Well Dressing at the Creek?

Well dressing and dressing well are two different things. I was not dressed well when I saw what might have been a well dressing. In the Peak District in England people had a ritual for giving thanks for good water. They decorated wells with flowers and pictures made with blossoms. That was the first thing that popped into my mind when I saw Jonathan Creek decorated with red roses along the bank. Could a group have gathered here for such a purpose?

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Roses by the creek

Not likely! If there had been a ritual, it would have been called, “Taking the easy way out.” Those roses had bloomed continuously since June at the firehouse. I told myself to keep watch, because I wanted to know when the bushes were pruned. I walked within three feet of the rose hedge and didn’t notice the ugly sticks where the roses had been. I did the math (putting two and two together) when I stood at the edge of the creek and saw where the bushes had been dumped. Shame on the whackee!

Below is a photo I took of the repaving job at the firestation a year ago.   The rose bushes are there around the flagpole.

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Roses a year ago near the flagpole

 

There was a more lively scene not far from the stop sign. A young deer ran down the mountain and leaped over a fence onto the road. I was very excited, because we had been wanting to see wildlife in our neighborhood. So far we’ve seen a dead skunk on the road, a live one near our garden shed, and wild turkeys scurrying into the woods. This deer ran back toward the fence, decided the road was easier, and headed up again where there was no fence. I would have needed a body cam to catch that fleeting action.

Sorrell’s, the gas station/cafe, was busy today. I had to pick my way through the moving vehicles, hoping the drivers were paying attention. A man backed a truck out just before I reached him, and he stopped and rolled down his window. He said, “Y’all walk here all the time, don’t you? You do it for your health?”

I said we did. He said he lost 41 pounds since summer, not by dieting and not by exercising. In his mountain accent, he said, “I used to sit in front of the TV and eat right before going to bed. I didn’t sleep well, and I didn’t feel very good when I got up. Now I don’t eat anything after 6. Worked well for me.”

“I’ve seen y’all walking on the road. I swing way on the other side of the road when I go by you. Anybody ever come too close? Some people try to hit walkers because they don’t think they should be there.”

I told him I had one narrow escape, but it was because the driver was probably texting. We wished each other well before going our separate ways.

Back nearer home I saw two people with a dog each. It was neighbor Bob and his daughter Courtney. She is heading home today, back to the coast. During Hurricane Matthew a tree fell on their rented house, leaving a hole in the roof. The landlord repaired the inside without touching the roof! I presume this long, dry spell has been a good thing for her and her husband.

There was a small thing on the road that looked like a cat’s toy mouse. I’m glad it wasn’t moving, because it was a vole, a dead one. It had not been run over and had no visible wounds. It just lay there upside down, dressed in its velvety gray coat.

Halloween

Halloween was very quiet, as we knew it would be. However, we had double the number of trick or treaters we expected. Logan was the first, and I have to say his voice was the only thing I recognized. Because masks restrict a child’s ability to see, I don’t think costumes come with them any more. Logan didn’t need a mask. Shawn had devised his costume and made him up so well that I would have passed him by in a crowd. He was dancing with excitement while looking longingly at our bowl of candy. He carefully picked one small Kit Kat, and I asked if that was his favorite. It was. I told him to take them all and helped him fish them out. His eyes were still glued to the bowl. “Want to take some of the others?” YES. I was morphing into a wicked witch, urging him to satisfy his chocolate craving. [I apologize, Shawn and Bob. I was not being a nice neighbor to you!]

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Logan posed with an exceptionally nice smile.

We went outside to greet our surprise non-candy-eating Halloween prankster, Logan’s nephew from Turkey. He was dressed as a trainman.

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John opened the garage door and had Bob put Sufi (sp?) in his caboose for the photo op.

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It was almost dusk when we went to Connie, Dave, and Marla’s house. They had two Halloween visitors, also – Logan and a boy who lives across the street from them. Marla had ducked back in the house, but I got a shot of Connie and Dave on their porch. They had the most-decorated house in the area. I particularly liked the pumpkins and candles and made a point of avoiding the giant spider * shudder * We had a lovely, relaxed dinner with them.

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Most of Connie, Dave, and Marla’s decorations don’t show here.  My eye was on the spider.

I love their quiet wit. Dave, a retired policeman, explained that he always chose to work the night shift because that’s when things happened. He didn’t want to be bored during the day. Connie said, “We couldn’t persuade the criminals to be active from 9 to 5.”

I liked Dave’s story about an older boy who picked on him in grade school. We didn’t call it bullying back then. Dave’s older brother beat him up and warned him not to pick on Dave again. He didn’t, but he didn’t change his stripes, either. Years later Dave arrested him. By this time Dave was almost seven feet tall. He recognized his former tormentor and asked was he so-and-so. He was. He said, “I’m Dave, the one you used to attack after school. Do you want to pick on me now?”

Logan’s Practical Math

Logan gave us some sweets that his sister Brittainy and Mu brought from Turkey. We knew they were very special and ate them with ceremony. Ummm! Exquisite! As a welcoming nod, I baked chocolate chip cookies for them.

As I picked up the spatula, I said to Logan, “These are for your family, but I baked one extra for you right now. Which one would you like to have?”

He chose his cookie, and I began putting the rest on a paper plate.

“How many are there?” he wanted to know. I told him, and he stated there were seven people in his house. I countered with the number five, because I didn’t think they’d give the baby one. I’m not sure who number seven was. ???

It takes a while to sharpen one’s skills, but I remembered the last time Logan begged for a granola bar. It was dinnertime, and we said no. He said he would take it to school for snack the next day. Reluctantly, we agreed. At his walkway, he looked back and saw us watching. Did he manage to unwrap it and eat it before reaching his front door? Probably. How could I make sure these cookies would make it over there? Taking a piece of scrap paper, I drew circles, like ones I had seen his on math homework.

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Logan looked at the circles and picked up the pencil. He wrote “15 cookies”. I didn’t feel guilty for having given him one, because any six-year-old who can spell cookie by himself deserves one, don’t you think? Note the chocolate smudges at the bottom of the paper. I think of a cookie as clean food, but that isn’t necessarily so.

My reasoning was, if Logan knew how many cookies were sent for each person, he wouldn’t break the set. I asked, “How many cookies should each person get?”

I knew his homework involved adding and subtracting, not division. Logan didn’t know the answer. I explained there were five rows of three. No clue. Taking the pencil, I pointed to each row in turn and said, “Mama, Papa, Brittainy, Mu ….”

“I know! I know! Three!” he said.

Shawn texted that when Logan came in the house, “He announced loudly that everyone gets three cookies!”

The next text was, “Over n over! Ha ha”

Logan passed with flying colors. My question for anyone with grade school children is, how did I do with my first foray into new math?

Day 2, Watch Out!

If the previous post sounded idyllic, it was. We were fresh, and neighbor Logan (6) was on his best behavior. We left off with bedtime, when Logan chose to sleep on the recliner in my room. I wrote about him then, staying up far too late. Experience counts, though. Before going to bed, I hid the remote to the TV. One time when he was here, John found him watching a program at 2 or 3 in the morning.

Logan began stirring around 5 when it was still pitch black. I almost quit breathing so he wouldn’t guess I was awake. He must have been searching for the remote around 5:15. It didn’t take long for him to come back to speak to me in bed. He obediently climbed back on the recliner, covered up, and tried to sleep a bit more. You have to give him credit for staying down another 15 minutes. John often wakes and looks at the computer anywhere after 4, but he was wrapped in a blanket. He stirred enough to say he’d be up in a few minutes, so I handed Logan the remote and made a coffeecake where I could monitor what he watched.

John soon persuaded Logan to turn off the TV in order to play Chinese checkers. From the other room I heard Logan’s soft voice and John’s chuckling reply, “No, you can’t have ice cream for breakfast!” I had to smile, for I had already fended off requests for peanuts, cookies, and ice cream. Those were the requests I heard and understood.

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102916-peggityAfter we three walked Logan’s dogs, I put my Peggity set on the kitchen table. Did any of you ever play that game? It’s my favorite game that involves strategy, in fact, the only one I play willingly. I didn’t push it, just waited for Logan to see it and ask to play. After each game, I asked if we should put it away and play again another day. About six games later he agreed, and John took him to the playground. Playing Peggity with a beginner is a real challenge. I try to fix it so that the child wins every other game. Admittedly, I had lots of practice with our two grandchildren. Now they can beat me at will. That is what I really wanted, isn’t it?

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John and Logan walking Dolly and Abby

After lunch we suggested a nap. Logan was short of sleep, and so was I. I went to sleep and have no idea whether he slept or not. I’ll let you judge. Hearing car doors, I looked out and saw people carting suitcases into Logan’s house. It was almost exactly 24 hours after we got him from the school bus, and he was free to return home. I packed his bag while he hunted for his socks, and then he ran across the street. Picking up the pillow and blanket he had used, I found one other item in the recliner – a miniature Etch-a-Sketch.

Logan Spends the Night

These are exciting times in our neighborhood. We began the day walking toward the sunrise and the dawn mist.

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Shawn and Bob (our neighbors across the street) drove to Atlanta to pick up their daughter who flew in from Turkey. This would be the first time they would see their six-month-old grandson in person. The flight arrived in the evening, and no one could tell how long it might take to get through customs. Because of that, we kept their son Logan overnight. Fun for us!

We picked him up at the bus stop, and while Logan and John let the dogs out, I baked some chocolate chip cookies. We had our cookie break on the back porch.

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The fellows played a few games of Chinese checkers before we walked the two dogs to the stop sign and back. Logan scrambled up a steep bank with dog Abbie, where he waved to a passing car.

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As we walked, Logan wondered if he could go to a park to play. John was game, so the two of them went to the school playground to kick around his soccer ball. I prepared a jack o lantern meat pie.

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I knew Logan liked cantaloupe, so we had that and Snickers apple salad. He ate very nicely, taking seconds of the salad. Who wouldn’t? It had a Snickers candy bar in it! The recipe was on Food.com in a collection of Halloween foods. I cut the candy in such tiny pieces that Logan couldn’t pick them out from the crisp apple slices and cream cheese dressing.

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John supervised Logan’s shower, and I watched a television show with him before we put him to bed. The last time he was here, he began the night in the upper bunk bed and ended up on a recliner in my room. When given a choice this time, he chose the recliner.

Voting for President

I have yet to hear one voter who is taking pleasure in the 2016 presidential election. Most will be glad when it is over. I avoid election articles in our newspaper, and I skip every Facebook post having to do with politics. It was while walking to the creek near our polling place that I saw a bunch of election signs. I don’t know why I looked at them, but I saw a set of three red and white signs that thrilled me.

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What about you? Would you vote for Forest Gump for president? He certainly knew how to run.

Beauty in the Backyard

My brother Bob and wife Beth came for a quick visit to see the autumn colors in our mountains. I made them pose before a sourwood tree, one they identified for me that I’m trying to fix in my memory.

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In a big loopy drive, we went on the Blue Ridge Parkway, drove through Cherokee, and came back on another section of the parkway. The weather was a bit rainy, making some of the scenes rather dark. We have memories of lovely fall colors that don’t exactly match our photographs.

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Bob’s shot from the parkway

As we drove past the Hemlock Inn, Beth and Bob said they had stayed there once. They told the story about playing a word game that night with the group, something similar to Scrabble.

Beth asked, “Is dogly a word?”

Bob said, “No, but godly is.”

That made everyone burst out laughing. Bob felt that made his long-ago graduation from seminary very worthwhile.

Rain was falling when we came home. Beth stepped onto the back porch to see how our garden was faring. She has advised me on gardening from time to time, and this summer she and our grandson Nathaniel dug up all the iris bulbs and replanted them. She could see the new growth, a healthy circle of green blades. We noticed a brilliant rainbow on this side of the mountain. Beth said she’d never seen purple on the lower edge of a bow. The proverbial pot of gold should have been in the horse pasture, about equidistant from Joyce’s house and ours. We went outside, Beth looking at this fantastic scene while Bob and I tried to capture it with our cameras. We had been looking for beautiful sights of the season, and the most dramatic was in our own backyard.

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The acorn squash we had for dinner was a show stopper. I realized as I cut it that Beth might not like it. She can’t abide pumpkin or sweet potatoes. Would this pass muster? She insisted she would try anything put in front of her. John and I liked it last week, baked with a little butter and molasses. Beth tasted it and said, “This squash doesn’t taste nearly as bad as I thought it would.”

We laughed, and she extended her statement to say that it was good, good enough that she would eat her whole portion.

The next morning the temperature was 42 degrees at walking time. Beth opted for a bit more sleep, but the rest of us set out. I took the usual photo at the creek where the guys were still bundled up. I had already taken off my windbreaker and put it back on. The wind in the valley was intent on chilling us.

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John and Bob at the creek

Bob expressed interest in a saw John pointed out halfway down the steep hill. I suggested we stop to look at it on the way up when I would need a breather. The rough workshop has been producing outdoor wood furnaces and cutting big trees into thick planks. The fellows were looking at the saw when I snapped their picture. John looked for the blade and commented that it was a big band saw. I nudged Bob and said that was just the thing! He plays trombone in a retro group with a big band sound.

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We drove to Cataloochie, the closest part of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park to us. We knew the scenery would be good and hoped to see the elk in the high meadow. The road was good in places, but part of it was gravel and only one and a half cars wide. This was a real mountain road that wound up and down to get over the ridge. We stopped at an overlook where a kind young man offered to take our photo together.

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Beth, Bob, Anne, and John in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park

There were lots of vehicles parked in the meadow, and sure enough, the herd of elk was there. They stayed in the field, and the humans stayed on the road, although some had lenses that made their cameras look 15 feet long. If I were the elk, I would demand more privacy.

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You Might Live in the Mountains of North Carolina if ….

you see a mailbox like this on your morning walk.

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This being election time, would you like to vote for a label? Your choice is (1) hillbilly problem-solving or (2) lazy practicality.

Oh, you need more background? This mailbox is closest to a clapboard house with four vehicles parked on the grass and none in the detached garage. Their huge barbecue grill is on the front porch, and Christmas lights still outline the railing.

This mailbox is also across the road from the driveway of a neat brick house. There is a portable basketball hoop near the garage, and once in a while there is a white SUV parked there.

Have you chosen your answer? The mailbox, by the way, belongs to the brick home.

Autumn’s New Dimensions

I have begun to watch for the weekly Nature Journal in the Asheville Citizen-Times. George Ellison is the naturalist who writes about our mountain surroundings. He quoted Dr Ross Hutchins on October 14, writing about leaves.* The expert said no two leaves are exactly alike, making me think of fingerprints and snowflakes. His writing was poetical when he talked about the voices of trees as wind blows through them. I first noticed that while walking under a gnarled old pine tree at the boat ramp in Stony Brook. There was a stiff breeze that day, and the resulting sound was a swishy sigh. Wind brought that tree to life. You can imagine the music implied in the title, Wind in the Willows.

Hutchins also wrote about flight patterns. Have you ever thought about flight patterns of leaves? Hutchins claimed he could identify a leaf by the way it fell. Maple leaves have a downward spiral, and oak leaves zigzag from side to side. Willow leaves spin. We have a huge oak in our yard, and I could immediately check out this statement. It is true. The leaves zig this way and zag the other If you see my head shake when I’m looking outside, I’m probably just following a crazy leaf as it falls to the ground.

I took a photo of our tree, so you can see what a future I have in leaf watching.

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* “Hidden Valley of the Smokies: With a Naturalist in the Great Smoky Mountains” (Dodd, Mead & Company, 1971) by Ross E. Hutchins.

Roasted

Neighbor Connie and I were waiting for Shawn to be mobile after her knee surgery to go out for coffee. I ran across the street for a few minutes last week and was totally shocked at Shawn’s progress. I had seen her gliding across her porch using a walker and had no idea she had switched to a cane. In her house that day, her cane was in the kitchen. She got up from a living room chair and hobbled to retrieve it. Amazing! That was just before the three-week mark after surgery. I’m sure I did not do that well with my best knee.

Connie and her family made a point of checking out coffee places when they moved here. She introduced me to two coffee roasting places in Waynesville. I don’t know if roasting coffee is a national trend or a local one, but it seems to be popular here. I haven’t read food news since we left the New York Times behind two years ago. Back then, the word “artisinal” appeared at least once in every food article. That would have been applied to bread, pastries, cheese, etc. The adjective for specialty beer is “craft”. I want to know what description would be applied to these coffee roasters. Maybe they are simply local. The locations of these two shops have fun names – Dellwood and Frog Level.

The businesses both have big roasters in the front with informal seating in the rear. The walls are brick, the floors concrete, and the spaces cavernous. The only elegant thing about them is the taste of the coffee. The Frog Level store had clunky wooden tables and chairs on the floor, with sofas on a raised area along two walls. Three young women were working on their computers, using the free wi-fi. That certainly beat the crowd and noise of many Starbucks I’ve seen. How I would love to know why they bought one cup of coffee and worked there for hours! When I write at home, I have wi-fi, privacy, and unlimited coffee.

There were four of us enjoying gentle conversation – Shawn, Connie, Connie’s daughter Marla, and me. If I wrote that what was said in the coffeehouse stays in the coffeehouse, you’d think we shared secrets or salacious gossip. Nothing could be further from the truth. Roasting referred only to the brew. For the most part, you would not have been interested in our weather, former homes, neighbors we know only by sight or by dog’s name, and dietary restrictions. For me, though, it was a highly satisfactory, fun-filled afternoon spent with people I love.

I took one photo, which was not good of anyone. Publishing it would imply I don’t love these people as much as I say I do.