Gretchen Griffith's Blog, page 9

One Tree in Time

As trees come and go, this one, a poplar, wasn't one to write home about. It was just always there through the more than forty years we've lived in the house. It was steadfast. It observed the seasons and was faithful in its yearly duties. It serviced the bees in the spring with its tulip shaped blossoms. It offered shade to the house under the scorching summer sun. It fed the squirrels in the fall with its helicopter seeds. It entertained my children when they were old enough to climb trees. My son and his friends propped their bicycles on its trunk to use as a ladder to reach the first limb. From their post in the higher limbs they spun helicopter seeds hoping to land them on car roofs as the neighbors drove past. 

Sigh.

When we cut it down last week I felt I betrayed its goodness. If the tree could have talked, it would have been saying, "What did I do?" That answer is its downfall. It was being a tree, doing what a tree does, growing. Sad thing, its outer limbs had the beginnings of spring leafing. 

We first noticed our driveway cement cracking over a decade ago. We ignored it. Several years later the cracks became larger and the source became apparent. Tracing the hairline fractures to the edge we determined the roots from said poplar tree were infringing on the driveway. How interesting, we thought, but still we ignored it. Eventually the roots pushed up from under the cement, pushed, pushed and pushed seeking the rainwater for its thirsty soul. 

Life got in the way and the order of priorities brought cutting the tree lower than other more necessary purchases. Big mistake. The cement bent upward, like a volcano rising from the depths looking for a place to blow. Last week I almost turned my ankle stepping on the crack. It wasn't quite to the level of "Step on a crack, break your mother's back," but I could see that in my future. I knew then something had to give, and it wasn't going to be the driveway any more.

So with our covid stimulus money, and a whole lot more, we called the tree cutting company. They arrived Thursday morning with their cherry picker truck, chainsaws, wood chippers and leaf blowers. By lunch, the outer limbs had been transformed to mulch and hauled away. By midafternoon, the trunk was scooped off the ground into a waiting dump truck. Cleanup was quick. Soon only a stump was left to say this tree in time ever existed. But by late afternoon, even that stump had been ground into mulch and left for us to use. 

The men and their machines left, money in their pockets for a job well done. 

A pile of stump mulch remained and next day, my husband set to work spreading it over our backyard "natural" area. Then he set to digging the offending roots from under the cement. 

The tree might have been erased from our yard, but it had the revenge only a tree could give. Those roots that so forcefully pushed up from the underworld and cracked our driveway to pieces were formidable, to say the least. Sturdy. Thick. Determined to sustain its above ground self. 

Sigh.

There's a lesson in there, although my husband with his sore shoulders and arms isn't in the mood to listen just now. And I'm still sad over what had to be.

Next summer, when the unforgiving sun heats the air, there will be no shade tree blocking the rays.  With no tulip shaped blooms luring them, the bees will have less reason to seek out the little garden in our side yard to pollinate our future vegetables. The squirrels will look elsewhere for nourishment. Our children are long grown away from tree climbing, but what about the grandchildren! 

When a tree falls in the side yard does anyone hear it? 

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

The Shots Heard 'Round the World

 The most beautiful picture I've taken lately is that of my husband receiving his first CoVid shot.

He was dressed in his work clothes, ready to work at Habitat for Humanity as soon as the timer said he could leave. I was there alongside him, getting my shot, too, waiting my fifteen minutes of medical observation for the just in case...which didn't happen.

The whole process was a joy, from the minute the scheduler called to set a shot appointment until that timer dinged a few days later and I was on the way out the clinic door. There were smiling greeters in the lobby of the medical center, taking our temperatures and directing us to happy clerks checking us in on the computer. We stood in line for the briefest of time, waiting until the person ahead of us was sent the next available station. We answered questions about our current health and bared our arms.

While the serum was entering my body I prayed. Mine was not only a prayer of thanksgiving for the shot itself, but for those who created it and those who administered it, painlessly I might add. I thought about those four hundred thousand fellow Americans who didn't live long enough for the privilege of sitting in my spot. I thought about the teachers and other essential workers who so desperately needed the shot and yet had to wait their turns.

My cup runneth over. My happiness abounded.

Best of all, no money exchanged hands. No insurance cards required. I have the immunization card in hand, with the appointment for the second dose penned on the back by yet another worker at the clinic.

The light at the end of the tunnel is not as dim as it was a week ago.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

A Republic, if you can keep it

 I have been busy during this stay-at-home pandemic. One project I helped with in 2020 was a memoir for North Carolina Senator Donald Kincaid. He was a Republican in the state senate when being a Republican in the General Assembly was nearly unheard of. For one term, he was the ONLY Republican. 

He wrote in longhand and I'd drop by his office, fully masked, and pick up the latest chapter, take it to my computer, and enter it. Our discussions led me further into the political side of life than I ever imagined I would venture. I felt like I had a front row seat to thirty years of state government unfolding before my eyes. He instructed me in the nuances of political maneuvering. He explained technicalities that I didn't even know existed.

His final chapter was a reflection of all the years he wrote about in the earlier chapters, what they meant to the state of North Carolina, and why he made the decisions he did. One statement he wanted to be sure to include was made by Benjamin Franklin about the country when it was being established. When asked by a lady if it were a republic or a monarchy, Franklin replied, "It's a Republic, if you can keep it."
One thing I've noticed about being an author and being the person who enables other authors is that no matter what the topic, there remains a connection forever. 
As in the above quote.
I had never heard it before I worked on this project, and after I finished, it went out of my head to make room for more current projects I was stuffing in...until this week at the impeachment proceedings. 
When I heard it quoted, not once but several times, I had to pay attention. I texted the senator that I had heard the quote. He texted back, as dismayed as me, "These r perilous times."
Dismayed is not the only word that describes my emotions just now, but I'll pass over those in order to talk about the concept brought forth by "A Republic, if you can keep it." In my opinion, failure to keep it is not an option. 
There was more to the quote, according to historians who can't find a source to the original documented quote, by the way. Franklin goes on to say, "The executive will be always increasing here, as elsewhere, till it ends in a monarchy." At those words, the woman then asks, "And why not keep it?"
Franklin supposedly responded, "Because the people, on tasting the dish, are always disposed to eat more of it than does them good."
Wow. Just wow. How profoundly serious.
Yet the quote became a drinking game. Hear the quote, take a swig. I gather different people react to perilous times in different ways. It even has a couple hashtags on twitter: #ARepublicifyoucankeepit and #itsarepublic. 
Wow, just wow. On a different level.
I pray that by the time I review this blog a year from now, we have kept the Republic strong. Time will tell. If the alternative happens, I might not be able to review this blog a year from now, or even write a new one. Censorship is a tool of oppression.
That's why we need to keep this Republic.
Rant over,
Catch of the day,
Gretchen

Musings on Words

 An article about Pompeii  in the local newspaper drew my attention to a new-to-me word, thermopolium. Seems that, according to this article, the ancients living in Pompeii frequented fast food establishments that served heated (thermo) meals. Who would have thunk! But proof is in the ruins. 

There is nothing new under this sun, only repurposing. So it's true with fast food joints to pick up a heated meal. It's also true with word usage.

Take the Oxford Dictionary's 2020 word of the year, which turns out not to be a single word as has been tradition (strange years call for strange selections), but variations of the same concept. In America it's "shelter-in-place." In the UK, "lockdown." In Malaysia, "ECQ" for Enhanced Community Quarantine. After all, the purpose of words is communication with understanding, and believe me, these words communicate loud and clear.

None of the above words standing alone are newly created, but combined in response to this past year's event, WOW. Rich language! 

I borrowed this sampling of 2020 word usage from the New York Times article, "The Twenty Phrases that Defined 2020." Toss one of those phrases into the conversation and people know precisely what you mean. Browse the internet and these words appear over and over and over. 

I did read somewhere that the most frequently searched word for 2020 was "pandemic." No surprise there. One year makes a world of difference, even in the science of words.

One that isn't in that meme is a newly created word that hit the internet sphere in the closing days of this horrendous year. "Vaxxie" Combine the word vaccine with the newer word, selfie, and bingo. Vaxxie, defined as a self portrait of that moment in time the CoVid anti-virus vaccine is administered. 

I've seen Vaxxies on the news. I've seen friends post their Vaxxies in the form of holding up the vaccination record card. I'm not on the North Carolina priority list, so I'll shelter-in-place until my number comes up, but I rejoice with those who share their relief at this giant step for mankind filtering down to them. 

My day will come. In the meanwhile, I'll keep looking out for those wonderful new words that will add to my everyday language. What else is there to do for fun?

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Which one won?

 Of all the gifs and memes I've seen for this new year, the one that gave me most pause was what I call the "Which one won?" meme, referring to 2020 and 2021. In spelling this new year out, 2021, would that be twenty-twenty-one or is it an alternate spelling twenty-twenty won (I love a good play on words). It's all perspective.

This picture of my husband, Van, and me is my 2020 in a nutshell. Masked, but forging on. When the North Carolina governor first proposed the stay-at-home orders back in March, we did exactly that, sort of. We walked our streets and eventually branched out to walk various nearby pathways. We hiked mountains. We went on picnics, just the two of us. We walked nine holes of golf each week. We went to the beach twice and on a golf retreat twice, all the while safely following standards set by health authorities.

The depressing side of 2020 did not win, no it didn't. We defeated it. The world has not defeated the covid enemy, but in our home, we held our own against it.

And now 2021 is ahead of us. I learned lessons from this past year that I will take with me into this new year. First, never take anything for granted. I will appreciate each and every day. I will approach the morning with joy that I survived and say a prayer of thanksgiving at the end of the day. I am more determined than ever to accomplish goals I set in the glory days when covid wasn't an issue. I will set new goals that are more challenging. I know not what tomorrow brings, but I know my God is with me no matter what.

So when 2022 comes along, will I spell it as twenty-twenty-two or will it be a repeat year spelled as twenty-twenty, too? Not that again!!! 

Time will tell. I pray that we are all alive and healthy to get the privilege to ring it in and spell it out.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Marshmallow Stew

Each year the congregation of Littlejohn United Methodist Church presents an outdoor pageant telling the story of the first Christmas. Visitors to the event meet in the church's park shelter at Lelia Tuttle Memorial Park and wait to be escorted in groups through the trail. The Christmas story unfolds along the path in a total of twelve scenes. 

This was to be the 25th year of the trail, but along came Covid-19 and ended that plan. 

However, I've been inclined to the theology that when one door closes, God offers another.

In this case, a comic book was the other. This fully illustrated book is based on a true event that had us all giggling around the bonfire that warms the visitors after the hike through the frosty woods.

So, as the story goes, once upon a Christmas Trail, two girls misheard the greeter's invitation that led to this once upon a time book, Marshmallow Stew.  All through the trail, they were anticipating marshmallow stew waiting for them at the bonfire. But there was no stew, only hot chocolate and marshmallows, too.

I knew the minute I heard the uproar around the bonfire that there was a book in there. 

I wrote it and had it on the back burner for a couple years. Then this summer, with the pandemic flaring, I realized the Christmas Trail just might not be possible this year. Unfortunately, I was right.

I contacted an artist from the congregation, Cheyenne Kimberlin, and asked her if she was available to bring life to the story with her illustrations. She was, and she most certainly did!

The fact that she was once an actor in the trail helped her as she drew the pictures. We worked on it together and uploaded it to the comic book company, Ka-Blam. It has not been printed as yet, but in the meantime, it is available now on amazon as an ebook for the low price of ninety-nine cents.
So it changes a little something in the translation from comic book format to ebook, but the message is still there: 
Two girls learn the true meaning of Christmas. I hope you will, too.
Catch of the day,
Gretchen

The Way It Was

If you've ever wondered what life was like for those people growing up in the backwoods, I have an answer for you. It's in a book, of course...my newest one on the market (as of my birthday, November 1). The Way It Was: In the Backwoods. The book is on Amazon now, but will be available soon in Lenoir at Tybrisa Books and in Hudson at the Red Awning Gallery, in Spring Creek at Trust General Store, and...out of the trunk of my car.
We close the book with his family tree that extends beyond him into three more generations, as evidenced by the picture of his great granddaughter playing a guitar on the cover. That's his wife, Helen with him in the other photograph, and Max Patch in the background picture. For those of you not familiar with Max Patch, it's the top of the world, as far as I am concerned, way, way, waaaaay in the backwoods of western North Carolina. 

This is the second book Jasper Reese and I have written together. Our first was an award winner with the North Carolina Society of Historians for its historical significance about past life in Spring Creek, North Carolina. Back in the time: Medicine, Education and Life in the Isolation of Western North Carolina's Spring Creek.

This one is a bit different. While the first followed not only a family's history, but also a school's history (Spring Creek School), this book is filled to overflowing with exciting family stories that Jasper grew up listening to on the front porch or around the cookstove or at reunions over plates of covered dishes. It is also graced with lyrics from several songs Jasper wrote about living in the backwoods of Madison County. We used the song titles as chapter titles, for example, chapter one, "High Hills of Caroline," and  chapter five, "Hill Billy Boy." Wait until you read the "That Old French Broad" chapter at the end. Okay, hint, there's a river in western North Carolina and Tennessee by the name of French Broad. 
Here's a portrait of Jasper by his granddaughter, Kendra Reese. He's doing what he loves. Making music.
 And here's a picture of the two of us. 

When Jasper wrote the concluding poem in the book, he wanted to share his true passion for the place of his birth. 

Madison Magnificence  

by Jasper Reese

October 7, 2020 

Neither Van Gough nor Mike Angelo

Could have properly painted it.

Leonardo Da Vinci could not have sculpted its essence.

Only those who lived, loved and labored there,

In the midst of its depth,

Could project in the memories of their minds,

Its true magnificence!

And only the Powers that Be could create its beauty!

We all should be so lucky to love our home like this.

Catch of the day,
Gretchen

Time Travel or Research

Since I started this writing journey, I've been fascinated with time travel because of my need to fill in the missing parts of my research. I'm not a science fiction reader, for sure, much less a sci-fi writer, but when I sit before a screen filled with news articles or journal entries from the distant past, I know I am in a time warp zone. It's the closest I will ever come to time travel, and it will have to do until someone comes up with an actual time machine. Sign me up. I'd love to talk to those who penned what I read and ask them for more details.

Like this past Saturday, when I time traveled to the beginnings of our nation through the journal of Methodist Bishop Francis Asbury. I am thankful for the various groups that went ahead of me and transcribed his writings from pen to type and then posted online. My research was on an obscure fact, but I needed an element of proof to back up a statement in my current project, so I dove into the journals of this devout Christian, like I was looking for a needle in a haystack. 

This circuit rider spent years and years riding throughout America, first in the colonies and then the early states, writing his thoughts and opinions almost daily. He did have opinions, I must say. 

He looks so peaceful and serene in this picture, but his life was far from it. He suffered greatly from years in the saddle and from diseases that we have long since conquered. He was distressed those times he returned on his circuit after a year away and found rampant sins among his people, yet he journeyed on. He encouraged the local ministers under his charge. He preached to the masses in courtyards and to the individuals under a tree.
One of his circuits brought him near where I now live. His trials are evident as shown in his 1786 journal entry:
Not only did I find that nugget, I found where he mentioned the church of my childhood, Love's, where he preached in 1799. The sentence about his visit was printed on the front of the bulletin at the church the many years I attended there, so I knew it existed. I just never uncovered it in the actual journals.

If only those he met had listened to him. He was totally against slavery, and this was in the very beginnings of our nation. He preached to blacks and to whites, usually in the same congregation, and saw no differences in the children of God. I found most interesting his comment on the death of George Washington. He was in Charleston, South Carolina when he heard the news a month afterward: Imagine the streets of Charleston that day with muffled bells tolling in the background. Only through time travel journal reading am I able to comprehend the reaction to the death of a great leader. In this excerpt from his journal he talked about the manumission of slaves, which I had to look up. It's the release of slaves into freedom. 
His was a front seat to history, and he didn't realize it. He talked about the French Revolution. He talked about the Moravian village in Salem and the Baptist missionaries throughout the mountains. 
I did find what I was looking for, despite my being distracted in so many ways. I am writing a second book with Jasper Reese about Madison County in western North Carolina. One section explains the early town of Hot Springs and the settlers there. I needed to make sure the Bishop was there also, and bang, Southern Methodist University produced a map of his stops in North Carolina. Here are the western counties and there, near the words Hot Springs, are two locations named for men in my book, Hoodenpile and Barnard. The Bishop mentioned the dangerous road in the area. He even talked about a buggy wreck from cliffs high above the French Broad River and about his own wreck that same day. 
I'm back in real time now, mission accomplished. But I'm looking forward to the next time travel journey I might have in the days to come. It will be a joy.
Catch of the day,
Gretchen

Hibriten Mountain

There is a mountain looming over our town. Hibriten Mountain, so named by a homesick Brit from Brighton, England. This one must be a bit higher, I must say...with a twinge of a British accent.

I've driven by it so often I hardly notice it anymore. It's not a threatening mountain, more like an ever-present friend who stands silently by your side. In the past, I've watch hang gliders soaring from its crest. No more. Only hawks soar now. The mountain is dotted instead with cell towers and 9-1-1 towers and one solitary fire tower. It is a most utilitarian friend, indeed.   

Yesterday, I decided to conquer that mountain. Several months ago I chose the date to hike it, my birthday, November first. I have had several friends climb to the top, surely I could, too, if I knew where to go. I asked around and found one of the best kept secrets in town, the parking lot to climbing the mountain.

It wasn't the worst hike I've been on lately, but it was strenuous, an uphill climb the entire way, full of switchbacks and loose gravel spread for upkeep of the access road to those towers. When I puffed my way to the foot of the fire tower, I felt like Rocky Balboa on top of the Philly steps.

My Rocky Balboa Moment
Two and a half miles from the parking lot and spread out before me was the most fantastic view of the town I now call home, Lenoir, North Carolina.
The platform for hang glider launches was still there, but I avoided it. I didn't want to accidentally soar like the eagles. Instead my husband and I were satisfied to view the valley below from a more secure position near the towers.
Hibriten Mountain is such a part of the landscape that I don't notice it except twice a year, Advent and Lent. During the weeks leading up to Christmas, a gigantic star shines from the side of the mountain, sort of like the iconic Hollywood sign in Los Angeles. Unseen during the day, the star is illuminated after dark during Advent thanks to support from the local Loyal Order of the Moose. In the spring, a cross lights up the sky during the days leading up to Easter. 
For the first time ever, I stood at the base of the star/cross. I studied its shape. I imagined the vision those involved with creating the monument had back in 1954. When the star is lit a few short weeks from now, I will look upon it with new eyes.  A star and a cross
We ate our snacks and rested before heading the two and a half mile trek back down the mountain. Descending on leaf coated loose gravel was not a simple task, but I made it, with no sore muscles or broken bones. This morning someone on Facebook posted a quote from Max Lucado that summed up my trip. "God never said the journey would be easy, but he did say the arrival would be worthwhile." 
I can relate.
Catch of the day,
Gretchen

Creeping Along

I checked off one event on my bucket list, and did it without sore muscles or open wounds, a blessing in itself! I went bicycling down the Virginia Creeper Trail, and wow, what an autumn experience. Note I didn't use the word fall, not a word to use when describing a bicycle trip down the side of a mountain. 

That's me with my Florida friend, Sara, who makes a yearly pilgrimage to see the colors the trees bless us with here in western North Carolina. We're at the edge of one of thirty-five bridges along the trail. It was once a train trestle, and therein is the history connection I so love.

In the early 1900's the Virginia-Carolina Railroad was constructed to transport logs from timber operations on the mountainsides to the mills in the lower levels. It was also the life line for local passengers heading out of the hills, and for materials brought to sell in the few stores that cropped up along the path. Because of the steep incline and slow going around curves, the train was forced to creep both up and down the high hills, hence the name Virginia Creeper. Because of economic collapse, the train's last run was March 31, 1977. 

I was interested to come upon one of the stops, a station a few miles into the ride. Fortunately for posterity, but not for the storeowner, the general store in the station was left intact, owner walking out and leaving everything as it was that last day in 1977. It is there, as it was that day, a moment in time frozen for us history buffs to view. Unfortunately for today's pilgrims along the trail, however, the CoVid Corona Virus safety guidelines forced the station to be padlocked against germs and pilgrims. 

I did hit a lucky streak. I happened upon the station when the forest rangers were checking it out. They refused to allow me to step in, but I stood at the door and took a photograph. For posterity.

Through hard work to accomplish the impossible, volunteers converted this bit of heaven (I'd bet some bit of hell during drastic weather events) from rail to footpath. It is now open for hiking and nonmotorized vehicles. In fact the Appalachian Trail piggybacks for several miles. 
Some people chose to hike or bike ride up. Not me. I went down. I crept down is more like it. Never did I have to pedal uphill, although toward the end of the eighteen miles, the trail went through flatlands and I found myself pedaling more and more. 
There were too many scenic views to capture along the trip down the mountain, after all, we're talking leaf peeping season. 
We came upon a beaver dam complete with sign telling us it was a beaver dam. Otherwise, I would have mistaken it for a log jam.
Thanks to the forward thinking of several visionaries, this trail is now a precious national treasure. Its preservation guarantees this slice of beauty will exist for generations to come. Meanwhile, if you are so inclined, check out Damascus, Virginia and all the varied bicycle rentals. Along with the bicycles, they supply helmets and a bottle of water. They drive clients to a drop-off point at Whitetop Station, a thirty minute van ride away, uphill, and bang, you're off on an unimaginable trip, downhill all the way. 

My friend and I went with Blue Blazes, a company recommended by several people who have gone before, but there are many others, believe me. They will close November first, but reopen after the winter in March.

Well worth the thirty-four dollars we spent.
Catch of the day,
Gretchen