that walking a mile a day would improve your disposition, circulation, and general overall health. I believe it has even though you hear all the time about marathon runners and exercise enthusiasts dropping dead while plying their craft. Still we walk.

 The section of Big Creek Road we walk is right at three fourths of a mile each way, an easy walk through poplar, hemlocks, birch and innumerable other trees, all of whom are still fast asleep here in March, dormant with grey lichen covered bark beckoning through the sleeping forest. We are still walking it most every day, for a total of one and a half miles. This time of year the tiny buds on the trees and shrubs are just beginning to puff and swell with the stored energy of last year’s rain and nutrients. You can detect a pale shade of green in the depth of the pubescent buds if you look very closely, or maybe that is just my imagination. The section of road we walk follows the luminous creek near enough that you can throw a rock at any point and it will land in the water, depending on how well you throw. When we started walking this road it was common to see rainbow trout darting around in the creek between rocks and downed branches but not so much anymore. Sometimes we walk it in the fog of early mornings when the king fishers making their raspy cry are soaring just above the creek flashing in and out between the low hanging branches looking for the unsuspecting fish for breakfast. Our children learned to walk on Big Creek Road when they were toddlers, small bundles of joy that thrilled us with each new accomplishment. They walked this road as boys and young men, with friends that came up for the weekends. They walked this road holding hands with beautiful young girls from high school and college that also came to visit. The smell of honey from a wild bee hive hidden in the dark cavity of a half rotten tree always made our mouths water with pavlovian regularity as we walked past a certain spot, a gentle curve in the road.

 We raised many dogs on this road where they learned to walk with us and run on the dirt and rocks of Big Creek Road, dancing and splashing in and out of the adjacent creek where they also learned to swim. They raced up and down the mountain sides, crashing their way through the stream racing each other and chasing feral cats and squirrels with great enthusiasm. They were little balls of fur, clumsy, spotted, downy, some with crystal blue eyes, most with big feet and all with infectious enthusiasm and early on that incredible puppy breath that made you love them so much. We walked on this road when they grew old and their bodies quit efficiently working and they limped from exhausted hips and hobbled walking, sometimes with great difficulty and often with our assistance. Today on our walk we thought we heard a car or truck coming, a rumbling and grinding. We immediately started gathering the dogs in order to protect and control them and keep them safe from the passing traffic but there was no vehicle, no airplanes, nothing. The dogs often go berserk when a vehicle approaches and their lives are in jeopardy at times but that's a relatively small price to pay for freedom! Maybe the sound was an airplane going over we thought, but no. It was most likely a large moss covered bolder in the deeper parts of the creek rolling over from the insistent repetitive push of the water making a small muffled submerged groan as it rearranged the adjacent rocks. It was a tiny aquatic upheaval!

 Today no cars passed on our mile and a half walk. Can you believe that in this day and age? There is still someplace in the world where you can walk a mile and a half and see no one and pass no cars and have no cars pass you? The only traffic in sight on the road was two senior citizens and three excited dogs.

                                                                                                 tbd

Mardi Gras in Ellijay?

      The sun is shining this morning, the temperature is 32 degrees and it is a beautiful day. Last night we went out for a Mardi Gras celebration dinner at the Cajun Depot in Ellijay. The shrimp I ordered were fried to perfection and delicious. The Cole slaw was wonderful (but scanty) and the French fries were almost inedible. After asking the waitress to make sure the chef knew I wanted them browned and crispy they came out limp, pale, way too greasy and anything but what I had ordered or wanted. I really could not eat them and left most on the plate. At first I thought I might bring them home in a doggie bag for Moose, Brownie and J.D.(my dogs) but thought better about it and left them there at the restaurant on the table as some small, silent protest.

      The wait for dinner was really very long and the people, for the most part who were there dining when we arrived at 5:00 were still there, still eating , drinking, having dessert or talking after an hour or more as we stood waiting and enviously watching. There was no place to sit down as the few chairs available were filled with other waiting customers. My suggestion to Cajun Depot would be to add more space somewhere, like enclosing the front porch, putting in a bar that would offer the hungry patrons a place to sit, drink and have a pleasant experience while waiting to be served. This would improve the overall experience and ambiance. Instead of having patrons stand in the drafty doorway being constantly bumped, prodded and gently persuaded out of the way by waitresses as they pushed their way past, they could have a drink in a more relaxed, comfortable situation. Having to consume an entire bottle of wine (a nice Pinot Grigio for $20.00) on our feet (like a bunch of cattle coming up for slaughter) is not conducive to a pleasant dining experience. The waiting time would be more pleasant and impatient customers would not be tempted to start fights with the seated customers who are busy eating and talking, laughing and turning a meal out into a party that drags on and on into the night while other hungry people standing up wait and wait, and wait!

      The restaurant is situated in a very small space and the noise reverberates around rather badly. In addition to the ambient noise natural in all restaurants the Cajun music was too loud and with the customers talking over the music, conversation was difficult if not impossible. The servers were competent and pleasant but a little uninformed as to the prices of the wine and beer. Decorations were over the top, along with the attractive waitresses, who looked as though they had been hit by an eye makeup tsunami. It was however, a celebration of Mardi Gras, so what else would you expect?

      All in all the dining experience should be about fun, fellowship and excellent food that you did not have to prepare yourself. If any of these elements are missing there is a problem and if left unresolved business will invariably suffer. My recommendation for dining at the Cajun Depot would be to go there for lunch or dinner on any night other than when Mardi Gras is being celebrated. However if you like being bumped and pushed, standing up while you imbibe too much alcohol, listening to loud music and louder people talk and laugh, women with too much make up on, go to the Cajun Depot for Mardi Gras or even better go to New Orleans for the real thing.

      Of course I will go back to the Cajun Depot. After all in Ellijay dining out options are some what limited. Certainly we have plenty of "all you can eat" places like the Hot and Cold Asian trough near Walmart as well as others. I never feel as though I get my money's worth at those places because I invariably watch the other diners plates at they leave the line and am usually appalled at the amount of food on their plates. It looks like mount St. Helens ready to blow! I just can't eat that much food at one time and consistently feel cheated. If I owned an all you can eat buffet, when you walked into the front door you would get weighed, of course you would have to be naked because otherwise people would secret weights in their clothing when they came in and jettison the load under the table or in the potted plants, for obvious reasons. When you left again you would have to get on the scales once more and be charged according to how many pounds you had gained. Going to the bathroom during the interim would be strictly forbidden! There would be a siren with flashing lights for anyone who imbibed the most food on any given occasion, like in Las Vegas when one wins the jack pot. A hall of fame wall with photos of the recipients who won the dubious honor of the biggest eater and placed in a noticeable spot at the entrance of the restaurant. HA, ha, ha, ha, ha ha and ha!

As much as I resent having dinner too early, next Mardi Gras I will be there for at 4:oo pm and be one of the seated people talking loud, eating sumptuous food and turning a dinner out into a party at the expense of other people waiting to be seated. 

                                                                                                                                                              tbd

A Noise in the Night

                       Last night about 9:59 I was passing through the kitchen headed for the bedroom when I heard a suspicious noise coming from the side porch. Often the dogs or maybe the cats make sounds that garner my attention but this sound was different. It was a repetitive bump that had sort of a rhythm to it and yet I knew it was not the sound a machine makes, too irregular. It was not the washing machine or perhaps the dryer which had an imbalanced load banging away in the washroom that needed adjusting.  This sound was definitely coming from outside the house. Luckily the flashlight was nearby so I grabbed it and walked to the kitchen door. Peering out into the darkness of the night with the aid of the flashlight I saw two beautiful, winter coated raccoons hanging from the bird feeder by their Front feet and precariously balanced on the porch rail with the toes of their back feet barely touching the rail. They were slipping on and off, banging the bird feeder against the upright beam that supports the roof. Well at least it was not an ax murdered or a bear and I was thankful for that but raccoons are really not welcome at the feeder. They are way too messy and destructive. It's not that they eat all the bird seed which they do. They in their desperation for food tear down the feeder down and take it to the ground where they determinedly dismantle the entire thing. It takes nails, screws, glue, duct tape and an hour and a half to reassemble it again the next day.

                      I woke Moose up from in front of the television and rushed him to the back door. When he saw the Raccoons he became hysterical and began to lunge at the door which made it almost impossible to open with him trying to dig his way directly through the glass to the Raccoons. Realizing that Moose was not going to be that much help I pulled him back into the sunroom in order to put him outside. He went out gladly and quickly. He then raced around the house to intercept the raccoons after I opened the kitchen door and raced out with a broom to frighten them away. There was quite a commotion in the darkness of the side yard which I could not see but needless to say the ultimate outcome of the confrontation was the two raccoons wound up high in a nearby hemlock tree and stayed there long after we went to bed. Before I finally went to sleep I went out to check on Moose and the Raccoons. High up in the tree four round glowing silver eyes peered downward  looking curiously at Moose and me neither of us willing to climb the tree and cast them down. This morning I noticed Moose walking frequently past the hemlock and casually glancing up into the tall tree as though he expected to see the uninvited guests hanging from the branches. They were long gone but I am quite sure we will see them again tonight.

 tbd

We Have no Raccoons Today

            No raccoons were at the bird feeder this morning or last night. I guess the squirrels frightened them off because this morning when I looked out there were two fat rapacious ones eating their fill of black sunflower seeds that I recently purchased at Tractor Supply. Years ago the squirrels found every bird feeder we put up and immediately ate almost all the seeds. What they didn’t eat they scattered all around the yard beneath the feeder. It took them maybe seven minutes from the time we hung the feeders up around the house and outside the back door before they were hanging all over them greedily wolfing down the treats. It is as though they are lying in wait, lazily lounging in the branches, carefully eyeing us and waiting for the food to be put out. If you have ever seen sharks during a feeding frenzy, that is how it looked, except of course they are squirrels. 

            Before we moved up to Big Creek full time we kept bird feeders in numerous locations around the yard and house near the windows so we could observe the multitude of visitors that came to help themselves to the seeds. I always filled the feeders before we left to go home on Sunday afternoons so there would be food available into the following week for the birds. In order to outwit the squirrely little interlopers I kept the bag of extra seeds on the front screened in porch knowing that squirrels are pretty smart and had full run of the place when we were away in Jonesboro. We sometimes stayed in Clayton County for two weeks or more before returning to the cabin. I secreted the seeds in a covered basket so they could not be seen by the squirrels and felt confident that they would be there when we returned.

            When we came back after a week or two away I went out to check on the feeders and to replenish them with seeds. Much to my surprise the basket was empty of seeds and the plastic bag that held them had been turned into pea sized confetti blowing around the porch. Looking closer I realized that there was a squirrel sized hole through the screen wire about seven inches above the wooden lattice. Upon further inspection I found a second hole where the squirrel had gnawed an exit hole through the screen wire to make his escape. Apparently the furry critter was not as smart as I thought chewing two separate holes through metal wire when he really needed only one. Still I have to admit that since the squirrel wound up eating the entire bag of seeds and had accomplished his escape he proved that between the two of us he was the smarter. The only comfort I derived was the wear and tear on his teeth. But no! As I found out later, squirrels have teeth that are replenished from the root of the tooth for his entire life. That means that no matter how many times he chewed through my screen wire his teeth would be shortly replaced from underneath like beavers, ground hogs, rats and other rodents. This makes perfect sense because when you eat trees, like beavers you have to maintain healthy strong teeth. When you eat holes through wood, like rats and mice, you too have to have teeth that when damaged are soon replaced.

            Contemplating this dilemma over the years I have decided that if only modern researchers could isolate the gene that enables squirrels and other rodents to re-grow teeth as needed for their lifetime, splice that gene into the human genome, wow, can you imagine? Teeth that are replaced as needed without the aid of a dentist. So what if you get into a fight and get a broken tooth? No big deal as it will grow back on its own. So, I know what you are thinking, “What would be the side effects?” Well, for replaceable teeth I for one could live with a luxuriant coat of hair, beautiful brown eyes and maybe even a bushy tail, especially in winter.

tbd

                                                         Coming Home

       Driving home tonight after the sun had gone down I was mesmerized by the darkness of the open countryside. Vast empty pastures with only the occasional light winking from farmhouse windows and distant cabins across the blackness. Peyton and I met this afternoon in Blairsville to go see the movie, “Robocop” and have our evening meal. The movie was quite entertaining and dinner at Dan’s Cuban Grill was excellent as usual. The thing was the drive home from Blairsville by way of Skeenah Gap Road. It must be at least forty five or more miles to our house from Blairsville and I only passed a handful of cars which seems unlikely. Hard to believe that so little traffic is even possible in this day and age but we are way out in the country in the hinterlands of Gilmer and Fannin County. The night was so dark and the stars so brilliant and perfectly arranged in the firmament I could hardly keep my eyes on the road. I managed to steal only quick glances up at the immense black sky and blinking stars above me. Cassiopeia, Vela, Gemini, Orion and even Betelgeuse were up there beyond heaven doing what they have done for thousands of years before I was born and likely before there was an earth to look up from. The illusion of wonder was overwhelming for me in my little car zooming along the dark country side on a cold February night, all alone with no sounds but those coming from the car and the pavement. It all most made me dizzy.

      Coming around curves my head lights illuminated the fields and pastures sweeping out into the impenetrable obscurity revealing the occasional deer looking like frozen sculptures with glowing silver eyes.  The interior of the abutting woods beyond the asphalt awoke with the brilliant lights from my vehicle as I drove down Black Ankle creek Road to the t-bone intersection of Big Creek Road. I turned left, drove a quarter of a mile and crossed the bridge over the creek by the church and the cemetery above on the hill. Just beyond Big Creek Baptist Church I stopped and stepped out of the car into the night to observe more fully the expansive sky and the vast innumerable stars. A small ghostly opossum secreted in the dry grass within a few feet of me panicked and skittered away down the bank toward the creek rattling the dormant weeds and making certain his escape down the hill into the anonymity of the night with his naked tail hysterically spinning circles in the air behind him.

We moved here nine years ago from our home of thirty years in Clayton County which was just south of Atlanta not so far from 285 and the Atlanta airport. The night sky here, without all the ambient light of Atlanta and the urban sprawl still fascinates me and I can gaze at it for hours. All those years living in the urban environment the night sky was lost to me except for weekends at Big Creek.

                                                                                                         tbd

                                                                                                 

Night Visitors

            Tonight I walked down to the chicken house to close and latch the door before it was completely dark. Locking the door prevents the midnight varmint marauders from coming in for a chicken dinner later in evening. The barred rocks heard me coming tonight and knowing that I always bring the day’s vegetable parings and scraps of uneaten bread from the kitchen with me to feed them. They raced out of the coup and ran up the walkway towards me in the near darkness. After some luring and urging I managed to get them to return to their nightly domicile. The small chicken house and cage offers scant protection from the varmints hunting a midnight treat but it is at least better that nothing. Opossums have gained entrance in the past and have taken their share of the chickens with impunity. Patching the entrance holes around their run has been a daunting task because when you stop up one entry way they invariably create another one, by tearing through or digging under. It has at this point been over a year and a half since I have lost a chicken to the night visitors. I am getting smarter than the night visitors, at long last, or so it seems.

             The chickens all have names even though I can rarely tell them apart. There is Pauline, Margaret, Annice and Brunice. All named for my aunts, who are now diseased. Aside from laying eggs, (which is an excellent attribute) they weed my garden every winter after I harvest all the fall vegetables. They are my cleanup crew and what a job they do. By spring and planting time the garden will be completely weed free. If you are a gardener you will appreciate the benefits of having unpaid garden assistants devouring every winter weed that comes up, uninvited and unwanted. There are many weeds that thrive in the winter months and become quite the pest when planting time arrives. In addition the chickens turn over every leaf, rock and branch looking for the abundant bugs, beetles and worms. In their pursuit of the tasty morsels they also scratch much of the soil in the garden area, almost roto tilling it. The chickens forage so well they require much less food than when they are enclosed in their house in milder weather busily laying eggs. Their food is not cheap, (as in cheap as chicken feed) but all in all they are worth it.

            On the short walk back to the house I noticed in the near darkness a large, drifting blue cloud of smoke coming from the top of the chimney. It gave me pause to see the beautiful azure cloud hovering, slowly quaffing upwards like a great wandering apparition just above the house. The blue smoke ascending and melding with the darkening sky above gave me comfort knowing that the fire I had prepared earlier was still busy heating the interior of the house and beckoning me to come back in. Looking back toward the garden after I reached the house I noticed a huge full glowing silver moon gently peeping through the trees rising over the top of the mountain just across the road from our house.

A Beautiful late Winter Day

                A glittering blue sky today and a temperature pleasant enough to make you start thinking about spring sanctified us here today at Big Creek. After all the cold temperatures snow and ice, a day like today feels and looks like a gift from God. Or, if you do not believe in God it was a delightful bequest from Mother Nature. I suppose if you don’t believe in Mother Nature you could bless the meteorologist on which ever station you watch on television. It was a squinty sunshiny, gentle breeze kind of day that makes me start hunting my shovel and other garden implements that have secreted themselves somewhere unknown since I used them back in the diminishing fall days of 2013.

                 Checking whether or not I have fertilizer for the garden and thinking about the rotor-tiller and wondering whether or not it is going to crank this spring has occupied much of my time today. As I walk past the now rusty tiller down by the chicken house I give it a furtive glance. I speak gently in its direction, soothing tones meant to placate the gods of rusty tillers, hoping to start a kindly, pleasant and humane relationship with it for spring of 2014. This may or may not happen. Sometimes it cranks on the first or second pull after adding a gallon of fresh gasoline and a cocktail of new oil, sometimes not. Occasionally since the battery no longer works, I have to pull the cord till my arm aches while fouling the air purple with profanities, all to no avail. Like a stubborn mule it coughs and sputters but will not cooperate at all. The tiller is a Troy Built machine and worked for fifteen or twenty years, diligently cranking by turning a switch hooked up to a battery every single time, every single time for years and years. It is just like everything else it ages and cannot do what it once could. There is no way I am considering buying another one because of the cost and aggravation of everything involved in replacing it. While it is detrimental to my blood pressure and my eternal soul I will have to continue in this love hate relationship with my tiller and tolerate whatever harm it causes to my health and soul. But for today rather than hassle with the lost garden tools, the tiller, the gasoline, the fresh oil, the shovel and everything else perhaps it might be wiser to go into the house and have a short nap before happy hour gets here.

Besides in just a few days it will again be freezing ass cold and all these thoughts will be for nothing.

                                                                                                                                                                                               tbd