Come sit on the porch awhile. Enjoy a glass of sweet iced tea as you peruse my thoughts, memories, dreams and images of family and friends - things trivial and not so trivial - past, present and future. I write and post for the simple pleasure of doing so. If you reap some small amount of pleasure from what you find here please come back again soon.


Tuesday, November 1, 2011

My heart is a chameleon

My heart is a chameleon...today it is blue...soaring with the hawk...up high, way above the tree tops, near the clear blue sky....calling to the wind, calling "Come wind, come lift me higher!" Lift me to where the dark emptiness is...and there I will stay...my spirit with you among the stars...for a short while.

My heart is a chameleon...today it is silver tipped brown grey white furry...eyes yellow shining in the dark...feet nimble running through the forests, muscles fleet leaping across green mossy logs...stopping now for cool clear gurgling moisture, lapping, lapping, lapping...now silent soft air breathing hearing scenting...sustenance is near.

My heart is a chameleon...tonight with my own kind it is aggressive blood red lust ripping tearing...merciful death lighting quick neck gushing exposed silent...we eat we live we love we birth we are family...souls free of sin natural surviving...ebbing flowing through winters white and summers green...leave us to our world...we are we are we are wolf.

My heart is a chameleon...today it is light wispy white...a wish simply a wish...to be free of burdens dark grey naked worry pain...no more no more...my soul struggles and will be free...and I will run through the dark forests gladly and drink the clear waters with great thirst and eat raw and live free...and be at last who I truly am.

A Few Very Short Stories By Me

~ Momma? I'm busy! What do you want? Nothing. Ever.

~ Mommy? Yes honey? Laptime story. Bread burns. Oh well.

~ Rocky waits at the door. I come home soon.

~ Rocky waits at the door. I come home sooner...or later. Tail wags always.

~ Rocky stretches, yawns, wags. We go walking now.

~ Crawls under bed. Warm water waits. Where's Rocky?

~ We're busy ma'am, what do you want? Nothing.


~ We're busy ma'am, what do you want? I'll come back. Not!

~ Google search: "Bible Women". Gyrating hips. Ignore ads. Can't do that. Goes outside to garden.

~ Dot, dot, dot. Why do you always say that? I don't know, they're just fun...


~ "Oakes grow tall. Muscadines vine around branches. Bees hide honey in hollows." Big hand holds little hand. Grandpa loves me.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

A moment shared between friends

Don't know who they are nor where they are, I just know they are the best of friends. And while walking on a beach somewhere, in a time past, they are sharing memories, telling funny stories and just being there for each other.
This is why I love collecting old photos. They tell wonderful stories without using words.
I paid all of two bucks for the original 8X10 framed print. What a bargain! And it is one of my very favorties!

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Happy 98th Walter!

My father-in-law turned 98 today.
He was totally blinded in both eyes by two different coal mining cave-ins some 56 years ago. Despite this "handicap" he was able to support his family by farming, and raising first chickens, then cattle. With that and the miner's pension he eventually got, he made a decent living.
He was a hard working and thrifty man and lived on his own after loosing his lovely wife (my wonderful 'Jewel' of a mother-in-law) up until just a few short years ago.
He remains strong in some ways but is now unable to walk and spends all of his days in a chair at the nursing home. He can’t watch television or read books so he dreams of days gone by and, not surprisingly, talks about working mules, killing hogs, and clearing land.
People who actually take the time to spend time with him can learn a lot from him. For instance, I now know step-by-step how to butcher a hog and that might come in handy one of these days.
He doesn't have a lot of visitors. My husband goes at least every other day, more often if needed, and I usually go with him on Saturday or Sunday. Trips to visit him are not always pleasant...it is a nursing home after all and life there is, well, not good to say the least. Most of the patients are sad and lonely, including him, and the sense of helplessness and hopelessness is overwhelming. But still, I and others like me, should visit him more often.
He is a remarkable man who has lived a remarkable life. He has certainly earned his keep. But now he only waits on death in a lonely place filled with strange noises, smells and people - a very big deal for a independent blind man who is used to ‘feeling’ his way around in his own home.

Walter, you don’t know it but you are on my mind this evening. And I’m wishing for you busy dreams to get you through the long days ahead and sweet dreams to get you through the nights. Push those nightmares you were telling me about aside and know that your home in heaven awaits. We are selfish and want to keep you around forever but we also know that better things are coming for you. How else can we live with how you’re living now but to know it will get better for you someday?

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Cookies, Cookies...More Cookies, Please

Recently, while prowling through a local thrift store, I found this great little vintage 'Cooky Book' and decided it will be well worth my time to try out some, if not all, of the recipes. Following the well written and illustrated recipes is easy and all of the batches that I've turned out thus far have been gobbled up without complaint or prejudice.
Next week's plan was to finish work on my studio - moving some things to storage, installing the last bit of insulation, putting in some sort of ceiling panels...flooring...underpinning...sounds like a lot of work but it's not a very big studio so one beautiful week should get me there. But the one hitch in my plan is the weather. If the forecasters are correct we will have cold rain every day except Saturday, which is of course my day to work at my "real job". So maybe tomorrow I'll pick another recipe or two and make more cookies. Besides, I have a friend with MS who really needs cookies from time to time and now just might be one of those times.

The "Peanut Butter Cookies" recipe (shown above) also calls for honey and brown sugar and they are deliciously different. 
Quartered gumdrops (below) are needed for the "Jeweled Cookies". These little treats are very chewy but also very tasty!



Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Looking out the back door...

New Neighbors Moving In?

If all the beast were gone, men would die from a great loneliness of spirit, for whatever happens to the beasts also happens to the man...Chief Seattle

This Red Wolf at the Chattanooga Nature Center is part of a national reintroduction program.

Looking out the back door a couple weeks back, I saw a large coyote emerging from the woods and crossing our property.
Having just let Rocky, our new Schnauzer pup, out for a potty break and knowing that 'yotes are known to snack on small house pets I shot out the back door, called Rocky to me and loudly hollered "Get out of here!" at the trespassing canid.
Unfazed and unafraid, he stopped and casually looked in my direction then went on his way. Easily hopping across the pasture fence, he ambled down to the pond, sniffed around the banks then slowly left the property, giving me one last casual glance as he went.
Typically the 'yotes around here are out hunting from dusk until dawn but this was my second sighting of one crossing our property in the daylight hours. I've also seen a large one on a nearby farm - one Sunday morning being chased out of the pasture by an angry Holstein cow.
I have since found coyote tracks around our house in the snow. Some were a mere 2 to 3-feet from the front porch, the backyard gate and even on the carport. They may have been looking for the stray cat that's been hanging around or possibly planning a meal of the wild rabbits and field mice that also frequent our yard. But my greatest fear was that they were anticipating a 'snatch and grab' on a certain vulnerable little wiry haired pup that, when he was tiny, had to go pee pee several times a night.

Picture worth a thousand words: An urban coyote, in desperate need of a meal, makes off with someone's little pet.



Watching and learning...
I love watching wildlife and you might say I make a habit of studying their habits.
Coyotes are among the critters that fascinate me. Throughout the ages other species have fallen victim to man's dominance over the environment and simply ceased to exists, failing to adapt and survive. Coyotes, on the other hand, have not only survived they have thrived. By moving into our neighborhoods and observing and learning from our habits they have adapted their own habits and developed amazing survival skills.

Example of the coyote's creative survival skills. Riding does beat walking, right?

A coyote and red wolf hybrid in the wild.

Recently I watched an interesting show on Nat Geo about the first killing in recorded history of an adult human by coyotes. It happened in late 2009 in the Cape Breton Highlands National Park, Nova Scotia, Canada, when a 19 year old folk singer was attacked by two unusually large coyotes while she hiked along a well populated trail. The aggressive coyotes were later hunted down and destroyed by wildlife officers who knew they had the right animals because one had been shot at the scene while it stood guard over the seriously injured woman. Only after being shot and wounded did it flee the area allowing rescuers to start medical treatment. In spite of their best efforts the victim died a few hours later, having sustained massive injuries and substantial blood loss. During necropsy of the animals human remains were found in the stomach of the second coyote.
During the subsequent investigation of the incident, DNA testing showed the coyotes to be wolf hybrids thus partially explaining their large size, aggression and lack of fear as they attacked the young woman in broad daylight in a place frequented by hundreds of humans each year.
"It's very unusual and is not likely to be repeated," said Bob Bancroft, a retired wildlife biologist with Nova Scotia's Department of Natural Resources. "We shouldn't assume that coyotes are suddenly going to become the big bad wolf."

Coywolf: Smart and wily as "regular" coyote...wise and proficient as a wolf.

I have since learned the coyote/wolf crossover is not a new phenomenon. It's likely that the interbreeding of the two canid species occurred decades ago as coyote populations expanded their western range into areas of northeastern America and southeastern Canada and the endangered Red Wolf populations dwindled. The mix has been somewhat advantageous to what is now known as the "Eastern Coyote" that heavily populates that part of the country. They are bigger, stronger and wiser than their western cousins...although I must say it was not very wise of the two rogues to kill a human.
Coywolves, as they are unofficially called, now reportedly inhabit most if not all northeastern states and their ranges are ever expanding. I'm wondering how long it will be before testing shows we have them here? If they're really smart, they'll keep it on the down low, stay out of the light and stick to eating wild game like rabbit and venison. Having taken on the wolf pack characteristic of cooperative hunting, the bigger guys have no problem pulling down grown deer and there are reports of them taking grown cattle as well. They have been touted for helping to keep deer populations under control and chastised for taking man's domestic animals.
I've often heard people say, "We've got to get rid of them (coyotes)!" Well guess what folks, that ain't likely to happen. The battle against this "pest" will go on and on. Drop him off a cliff, blow up his den with dynamite, slam him with a truck and he'll simply pop right back up and do what he has to do to survive. The only thing missing is the "Beep, Beep!" as he heads off down the road, blowing dust in our face as he goes. Whether you like him or not, you've got to respect that kind of tenacity. And we best watch and learn...watch and learn.

Interesting Sidebar (but gruesome image):

JEFFERSON CITY Mo – DNA tests show that the 104-pound canine above, shot by a hunter in Carroll County on Nov. 13, 2010, was an unusually large coyote, according to authorities there. But experienced hunters who have encountered and killed hundreds of coyote argue that this is no pure blood coyote and some even go so far as to accuse authorities of lying about the DNA test results. They think it is actually either a coyote/wolf (coywolf) or coyote/dog (coydog) hybrid.
Research has shown that the "Eastern Coyote" which now populates eastern Canada and much of northeastern United States all carry wolf DNA and are indeed "Coywolves". They are said to be much larger than Western Coyotes and more aggressive and, while being wary, are generally unafraid of humans. Their territory is ever expanding and they inhabit all areas without discretion - large cities, towns, farms, and subdivisions - that offer prey and/or scavenged food sources in abundance.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Promises, Promises

Today, as has been the case in the many days passed, I promised myself to start blogging again.
No matter who or what is hollering, "Me Next!" the loudest. And so here I am, in our home office with the door closed while my husband entertains - by himself this time - his son and two year old granddaughter that just dropped by unexpectedly.
They'll be okay without me. They've found themselves something to eat and drink. And I hear a little small voice saying Papaw this and Papaw that. She probably prefers that I am not hovering over her making sure everything is okay.
I can also hear through the door that she is giving her dad the run around. He's saying "Lena no, Lena come here, Lena don't do that," and "Lena if you really don't have to poop this time you're in trouble!"
 And then she wimpers the little wimper that says but daddy you love me cause I'm so cute. And he picks her up and says, "Ohhhh, Lena" then laughs when she answers, "Zip it." Some day that little quip won't be as cute as it was today.
Well it's a start - this little bit of nonsense. What can I say at least I am blogging again, just like I promised myself.
And I'll be back soon...I promise you. There's good old porch stuff to share and some stuff that isn't on the porch but might make you wish you were, he, he, ha, ha...lol.
For now I must go. My daughter is having a get together afterwhile- tacos at her house - and I get to see the other two year old, plus the pre-teen, plus the 21 year old and maybe even the boyfriend. Well...I do love tacos!

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Sometimes I feel like a Mayberry player

Remember the Andy Griffith Show episode where a stranger comes to town and seems to know too much about the town folk? He goes around Mayberry with an ear-to-ear grin speaking to everyone by first name and asking intimate questions about their families and such. And the whole town gets spooked and in an uproar. The town is all abuzz: Is he a spy, is he a crook, what in the world is he up to?
And when Sheriff Andy looks into it and finally questions the stranger, he finds out the man doesn't have a family and has never lived in a community such as Mayberry. He is indeed a total stranger and belonging to a community such as Mayberry is something he has only admired from afar. But he wants so much to also belong that he devises a scheme to make himself fit in and consequently convinces even himself that he can truly belong simply by acting like he does.
Of course, in the end, he realizes you can't just fit in because you want to and simply wishing, no matter how hard you wish, does not make it so. And the town people realize how special their community is and how lucky they are to have grown up where everyone knows everyone by first name.
Crossville is like Mayberry in many ways, even now after many, many "strangers" have moved to town trying to "fit in". Only yesterday, during a conversation with a gentleman who is a lifelong resident of Cumberland County, I was reminded of this for the umpteenth time.
We were chatting about changes and modernization and such things, when he asked "Do you remember the Lewis sisters who lived on the hill out on Lantana Road just before you get to Pigeon Ridge Road?" And once again I had to admit, "No, I'm not really from here. I didn't grow up here and there's a lot of people I don't know or remember."
"That's alright" he responded, sounding a whole lot like Andy Griffith, "they probably don't live there anymore anyway." But he thought out loud how sad it was that the new road has cut right through the middle of their nice long driveway.
And I could see he was going back in his mind to a simpler time when roads were dirt and dusty and everybody knew everybody in Crossville, Tennessee. Times when it was usual to find folks you knew sitting on their front porches on Sunday afternoons sipping sweet iced tea and chatting about the week's events. And if you dropped by you wouldn't feel uncomfortable at all. You would just pull up a chair, have a seat and fit right in because you truly belonged to a community bound together by likes and dislikes, marriages and births, events and non-events and years of pulling together to make life work.
Now to be clear, I did grow up in a small town (just down the mountain from here) and it was not so different from Crossville. We had our Mayberry like characters and many of us knew each other by first name but still, it was different somehow. Perhaps it's because my family moved around a lot and my ancestry lies in western North Carolina and southeastern Tennessee that I did not ever feel a true belonging to my nearby hometown community. When I moved to Crossville it was for a new job and a new start. It is a wonderful place to live – as many others are also discovering – and I now consider it my home. But traces of the old community, where everybody knew everybody, still exist and I often find myself wishing to go back in time to feel what it's like to truly belong.
My husband has lived right here on this very land where we live now for all of his 60 years on this earth. He belongs here. I envy that and sometimes pretend that I do too.
But life has a way of reminding us who we really are and sometimes the town folk get uneasy about the strangers in town. Things happen that remind us that blood is thicker than water. And although they welcome us here and will happily share a glass of iced tea with us we are not, nor ever will we be, a party to the most intimate parts of their heritage. Becoming a member of their community is a privilege to be earned rather than a right to be bought.
But still...if I close my eyes...I can imagine it...swinging in the porch swing...sunny Sunday afternoon...birds singing....uuummm....peace at last, peace at last.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Dorothea Lange's Country Store on Dirt Road

Country store porches were once an important part of community life. People gathered there to catch up on the latest gossip - how the crops were fairing; did sister have her baby yet; who passed away this week and so on and so forth.
My son found this image and sent it over thinking I too would find it interesting and appropriate to post here. Good choice Vince!
FYI: The photograph is Dorothea Lange's Country Store on Dirt Road shot in Gordonton, North Carolina in July, 1939. It is from the FSA-OWI Collection at the Library of Congress at http://loc.gov/pictures/collection/fsa/ and is among the public domain photographs.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

A very sad time for our family...

We have lost a dear friend who enriched our lives for 15 years. Her passing has left a huge hole in our hearts.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Porches in a mining camp...Where in the world???

This old panoramic photograph belonged to my daddy and it has always fascinated me, as it did him. We have tried for years to figure out the story behind this (coal mining?) settlement. It remains a mystery. If anyone out there can name the who, what and where of it please post a comment. Any clues are welcome!  
*The three following photos are out takes from the original panaramic shown at the very bottom of my blog home page. Note that virtually every dwelling has a porch, even the YMCA in the middle shot.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

More About Gwendolyn Brooks...

Gwendolyn Brooks was the first black author to win the Pulitzer Prize and the first black woman to hold the position of poetry consultant to the Library of Congress - this in addition to being chosen as the Poet Laureate of the State of Illinois. At age 13 her first published poem appeared in American Childhood and by 17 her poetry was often published in the Chicago Defender newspaper. Her many other honors and positions held are far too numerous to mention here.
Her prolific body of work was largely about being black in urban America, especially during the 60s and beyond, and reflected her strong commitment to racial identity and equality. It has been reported that she considered visiting elementary schools and community colleges one of her most important roles in social edification. Her self described "folksy narrative" included varied forms of free verse, sonnets, and other models. One of her well known works is a haiku titled "We Real Cool" which is as relevant in today's society as when published in 1966.
'Gwen' Brooks was born in Topeka, Kansas, June 7, 1917, and grew up in Chicago, Illinois. Her father was a janitor, who had aspired to be a doctor, and her mother was a school teacher and classical pianist. While being very strict and not allowing her to even play with the neighborhood children both parents fully supported and encouraged their daughter's love of books and reading.
Brooks considered herself "essentially an essential African" and understood that "the black emphasis must be not against white but for black." She envisioned a future with "the shaking of hands (very important in African society) in warmth and strength and union."
Although she passed far too soon for those who admired, respected and loved her, Gwendolyn Brooks did not "die soon." She passed from this earth December 3, 2000 at the age of 83.

We Real Cool
By Gwendolyn Brooks

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Shared Wisdom, Evolving Experience

Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000)
Photo by Di Pugh

While attending Roane State Community College (1983-85) I was privileged to meet and photograph Poet Laureate Gwendolyn Brooks. As a budding photojournalist, I was impressed by this kind and stately lady. She touched my heart and soul.
Sometime later on, I dreamed about a funeral and rose early from my bed to write it down while the memory was fresh. The words flowed in poetic form which I titled simply "The Funeral." Writing down what I had dreamt the night before used to be a fun and interesting hobby of mine but it was very time consuming and I have since gotten out of the habit.
For many years "The Funeral" remained in my old wire-bound, handwritten journal and occasionally, when I ran across it while searching for some other perceived treasure, I thought of Gwendolyn Brooks and how her life experiences evolved into words on paper...her wisdom thus shared freely with a world in much need of it.
Unlike her volumes of well recognized and published work, my poetry is largely unpublished and I feel privileged to post a piece of it here. I dare not compare my work to hers for I would fall far short.

THE FUNERAL
by Di Pugh

They marched up the street in rhythm jive
held together by the black box burden they each had part to.
Laughing
joking
up the way they came
the burden they carried had not even a name
just some old dude with silver hair.
The neighbors watched
yet it did not seem strange
looking out doors with holes where the dog wants in they only watched
it was an every day game.
When they reached the corner to turn the last mile they suddenly stopped
and gone were all smiles.
They began to chant another slower rhythm jive
Swing Low
Sweet Chariot
swing.
Everyone Sing!
You didn’t sing to the drums.
We must go back where we started from.
Swing Low
Sweet Chariot
swing.
Sing! when you see us come’n.
Sing! as we pass on by.
Sing! till we’re gone plumb out’a sight.
Swing Low
Sweet Chariot
swing.
Sing! till the wind sighs with a fevered scream.
Sing! till this old black box rest in the angels wings.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Am I up to this challenge?

Working miracles on old photos is usually a welcome challenge, but "doctoring" the following two images may be an impossible task. The environment has been unkind to them - water stains, dirt smudges, rips, crinkles and overall fading bear witness to their carelessly handled history. But still they are neat images and well worth preserving. I am posting them here first sans restoration, and then will update them as my work on them progresses.

The portrait above is of the Goss Family - Morris, Eliza, Jeff, Allen and Louise - on their front porch somewhere in Cumberland County, Tennessee probably in the early 1900s.

This is John Dial and Alma Barnes posing together on a porch also somewhere in Cumberland County, Tennessee circa 1910, according to a notation on the back of the original photograph.
Were they engaged? Did they marry? And have children? Maybe I'll find out as I work on the restoration.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Postcard from a Montana Porch

"This was taken when we were up in Billings. Sister Emma is holding Baby. Last Sunday Mr. Chaffee took some Kodak pictures of Ralph and Baby and Baby alone. Hope they will be good.
Sister Maire stopped from Saturday until Monday on her way back to Billings. Had a good dinner Sunday of fried chicken, etc.
Made six glasses of choke cherrie jelly today, the first we have put up this season, fruit comes so high.
Today it is raining and looks like it could some more.
We are invited out in the country to eat watermelon Sunday don't know if we will go or not.
Baby is gaining weight every day. All of us send our love." Beda
Custer, Montana, Aug. 23, 11.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Favorite Porch Pictures...


This photograph is from my personal collection of vintage black and white prints and one of my favorite "porch pictures". As is true with many of the images in my collection, I do not know the who, what, where and why of it. It's just a beautiful moment in the life of a family.

Isn't their home lovely? And wouldn't you love to go inside for coffee? It would, no doubt, be a strong cup with rich flavor. And the smell of leather bound books would be almost as strong as the aroma of their fresh brewed coffee.

You see, that's the fun of having photos of strangers, you can only imagine what their lives are like and then make up your own stories about them.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Life as Simple as a Straight Back Chair

The little house where I lived as a child had a good front porch - not large, not railed, not even painted white - just plain boards nailed on a wooden frame. It was not spacious and grand like the wrap around Southern porches where genteel families enjoyed iced tea and lemonade. No definitely not fancy, but still it was nice and memories were created on and around it - wonderful memories of home and security:
Loving parents, best friend neighbors, lots of kids in the neighborhood playing old fashioned outdoor games – Hide and Seek, Red Rover, Tag You're It – up until and sometimes even after dark when the games often turned to catching "lightning" bugs in mason jars or telling ghost stories around a fire.
My mother sitting in the morning sun on our front porch rocking a neighbor’s baby in a white, straight back chair...clip clop, clip clop, clip clop…no curved rockers on the bottom of that chair, just wooden spindle legs sounding a rhythm as they alternately hit the floor. There was a seemingly endless procession of babies – one born each year for a number of years – and my momma was more than willing to help out with the little ones.
That same straight back chair that momma used to rock the babies also served well for churning buttermilk in a one gallon jug...clip clop, clip clop, clip clop…cradling and rocking just as if it were a baby too. And as us kids grew older we were drafted into helping with this chore...clip clop, clip clop, clip clop...it seemed to take ages to get butter from that stubborn sour milk!
We had four of those straight back chairs and they survived the rigors of active living and vigorous playing for many years. They were moved with us to several different houses with varied porches.
As our family grew up and apart – one brother went away to the Army; I married; the other two brothers married; dad passed; and now mother is gone as well – only one chair survives that I know of. It is safe in my home studio waiting for a broken slat to be repaired. Sometimes I want to sit down in it and rock...clip clop, clip clop, clip clop...but I am afraid of breaking it and maybe loosing memories of my childhood when life was as simple as a straight back chair.

Unfortunately, I haven't located any photos of the little house described above. I have several old photos of our life on that place but none of the house itself. The two photos below are other houses where my family lived. The first was taken circa early 1950s and the other was shot in February 1966.



In this old family snapshot, my brother Joe sits on the hood of one of dad's old vehicles playing with a "toy" that is nothing more than a simple paper "poke" full of air. In the background to the left, you can see the corner of one of our simplest of front porches. It was rustic, to say the least, and certainly not pretty but it served a purpose and, believe it or not, holds funny childhood memories. I was very young when we lived here, and certainly not old enough to participate in my three older brothers' rebel rousings. But  there are stories of them using this porch as a launching pad for various activities.
Our family always had farm animals - chickens, cows, goats, etc. - and this story revolved around a big Billy goat that we had. It seems two brothers would hold the goat below the deep end of the porch while the third launched a "trick jump" onto the poor critter's back and would then hold on tight for a wild ride around the yard. The one who stayed on the longest was declared the champion of all goat riders. Of course there was the devil to pay when mom got wind of their shenanigans. In their defense, I will say we were "poor" and had very few real toys with which to play and, as they say, necessity is the mother of all inventions.
Speaking of inventions, notice the utility pole in front of our outdoor toilet. If you're wondering, no we did not have electric lighting out there.

We moved several times between the place above and the one below. I have memories of all of them but unfortunately no photos of the houses or their porches.


Things started looking up when we moved to this “modern” house in the mid 1960s. Two bedrooms, running water in the kitchen, color television, party-line telephone, and a concrete front porch were special upgrades. We still had an outdoor toilet, however, but still no electric lights out there. No heat either and I shiver to think how bone chilling it was to go out in the snowy cold to “sit a while”. That’s the kind of memory that makes us appreciate what we have now. Indoor plumbing is certainly a blessing!


On this front porch I kissed my first date good night in December, 1965 and two years later I married in the living room of this house.
That cute little Fiest Rat Terrier sitting on the steps was my mom’s best friend and squirrel hunting buddy. Her name was Sissy and she was a very good dog.
As for those four straight back chairs...still hanging in there baby.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

What to do with the trash? Put it on the porch!



















What do you do with the trash when the neighborhood is full of hungry stray dogs?
That's easy. You put it on the porch. Way up on the porch!

And why is all that other stuff out in the yard? Because there's no room for it in the house, silly.

You've got to love a humble little Appalachian home with a flag flying in the front yard. Just goes to show the American spirit lives on. Also looks like they're all set for tonight's weiner roast. Wish I was invited. I love a good hot dog!

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Back on the Porch, Wishing To Be A Little Girl Again


Wanda Reed is a very special new friend who has given me the greatest gifts of all...inspiration, hope and kindness. We met at the health center where she works and where I have been going, trying to regain some of the strength I have lost during the past year. Wanda has shared with me kind conversation as well as her very special talent. She is a country gospel singer/songwriter and has just released a compact disc featuring songs written by herself and her mother. This spirit filled music reminds me of the songs I heard during my childhood while attending old fashioned gospel Baptist churches with my mother and grandmother. I love singing along with her songs when riding in my car...while all alone of course...Wanda has a much greater talent than I do, thank you Lord!

In her own words:
"This CD has a very special place in my heart because it comes from the heart. Nine of the eleven songs on this CD were written by me, with the strong inspiration of Jesus Christ. Without Him, I could do nothing. The other two songs were written by my Mother, Elizabeth Keck, and Dorothy Keck Davenport, and were arranged by me. I hope you can find some inspiration in some part of this work." Wanda Reed

To hear a sampling of Wanda's talent go to:

*The CD cover photo features Wanda now and as a little girl. It is published here with Wanda's consent.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Grandpa’s Honey, Grandma’s Biscuits, Delicious Memories For One Scared Little Girl


Ada & Larkin were "Grandpa & Grandma" to me

When I was a little girl I sometimes spent the summer months with my mother's parents in Madisonville, Tennessee.

Grandpa and Grandma lived a hard life in a modest two-bedroom, gray-shingled house with front and back porches. They had eleven children, made a living farming and had very few modern conveniences. Their water came from a rain-filled cistern well near the back porch. There was no running water in the house and no indoor facilities...no ceramic tubs or sinks or anything like that. Baths were taken in a galvanized tub which was also used for rinsing laundry along side of the ringer washing machine. Clothes were hung on a closeline to dry in the wind. Their toilet was an outdoor wooden structure – a "two-hole outhouse" they called it – 60 feet or so from the back porch and down a slight hill to the right, as I remember.

On the rare occasions when they were not busy around the house and farm they were rocking – on the front porch on sunny afternoons and in the living room in the cool of the evenings. Grandpa always wore a fedora hat and smoked cherry flavored tobacco in a crooked pipe as he rocked. Grandma always wore a cotton dress and thick nylon stockings rolled just below the knees. Only on Sunday mornings going to church was she seen without a cotton apron over her dress. As they quietly sat and rocked, they both seemed very old to me, when I was only five.

Grandma's house was clean and tidy. The room where she and grandpa slept was cozy and inviting. The bed was made up with a lovely chenille spread and pretty ceramic whatnots adorned the night stand and dresser. A yellow bulb in the bedside lamp gave the room a warm glow. There was a radio that played in the evenings but no television.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table watching grandma kneading biscuit dough in a big round aluminum dishpan and wiping her floured hands on her ever present apron. It seemed she was all the time elbow-deep in some kind of bread makings, while her delicious meals simmered on the stove.

Grandma came from an era when families ate three home cooked meals each and every day. She never adapted from cooking for a family of twelve to preparing a meal for just the two of them. There were always leftovers to snack on between meals and perhaps that's how I came to appreciate a good cold biscuit. On occasions when family visited she was still right comfortable making huge trays of piping hot "cat-head" biscuits to go along with crispy fried chicken and creamy mashed potatoes. ("Cat-head" biscuits were so named because they were hand formed and as big around as a cat's head.)

Grandpa was a skilled beekeeper and sweet succulent honey with comb was always available in a covered glass dish on the table. One of Grandma's hot buttered biscuits smothered in Grandpa's clover honey was the best treat in the whole world and nothing has ever been more delicious. And I loved chewing on the honeycomb, it was the closest thing we had to chewing gum.

Grandpa and Grandma are many years gone from this earth now but I still have that covered glass dish. Instead of honey it now holds many precious memories from my childhood visits with them. Although their life was difficult and filled with hardships they remained kind and generous and never did I hear them complain. And they always managed to make a visiting little granddaughter, who was scared to death of being so far from home, feel safe and loved.