"We're alive. A green tractor fell from the sky. Took the whole TVA power grid out. Turn back!" this is the text I read on the way from Nashville to Huntsville. But I didn't turn back. You'll do anything to reach the people you love in a disaster. The F5 tornado cut a swath of death and destruction from Tuscaloosa to North Alabama. Over the next month I volunteered and witnessed the power of the Red Cross, The National Reserves, churches of all faiths working shoulder to shoulder for the recovery. The local high school band played and marched! It was a true testament of the spirit, the humanity, and the love we all share when we weather the storm together. Adriene Smith Red Cross campaign
Seeds from the COOP. Heirloom seeds. Possibly passed down from Thomas Jefferson’s farm. The perfect corner in the yard…asleep for a cycle. I know what will be in my garden. Going as organic as possible. But that could change beings I still can’t tell the difference between a good and bad caterpillar. One could be a butterfly. Country karma...brr. I don’t need the bounty as much as I do the hope it brings. The smell of the earth. The miracle watching the sunflowers follow me in the morning and the evening. My rows will be straight. The swish swish oscillating sprinkler is waiting. The big hurdle will be me against the machine. The Freddie Krueger Roto tiller. I shiver with fear. It could hurt me. Eat me. Maybe I’ll wear combat boots. I fear the machine. Pump pump the rubber bulb and pull with everything I got the rope. Vruff..cough…vruff X 4. EXPLETIVE ASSORTED LOCKER ROOM LANGUAGE. Vruff…putt (left arm now). Looking to see if I was in hearing shot of of of any PTA member. Until he roars. I hold on like a rodeo princess, praying it doesn’t shake loose anything that shouldn’t be. Yes I am master of this little plot of red clay dirt. It has yielded to my power. Cold beer needed!
We climbed inside a snow globe To skate on mirrored ice We made our own world Where everything was right Turn us upside down There’s magic in this glass We laceup tiny ice skates And race Zamboni fast... (chorus) There’s hot chocolate, don’t drop us Kiss me quick there’s mistletoe Shake away the cold Shake Shake Shake the snowglobe The plastic reindeer are at play The snow floats slowly down Blankets the tiny church And everything in Round Town So snuggle by the camp fire Timeless carols come to mind And love a little slower Bottle up some Christmas time
ROAD TRIP to Fort Payne, Al National Park. Drove past lily pads floating on South Souty River, the south's best bass fishing, past sorghum mills and saw mills, traveling up up up the foothills of the Smoky Mountains. Stopped at a Mom and Pop corner grocery for sliced bologna and hoop cheese. We hadn't intended to visit the famed band 'Alabama's' museum, but Clay shouted 'there's flippin Randy Owens!' We screeched in, ahh it was just a 'look alike' taking tickets. But when I turned around there was George Wallace Jr climbing off a Harley with his Montgomery peeps. Continued the treacherous climb up Sand Mt. until we hung out the window awe struck at the 90 yard drop from Little River Canyon bridge. Pulled in and gave the fabled ' man wit da horn on hiz head' a pocket a change and took a freak flag pic of us all. ok it wasn't p.i. but that's PBR talking. oh God's country! That's the best description. A mini Niagra. Pure and unchangable, even had dino paw prints in the limestone. We treked to Hippie Hole. Down down down the giant boulders. Never found Greg Allmans name on that tree, but what a swimmin' hole, ledges to jump from and water so pure you can see the bottom. We were late leaving so we had a bit a trouble spotting the trailhead. Ok we were in severe panic mood. But someone had layed a walking stick pointing the way, faeew. Up up up wet and aching. We piled in the Murano and headed home past a mt. top fushcia horizon line. We got behind a Doritos truck, when we realized he was in trouble on the 90 degree decline. Sure enough the trucker lost his eighteen wheeler brakes, busting dangerously free. Struggling like a rodeo bull rider. until he hit tha guardrail and his whole shipment of Doritos, Fritoz, everything in the "tos' family flew over the ledge. Miles and miles of snack chips! We stopped to help him find his coondog and make sure he was alright. Headed home listening to Coltrane in a suppedup blissful state with a trunk full of chips and a heartfull of fresh memories. Read more: http://www.myspace.com/rockitcitywriters/blog#ixzz14iyeYbUl
I will paraphrase this by saying I've only seen one ghost. We hugged the wild Ocoee River arriving at the Buckhorn Inn in the Smoky Mountains...all nine of us. Built in the early 1900's and vacation home to Tipper and Al Gore, amoungst a long list of frou frous. But we all crammed into one room, cause that's how we roll...a mix of cousins, friends looking to find some serenity and hikes supreme. We quickly got to know the digs, my brother played for the nine course dinner on a beautiful antique grand piano. But its all about the outdoors. The view of Mt. Conte is priceless. The innkeeper suggested we enter the labyrinth...not atall like a maze. It's a spiritual kindof experience. We expelled all the negative energy on the way to the center and as instructed inhaled deeply the positve eons circling outwards. We did some fishing but there were only panfish, we'd have to try somewhere else for trout. Clay pulled out his compass to lead us back to the lodge. Odd the hand was turning circles. By then we were dragging our way back to the overcrowded room, stretching in front of the fireplace. I ended up in the four cousin king bed by the huge sliding glass door. NOW HERE'S THE GHOST PART. A bone chilling breeze woke me from a dead exhausted sleep. I thought 'who's left the damn window open?' I got a strange feeling and rolled over towards the sliding doors, and turned to stone. Leaning over me was a ghost! She was semi transparent and a sick green color. I got an instant powerful feeling, anger, foreboding. She wasn't like an antebellum figure. She looked like Beaver Cleaver's mom, in a plaid housewife dress. She was checking me out, and it was like ' who are you and why are you in my house?' type of matriarchal curiousity. I didn't want to breath, I was afraid I'd suckin some of her aura. But I jerked to break the spell and she was gone. "A GHOST! A GHOST, A GHOST, A GHOST'" I screamed in complete panic. There were several more screams, "she's behind the curtains!' And all the dudes started ripping open the wall of heavy brocade drapes. Nothing. "Someones been here," I remember crying out. It was still so cold you could see your breath, the remnants of her poltergeist. But the doors were locked and the fire was crackling. After a full search and my frantic ghost reenactment we all fought to see who was going to sleep beside the doors. It was still me, scutchedup as far away as I could scutch. If they had of agreed I would have got the hell out of there that night. Sigh. It's still so clear in my mind. At breakfast I casually asked the innkeeper if anyone had had a paranormal experience. He nervously chuckled and quipped "you must have been in the library." I looked in that direction and said I hadn't and didn't say another word in the crowded dining room. We hiked and fished for the rest of the weekend. On the way loading up the car I bumped past a giant bookcase. And there hanging on the wall 'she' stood. In an ancient group picture. The 'BEAVER'S MOM' ghost! Happy Halloween. http://buckhorninn.com/