Change

Change is in the air.  From my hilltop porch I can barely see the brown and orange tints on leaf tips.  The grass is beginning to mellow to a rich green-gold.  The morning air holds a hint of frost.  Bird calls are more insistent.  And the honey bees are working very hard to gather the last morsel of pollen and sweetness from late flowering plants and bushes.

When I walk in the morning I wear my sweatshirt more times than not, shedding it after the first couple of minutes.   Our eight resident deer are very shy.  They have taken to the woods to feast on acorns and other delicacies.  The quail have moved to bushes that offer more cover.  The turkeys are even aware that they may need to find some place to hide in the coming days.

We cleaned out the flue today.  There wasn't much to clean but we would always rather be safe than sorry.  The wood stove can wait.  No need for a morning fire right now.  But the winter's wood is stacked in the garage, ready to move to the porch when the cold winds blow.

The winds of change.  It would be a boring life if everything always remained the same.  I love the seasons as they come... as they move and meld into each other.  Soon hints of  red will appear, and then brown and orange and yellow as the leaves begin to turn. 

The days are growing shorter.  The night skies glow with diamond stars.  The Milky Way arches high above me.  Dawn bursts with brilliance in the east, and the sun sets with muted fire in the west.  

Fall will bring us days of blowing leaves and splatters of rain.  And days that are so bright they seem to be made of jewels. 

 All for our pleasure.  Change.  Change that is welcome.  Made for us to enjoy.

Constant Motion

This was often my view of my two-year old grandson Gus.  He and his parents paid us a visit for a week during Hootin an Hollarin.  Enjoyed every minute of their stay.  Am I tired?  Yes.  But it was worth it all.

We played in the dirt piles that Grandpa had made for his trucks.  He shoveled gravel and rocks into his red pail and then dumped them in the dump truck, and emptied them.  Some rocks were heaby, but with a great effort he was able to move them around.

We went down to the Bryant and saw all sorts of fish and animals.  He loved the water and splashed to his heart's content.  He saw his first Ozark's stream crawdad.  He threw rocks into the river, some small and some heaby.  Our apologies to those of you who come across more rocks than usual there on the east bank near Warren Bridge.

He rode the tractor with Grandpa.  He rode in the pickup with Mom and Dad.  He danced and danced and danced down on the Square, loving the fiddle tunes that Ashley and David played.  He made friends with everyone,  especially those who offered him popcorn from their stash.  

At night, after his bath, he sat in our laps and listened while we read him stories about bunnies and crows and elephants.  Sweet goodnight kisses and hugs and he was ready for bed.

Constant motion.  Just what you would expect from a two year old boy.  

Happy he came to visit.  Wish he lived a little closer.  We cherish all our times with him and his folks.  Love you Gussy.....to the moon and back.

Grandma and Grandpa

A Slender Thread

Hootin an Hollarin is over for the year.  But there are some things that need to be said.  About music.  About dancing.  About traditional ways.  

Our music has evolved over time.  The Appalachian heritage came with the first settlers who braved the long road west and settled our area.  Music and dance were such a part of their lives , handed down from father to son to grandson and beyond. 

Our musicians who know the traditional tunes and how they were played are still around, and thankfully, we have a group of young people who are continuing to play the old time songs.

Dancing is another matter.  As I watched the dancers on Saturday night , following the calls of the set, I began to think about what was to come.  Would the steps that we have danced for so many  years disappear when we die?  Will future young people listen to the caller as he launches into the familiar opening, All join hands and circle south, get a little moonshine in your mouth, Circle back to Arkansas. Eat cornbread and possum jaw.  On your left with your old left paw.  Back to your partner, right and left all.?

We love to see the young people dancing down on the end of the platforms. For the last few years we have been able to bring the younger kids up and give them some idea of how a square dance might go...circle, keep time with the music.  They are our future.

But that future is held by a slender thread.  It takes all of us to preserve our traditions whatever they may be.  I take heart when I see that huge group of teenagers and young adults as they go through the steps of Cross the Hall, or Sally Goodin.  Older dancers have done their part to encourage them to keep the life of our community going.  Some may be discouraged.  But I know ,deep inside, that as long as we rosin up the bow and launch into Soldier's Joy or Liberty, somewhere, sometime there will be someone dancing and listening to the beat..the beat of our community heart.  Keeping it alive through this slender thread.    

A Perfect Day

We're getting married.  During Hootin an Hollarin.  At the new farm.  And I want my first dance to be a square dance.

This was the wish of our only child.  She was coming home for her wedding.  And she wanted to make it extra special by having it during one of the busiest times of the year for Ozark County...Hootin an Hollarin.

And, of course, we said....Yes!

It rained off and on all week.  We worked on the new house to get it ready.  Plans were made, and re-made.  Friends helped and we were so very grateful for them and all they did.  Not an easy thing to entertain maybe 80 or 100 people for an outside wedding...with just a small house and porch for shelter.  But we forged ahead.

The day dawned bright and clear.  The perfect September day.  I don't remember much about it, as I was in a daze most of the time.  Things worked out.  The minister arrived and the crowd gathered.  The couple said their vows in front of family and friends, with the hills of her beloved Refuge in the background.  The perfect setting for a wedding.

We had borrowed a dance platform for the afternoon from the downtown square.  And when the couple was duly married we took our places for the dance.  Her request?  Whirl Like Thunder.  Her father was the caller.  Ladies bow, gents bow under, hold 'em tight and whirl like thunder.

And we did.  We swung and stomped and hollered.

Celebrating a new beginning.  Celebrating under the blue September sky.  Love and laughter, forever after.  A perfect wedding, on a perfect day.

Good bye to summer...

Leaving the beach for the last time.  Summer is over.  The end of the long Labor Day weekend.  The last hurrah.  The last swim in the cold waters of the Cape.  Drying off  and warming up.  Waves coming in gently seem to coax me to come in for one more dive through their transparent tops, white foam on the curling edge.  Calling to the roaming black lab, he comes panting back from his swim, shaking the last of the water from his coat.  Laughing, he begs  me to throw just one more stick, one more chance to plunge in and retrieve and lunge back to me, wet and dripping, the prize still hanging from his mouth.  No more.  No more time.  The sun is beginning to set.  And it is time to say a final goodbye.

Just as I am climbing up the steep path to the parking lot, I reach in my pocket and find two smooth beach stones.  I love to collect these as I walk along the shore.  The water worn surfaces speak of endless hours of being rolled and tumbled in the surf, for months and perhaps years.  Looking at them I say a silent thank-you for the privilege of being able to enjoy this stolen time away from the world of the commonplace.  The memory of the wind blowing my hair.  The feel of the sun on my face.  The cry of the gulls and the sigh of the sea. 

The life of the world is waiting when I leave here.  Some of the peace I feel now will go with me  as I go back to work.  Holding the stones in my hand I say good-bye, placing them on a near-by fence post.

Without a backward look I call the dog and he comes running, eager to be on to a new adventure.  I think about what tomorrow will bring.   Back to the daily routine.  Work and responsibility call me.  The sun is setting.  Day is coming to an end.  I start the car and pull out onto the familiar road home.

Behind me, on the top of the fence post sit two smooth stones.

A good-bye gift to summer.