kudzu kottage

Washed Ashore ...

2011-04-18T21:24:00.433-04:00

I.

A once flickering, slowly ebbing
heavenly light captured my sight
on a lonely beach ...

a washed up Leviathan lay hopeless,
helpless and abandoned ...
weakened on an endless shoreline
with no one to reach out for it
to admire it's magnificence
to fearlessly touch it's sharpened scales ...
calm it's dying heart
and hear the magic in it's weakened call ...

i was inspired there for a reason
by the Hand of its Creator.

i dared revive it,
boldly shake and gently heal it ...
pray God Himself would help me
hoist it back into the sea --
thrust it back into its familiar world
where it would thrive
and feel whole again ...

back into its world

where all darkness is light

where the icy murkiness

warms its aching soul

and awakens the somnolent genius ...

a daunting task for one as meek as i ...

"God give me strength!
Give me courage! Don't let me be afraid!"

I stood beside it
stretched out a quivering hand -
pausing ... pulling back ...
did I dare touch and rouse it?

The storm raged around us
lightening crashed in every direction,
winds hit me from behind
knocking me to my knees ...
its fiery eyes flashed open
as its hot sulfurous breath hit my face.

i froze in fear ...

we regarded each other
with curiosity ...

God shouted my task ...
my shaking fingers lifted the mighty claw
and delicately traced the deepened grooves ...
my heart broke ... battle scars.

How many battles had it fought
and won or lost?
How tortured its soul must be,
laying there
breathing in sand and salt ...
stinging the exposed quick of its once protective scales
once beautiful and blazing of color ...
now pulled away like torn nails
colorless and dull.

I sat in the sand beside it
became its friend
earned its trust ...
Leviathan
earned my own ...

I called on Gods angels ...
and dared depart until they came ...
waiting ... I would sit vigilant
until it was called back
by the dark and angry sea.

II.

Seasons have come and gone.
i am so battle weary ...
absorbed pain that wasn't mine,
my knees bruised from kneeling in prayers
that weren't my own ...
given until I'm empty
opened myself unafraid
only to be beguiled.

i defended it to passers by ...
dared them to insult it
dared them to curse it
dared them to demean it
dared them to defile it ...
onlookers who begged me to leave it
to rot from its open self inflicted wounds.
I looked them in the eye
and challenged them ...
were we so different?

"why should she care?" they scoffed
and surmised their spiteful thoughts ...
refuted all good - substituted turpitude instead
and accused me ...
had she fallen for the monster?

it isn't that way
it isn't that way at all ...

my veracity rose, my determination grew ...
"this is the way it is ..." I said ...
i would give everything
just to see one joyful flick of its magnificent tail
against the open sea ...
one glance of its giant face
upturned to the glistening sunlight
romping freely ...

III.

i was roused from my slumber as
Leviathan
reared its mighty head,
its scales crashed together
like a choir of cymbals
as it found its first full breath
and screamed out an echoing shriek ...
that rang in my ears ....
still clinching
my shadow in its fist ...

my prayers were answered ...
and i was a willing fool

it took no notion of me when
in one titanic motion
bounded towards the waves
unwittingly slapping my face
with its enormous tail as it passed by ...

damaged and colorless armored plates
that once protected
Leviathan
painfully peeled away and fell off
floating down into the darkness of the sea
parting ways as they vanished
into the blackness ...

so familiar - such a metaphor

i'm too beaten to care;
a bitter lie ... misunderstood
to trust and be convicted ...
for innocence misconstrued as filth
by one who'd been as close.

i hurt - i beg God to take it ...
take it far from the shore
away from the place
where I once bathed it's wounds
with my pleading prayers ...

fresh gashes bleed from my own invisible flesh -

an unintentional last blow from a healing
Leviathan
leaves a scar deeper than any battle wound
i had ever tended ....

i wince at the irony
as it plunders recklessly
back into the crepuscules of the sea ...

i hold my breath ...
quietly wait to see its head surge upwards ...
watch for the joyful splashing of its tail ...
linger for a ripple to lap my feet at the shoreline ...

i wait ...
and wait ...
and wait ...

nothing.

IV.

ice enters my veins -

it is a frigid night - a once scary darkness ...
i nurse my tender wounds
and pull the blanket of stars around me on the empty shore
and hear the distant thunder of a mysterious solitary call ...

i find my comfort ...
i've always loved the cold ..
it is now my dearest friend.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford (c)

Magpie Tales http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

A Glass of Dandelions ..

2011-04-11T11:50:00.007-04:00

One glass of wine they had never tasted

from a bottle never opened

from a vineyard they had never seen ...

But they knew this wine well ...

had tasted it in their imagination,

had read of it in books by Bradbury ...

Had tasted its sweetness

through innocent conversations

of music and musings and dreams ...

A glass of springtime

shared between the best of friends,

laughing as the cork is pulled ...

the scent, sweet like corn

mixes with the freshness of rain,

as it flows into the glass.

Unfiltered seed-heads twirl

in the golden liquid ...

little wishes soon to be consumed.

"What will you wish for?"

I answer .. "This moment."

And we share a sip of happiness

as Bradbury begins to read.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford 11'

"Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I'm one of them."

— Ray Bradbury (Dandelion Wine)

My writing challenge for today .... MAG 61 from Magpie Tales!

Thank you everyone for stopping in! It was in October (fittingly) of last year that I discovered the magic of reading Ray Bradbury. His works were introduced to me by one of my dearest friends in the world. I began my adventure with one of his best works, "Dandelion Wine". To commemorate my new-found adoration of "all things Bradbury", I purchased two bottles of Dandelion Wine ... one for myself and one for the person who inspired it all in the first place. Although I haven't yet opened my bottle, I often take it down, give it a shake, and peer into it ... tiny whirling parts of the seed-heads float serenely in the wine, like little captured wishes ...

Right, Left of "Kind of left" ...

2011-02-17T09:09:00.001-05:00

It was a beautiful day ... the kind of day you'd find in a Bradbury book. The air was crisp and blue and the sun was warm on my face when I stepped out the door that morning, so I dashed back inside and changed into my grubby hiking clothes and shoes.

I love hiking. I love to see where my feet will take me and what wonders my eyes will see as I venture onto a new trail. Granted, I know Arabia like the back of my hand. My son and I have spent hours there hiking and enjoying our time together being outside, which, in my opinion is where we're SUPPOSE to be the majority of the day ... not inside sitting on a couch being mindlessly entertained by television or playing internet games. The world is an amazing place ... it's meant to be explored.

So, with my Dandelion Wine book (by Bradbury, of course) in hand, a bottle of water and a camera, I set off to climb up to the summit. It's close to a one mile hike from the parking lot to the base of the mountain and my feet felt so light when I arrived there, I decided to run up the mountain instead of stroll. It was so much easier than I thought it would be ... maybe I AM as young as I feel! Once on top, I could nearly see the endless sea of forever! Not a single other soul was around, except for an eagle who kept doing flybys looking for prey.

Not an eagle ... but I did soar!

I found a comfortable spot on a rock and sat down, leaned back and pulled my Dandelion Wine book out, flipped over to about the middle and began reading about his best friend growing up, John Huff. Over the last few months, I've become a deep reader of all things Bradbury. I can relate to him through his style and presence of writing, so it was only natural that I enjoy reading him on a day such as that. It was about forty minutes later when I was startled back to reality by a covey of birds shooting up out of the brush next to me and decided it was time to do more hiking.

Arabia Mountain and I are old friends ... I've been hiking it for twenty something years, so when the thought of choosing which path to take came to me, I decided to come up with a more creative way of hiking. I texted a friend of mine ... "left or right".

"What?" came the reply.

"I'm hiking. There are two trails ... left, or right?"

"Right."

Somehow I knew that was going to be the answer, so I headed down the right side of the mountain from the direction I was facing ... or, the back of the mountain. Down through shrubs and puddles of water where salamanders scurried my feet carried me. Frogs leaped in all directions, leaving perfect circles in the water, and dragon flies zoomed around me in all directions. I came to another fork in the path ....

"Left or right?" I texted.

"Right", came the reply.

Each time, I'd text back what I was seeing, feeling and smelling. It became almost like hiking with a blind friend ... allowing them to borrow my eyes so that I could describe in detail exactly what I was seeing. If I didn't give enough information, a quick note came back that would simply say, "And ....." and I would continue describing in greater detail what was around me.

For a creative soul like me, I came to the sudden realization that had found a muse.

So this time I turned down a steep slope into the pine glade. Tall Georgia pines stood like thrown lawn darts, their tops closely woven together, in front of me. And then I stopped dead in my tracks ... it was the scent of something heavenly. It was light, like jasmine, but slightly musky the way old gardenias smell right before it's time to throw them away.

"The scent here is incredible!" I texted.

"Find out where it's coming from," came the reply.

So I began to look, following my nose. On the ground, in the air, I used my eyes to carefully scope out my surroundings to find what it was that was creating such a magnificent scent. My nose carried me through the pines and to the base of what appeared to be a pin oak. High in the tree were tiny white flowers on a vine ... perhaps that was where the scent was coming from. I'd never know.

"I can't find it. I think it's in the trees!"

"Don't kill yourself," came the reply.

Good advice .... I left it for another day and continued down the path, now growing narrow as I ventured deeper into the trees. Another junction ... two paths to the left ... one turning precisely left, the other turning KIND of turning left.

I inquired.

"Kind of left," came the reply.

This led me into woods so dark and deep that for a moment I felt I was drowning in a sea of bark and pine needles. The air was prickly feeling and all around me was the looming feeling of the tall trees over me. It was slightly unsettling, so for the second time that day I broke out into a slow run. The feeling was exhilarating as the tips of the pine boughs tickled my face with their needles as I dashed past ... like a thousand fingers reaching to touch me as I passed by. The goose bumps rose on my arms and the back of my neck .... perhaps Bradbury was playing with my head. I continued to run.

I ran all the way to the parking lot, not out of fear, but because it felt so great to feel my lungs swell with fresh air and feel my heart pounding in my chest! It may have been one of the best days of my life!

It hit me as I sat in the car that my solo hike had become very special in a way ... not only did I hike with Ray Bradbury, but also with a friend who was sitting miles and miles away in an office, helping me choose which way to go.

My Cup is Full ...

Life is sweet like that.

Rebirth of Inspiration ...

2011-02-08T21:47:00.000-05:00

his mind a blank canvas

abandoned, burned out

colorless, thoughtless

putting no words

to what he sees or feels

and then the flicker of one line-

an utterance in pencil by the visionary

brought back to life

among cornflower blues

and coppery cymbals

engulfed by ideas and dreams

as fast as his hand can scribe,

conveying woven tales

and parables

created by his own musing

lead and paper intermingle

at the stroke of his hand -

imagery captured once again in words,

the poet has come home again

to captivate the muse

Wanderlust

2011-02-08T09:52:00.001-05:00

the winter drapes cascade down
like the snow blankets the grass.

his footsteps on the porch
stomping off the snow

the scent of warm soup
heavy on the stove

the sofa awaits by the fire
her mothers blanket ready

two goblets of warm wine
a plate of tea biscuits

Frost on the table,
Rachmaninoff fills the room

this is the evening wanderlust
as shadows fall through the window

the front door opens

she welcomes him in

no warm day could soothe them more
no wintry breath could draw them closer

their shoes side by side by the doorway
the arms of their jackets entangled on the floor

If Only

2011-02-01T13:41:00.000-05:00

If only I had built a bridge
   instead of a wall ....
If only I had built a path
   instead of a darkened room ...
If only I had built an overlook
   instead of a cavern ...

If only I would have lay the bricks differently ...

If only.

Mag 51 ....
The place I demolish my writers block!

In Pencil ...

2011-01-26T07:51:00.012-05:00

"Five inches and still falling," I wrote in the small notebook.

The blanket of snow fell deep on the mountain that day ... "five inches and still falling." the weatherman had said. Curled up with "The October Country" by Ray Bradbury, I momentarily glanced up to gaze out the window at the tumbling flakes and shivered. Unprepared this time for the icy battle ahead, I laid down my book, felt for the cane beside my chair, and pushed myself up with a grunt, and a grunt, and a grunt until I found myself on my feet.

Across the room, the fireplace sizzled softly in the key of F# major without a bit of flame. My neighbor, Edmond, at the foot of the hill had offered to bring a load of firewood the night before and I had graciously accepted his offer. After neatly stacking it outside the kitchen door on the small covered stoop, he produced two bags of "the basics" ... milk, bread and eggs ... necessities that would see me through the ice storm that lay ahead. I may lose power at any moment ... a tree could topple onto the house ... or heaven forbid the bear in the top hat returns ... but by God I'd have French toast!

Slowly, cautiously, I made my way over to the fire and moved the logs around with the poker. Then giving the embers beneath a encouraging swish, I watched with interest as the flames burst back to life like the opera singer I remembered while on a bus ride to Raleigh. In the middle of the silent journey, she had, without any warning or announcement, stood up near the rear of the bus and exuberantly burst into Georges Bizets, Carmen in the key of D minor.

Although I never remembered being a fan of opera, and I'm confident when I say not one person on the bus that day had a clue what she was singing about either, we all sat ethereally listening as the bus slipped from the foothills of the North Carolina mountains ... the spell broken only a few times when someone near the middle by the window, nosily bit into a crisp red apple and was immediately chastised with stares, furrowed brows and head-shakes. That's twice I'd thought of that opera today. My mind seemed to be working well.

I hobbled over to the window and pushed the curtains back with the pine cane I'd carved for myself many winters ago, and peered out as far as my hunched back would allow. The icicle I'd been watching grow for hours had stretched nearly to the top of the porch railing now, and I amused myself as I pondered what would happen when it finally touched. What were those calcium things that developed inside caves? Stalactites? Stalagmites? One type grew up, and the other type grew down. I couldn't remember and didn't really care that much ... it was just another something to add to my long, ever-growing list of "things I'll probably never think of again". Letting the curtains drop back into place, I crossed the room again to the kitchen counter, picked up my pencil and the small red note pad which was already open and ready for me. Carefully beneath the printed words, "George Bezets - Carmen", I shakily added to the list, "the things in caves - stalactites or stalagmites".

Being trapped here in my cabin in the middle of winter, running out of food and firewood, perhaps dying a painful and lonely death in the winters snow, or that crazy bear with the top-hat and cane trying to break back into my house again ... none of those things scared me half as much as the myriad of things I was now beginning to forget. The feel of my mothers gentle hug .... gone. My zip code and telephone number ... gone, gone. The name of the imprisoned TV preacher I used to send five dollars a month to ... long gone. How many eggs in an omelet ... etc.

All leaving me and as things would come to me, I'd hastily write them down. Twelve little notebooks filled with notes now occupied a basket on the kitchen counter. There were more stuffed into the top drawer of my dresser ... several scattered across the fireplace hearth ... and at least three in the bathroom for whenever epiphany struck during your most delicate moments. At the age of 98, I looked forward to those "delicate moments" almost as much as I did the epiphany's ... but not quite.

Outside the wind rose to C major and the pick pick pick of ice pellets against the kitchen window increased in tempo, staccato, and vibrato and I curiously leaned across the kitchen sink to peer out the window into the darkening sky. Snowflakes blew like half crazed butterflies, illuminated now by the yard-light just outside the window. "Nights arrived, Lila" I told myself for no reason in particular, and for a half second I toyed with the idea of writing my own name down in one of my books ... just in case. You just never knew about these things.

It was the crash, like an orchestral cymbal on the front porch that startled me. Was it the bear in the top hat coming back for me, or was it the icicle finally pulling free from the eave? I pulled myself steadily along until I was back at the front window peering out. The icicle was still there, growing longer still, and the bear in the top hat was no where in site. But the thing that caught my eye was the large ice coated tree limb which now lay draped like some fallen, exhausted creature from another world across the steps leading up to my porch. I was now encased here and knew my ice cocoon would eventually enclose me like a chrysalis.

"Chrysalis" ... I hurriedly wrote it in my book before I forgot.

The clock struck once but it didn't mean a thing to me ... was it one o'clock, or something thirty? I didn't know and didn't really care any more. It was probably getting close to eight, but who kept up with time when you were as old as I? Judging by the chill in my bones though, which actually served a better time piece than the clock, I knew it was bedtime. Drawing the curtains closed as if I actually expected anyone to ever look through them on a night like this, I paused once more to take a look at the icicle. It was now touching the porch railing and the thought of seeing it in the morning gave me a thrill as I seldom had any more.

My eyes moved from the top of the icicle down to the bottom ... taking it in ... wondering if I gently hit it with the back of a spoon if it would resound with a "G sharp" or something more like an "A" note. Or, I surmised, would it be flat like the sound made when the percussionist hits the rim of the tympani? How I longed to go out and strike it, but instead I scribbled in the notebook beside the bed, "Note icicles make when hit. Find out tomorrow."

I pulled off my housecoat and stepping up on the footstool beside the bed, I gripped the covers and pulled myself into the bed. Though the sheets were cool, I felt suddenly warmer somehow. Outside the wind rose again and howled in the key of D minor ... and I quietly matched the pitch with a steady hummmmm.

And then, breathing deeply in, so deeply I could feel the air fill my lungs full for the first time in ages, I sang in high perfectly pitched soprano the first stanza of "La Habanera from Carmen" ....

"Love is a rebellious bird

That nothing can tame,
And it's quite in vain to call it,
If it's convenient for it to refuse.

.... Threat and prayer ..... do nothing.
One speaks well, the other silences,
And it's the other that I prefer,
It's said nothing, but I like it."

"Threat and prayer" ... the words had rushed back to me like a long lost friend! I rolled to my side and took the pencil in my hand, lifted the notebook from the table and scratched the words down for memory's sake. The bus ticket to Raleigh and the playbill for "Carmen", my name on the cover, slipped out from between the pages, and drifted to the floor like the snowflakes outside.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford - 2011'

Inspired by Magpie Tales

Click here to lose your Writers Block!

The Sliver Place ...

2011-01-25T18:07:00.003-05:00

If only there were a sliver ...

a crack in space

that we could slip through

and enter a place

where we are surrounded by books

and music

and paintings ...

and just outside the doorway

are all the places

we've ever dreamed of seeing ...

fields to cross

oceans to sit beside

mountains to walk ...

just for us

no one else.

If only we could slip through

and breathe in the sweetness

of our surroundings

shutting out the rest of the world ...

no yesterday

no tomorrow

no past mistakes ...

nothing

nothing but who we are

and where we are.

and what we hold on to.

Nothing loud to drowned out the silence ...

nothing silent to drowned out the music.

Nothing inside the walls

to label us dark

or light

or odd

or wrong

or right ...

just our tiny world

kept apart from the rest

like the first star of night ...

always unseen at the beginning

then ever growing brighter ...

softening the dark hallowed sky.

We'll stay till dawn

until the first leaf gently falls

on the metal roof ...

it is time to go

We slip back through

our secret sliver

back into the noise

the black

the white

the unwelcome rush of mephitic air

into our lungs once again ...

our fingers reach

to touch goodbye

as the sliver silently closes

behind us amid the chaos ...

the first leaf of Autumn

entangled in my hair.

-lynn hamilton rutherford 11'

Walking In Heels in January

2010-05-27T12:50:00.007-04:00

I looked down to admire my shoes. These were beautiful ... black suede peep toe wedges with a very narrow 5" heel, and tiny golden rivets sprinkled down the back heel of the shoe like shooting stars on a deep dark sky. How could anyone not look at these and be impressed? My husband could, that's who.

"Bye," I called as I pulled on my heavy winter coat, grabbed my purse and the leash of our Basset Hound, Bert. Bert was given to me as an anniversary present from my husband. Actually, I believe Bert was more my husbands dog, but he'd played me like a fiddle that day and tied a little red bow around his neck and placed the five pound puppy in a picnic basket four years ago. I admit, Bert was an adorable puppy ... big sleepy eyes, long droopy ears ... he was the perfect example of a "cute" postcard puppy.

As he grew, however, he'd become a chewing machine and when left alone, he was absolutely determined to destroy anything he could. Our two year old sofa looked like a Salvation Army reject, and my husbands recliner hung in shreds from about a foot down.

Now at a whopping 67 pounds and with a broken leg and unable to walk, he was a little less than "adorable". I wrapped the leash around my hand and lugged the big gravity-sucking creature up into my arms and carried him out to our garaged car for our trip to the vet. "And thanks for the help," I called sarcastically over my shoulder as I let the back door slam shut.

It was a one mile drive down the mountain to Dr. Willards Animal Hospital and the part dirt, part gravel road was practically frozen solid all the way down. Luckily our car was equipped for weather like this, and it did a fine job gripping the icy road. Bert lay quietly in the seat next to me, occasionally stretching his neck to peer out. It broke my heart that he couldn't hop up on the window sill to see the icy woods he loved romping in so much. I patted his head, "Don't worry, Dr. Willard will fix you up and we'll go for a walk in a week or two, alright?" Bert looked at me with trusting eyes and then lay his chin on the seat as if he'd understood perfectly what I'd said.

Right then, I heard an unfamiliar thumping beneath my car. Bert raised his head and began to softly growl. What on earth? Since the drive was only a one-lane road, I simply stopped the car and climbed out to see what I'd hit.

Nothing. Instead, I realized that my front tire was completely flat. Great.

The one thing my father had never taught me to do, was change a tire. I could build a potting shed, fix the refrigerator, change the oil, but I had no idea how to change a flat. Climbing back in the car I reached for my cell phone in my purse and then remembered I'd left it charging on the table by the back door.

I knew my husband wouldn't be coming down the road a while ... today his college football team was playing in the playoffs and it could be DAYS before he missed us. I imagined him, days later, eating leftovers for the second day in a row saying, "Honey ... when are you going to cook again, and do some dishes? They've piled up pretty high! Honey? HONEY? Now where the devil did she go?" then looking around puzzlingly at the unfolding mystery of my sudden disappearance.

"Darn it!" I yelled as I slammed my fists on the steering wheel. Bert jumped a bit and dipped his head as if he thought I were about to smack him for some unknown reason. "Bert ... we're stuck old boy and it's either up or down."

I crawled out of our warm car and went around to his side to lug him out. It was 13 degrees and if I left him in the car, I was afraid he'd either freeze to death or rip the entire interior of the car to shreds. "Come on you big galoot ... let's get you back to the house," I grumbled while trying to balance on tiny heels and carry Bert at the same time.

Little by little, Bert and I made our way up the drive, my ankles twitching and wobbling under the weight of each step. Several times my foot would roll completely over and Bert and I would tumble down, wide eyed and panicking. Thankfully, my heavy coat absorbed most of the impact and we'd get up and start all over again ... me standing in my fabulous heels, bending over, lifting sixty-five pounds of dead weight and taking that first precarious step, then another, and another.

Bert seemed to love the whole idea of me getting all dressed up, driving half way down the mountain, and then carrying him back up! His eyes sparkled as he looked around as if he'd never seen our mountain from this angle before, and occasionally he'd give me a little lick on the cheek as if to say, "Wow, thanks Mom ... this is wonderful!" ... all the while I'm on the verge of double ankle failure as I wobble, stumble and cuss my way steeply towards home.

Finally we made it to the base of our yard, where road turned to concrete. I was certain I was within ear shot of my husband who was undoubtedly engrossed in his game by now, so I yelled, "HONEY," at the top of my lungs.

I paused a moment waiting for the front door to open, but after a moment when nothing had happened, I yelled again a bit louder. Still nothing. So we continued while I shouted the most profane slurs I dared at my husband, happy now that he couldn't hear me!

Finally we arrived at the foot of the porch steps and had only nine precarious steps to climb. Home at last!

I angrily turned the door knob and kicked open the door. It sprang open like a trap and banged into the wall behind it, causing my husband to practically jump out of his skin and spill his tea all over himself and our shredded sofa. There I stood before him breathing heavily, my light beige coat torn and dirty, globs of mud on my face and arms, my hair hanging in stringy strands all over my head, and my beautiful QVC heels scratched and muddy. "What the devil have YOU been doing," he shot at me as I stood there looking as if I'd spent the night in the city dump, "I thought you were taking Bert to the vet?"

I lay Bert in his recliner and kicked off my once-beautiful shoes ... my feet throbbing from the walk and my toes nearly frozen from the cold. Breathlessly I managed, "We had a flat. At the bottom of the hill. I had to carry Bert. All the way back."

My husband stood up and jumped into action. If there's one thing he loved more than football, it was playing the part of the hero. "Leave Bert here," he said as if he actually thought I were stupid enough to carry him back down the mountain,"We'll go down in my truck, change your tire and then drive back up for Bert." I nodded, still out of breath and still somewhat annoyed at my husband for whatever reason.

I was just about to go in the bedroom for warm socks and boots when my husband turned and all-knowingly said, "I told you not to wear those stupid shoes. You should have worn your boots like I told you!"

The January ice entered my very soul as my stubborn I-will-not-be-wrong attitude gave birth to misery right there in my living room. I walked over to my QVC heels, smugly slipped them back onto my sore, cold, aching feet, and on now quaking ankles, precariously followed my husband out into the garage.

MAG 16 - FOR MAGPIE TAILS!

Underneath ... (a fish tale)

2010-05-21T11:29:00.003-04:00

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford

A Response to Mag 15 from Magpie Tales

Shanghai'd China and Super Glue

2010-05-14T19:40:00.006-04:00

In my basement there is a cardboard box filled to the brim with Blue Willow china. Place settings for ALMOST fifteen are wrapped in newspapers dated September 13, 1994 ... almost two weeks to the day after Mom passed away. Now before you stop reading, thinking "here comes a depressing piece, written by a down-in-the-dumps writer", I need to tell you that this is anything BUT a depressing piece, and I am anything BUT down in the dumps.

This little tale begins about forty-three years ago in 1966 when I was a mere six years old. We, meaning my Mom, my Dad, and myself, were wrapping that Blue Willow china for our move from Macon to Savannah, Georgia. Dad was unpacking the china cabinet and handing the beautiful blue plates to me and mother, and we would wrap them in newspaper and stack them in a box. At the time, there were sixteen place settings along with assorted matching bowls, pitchers, and tea-sets. Mom was desperately proud of that Blue Willow set, because she had saved up Octagon Soap coupons and ordered the entire set through the mail.

I know this because every time we used that china, Mom would regale us in how she purchased that Octagon Soap for everyone she knew, just so she could earn enough coupons for the set. In other words, if you had a birthday coming up, more than likely you would get a bar of soap ... well, a bar of soap along with a half a pound cake, or coconut cake.

Mom would tell this story with a lot of pride, and when she got to the part where she sent off the bulging packet of Octagon Soap coupons, she would ALWAYS be laughing at the idea that she bought soap every week for nearly two years, just to get that set of Blue Willow china. It was was her favorite "hard times" story to tell, and truthfully, I loved hearing it even though I didn't have a CLUE what Octagon Soap was.

So anyway, we are wrapping her china when Dad suggested that he and Mom have a cup of coffee. They vanished into the kitchen and I was left at the dining room table wrapping plates.

Don't ask me how it happened ... what strange event happened to cause the Earth to shift and yank the plate from my hand ... I haven't a clue. But whatever happened in that split second turned me from a cherub into an outlaw.

When I looked down and realized that the plate was broken almost perfectly in half, my heart plummeted like an elevator down to my toes. Since Mom and Dad were in the kitchen, I did what any normal six year old would do ... I wrapped both pieces in a piece of newspaper, smuggled it down the hall to my bedroom and then stuffed it between the mattress and the boxed springs.

Fast forward five more moves and it's the late 70's. I'm nineteen years old and Mom was unpacking her Blue Willow dishes and the one she had JUST unwrapped magically fell perfectly into two pieces in her hand. It was then that I spilled my guts, and since it was years and years later and Mom hadn't missed the plate in all that time, we both shared a good laugh.

Where, you might ask, had that plate been all that time?

Well, after unsuccessfully gluing it back together with school paste, I decided to bury the thing in the back yard once we were moved into our new house in Savannah. However, the ground was so hard, I could barely dig a hole big enough to bury a pecan, much less a Blue Willow plate. So, I hid the broken plate in the garage in a box of my toys I no longer played with.

During the NEXT move, I ran across that plate and decided to try once again to hide the evidence. Almost a dozen months later a torrential rainstorm washed the dirt from around the buried plate, so I had to bring it back in and hide it once again. It stayed hidden in my Barbie Doll case until 1976. I was sixteen and a glorious invention called Super Glue saved my life.

Late one night I covertly glued the plate back together ... forgetting to peel off the OLD glue before sticking the pieces back into one piece. I let it dry in the back of my closet before I carefully slipped it back into the china cabinet when no one was looking.

For thirteen long years that stupid broken plate had followed me around. It had been buried, hidden, smuggled, glued, and stuffed into a Barbie doll case. It had made my life a living nightmare at every dinner Mom decided to use the "good china". I held my breath during every move, and once when the box of china slipped out of Dads hands and hit the corner of the table, I PRAYED I could somehow slip that stupid plate into the box before anyone "outed" the missing plate. No such luck. Everything survived.

So, today the box of Blue Willow is in the basement. On the very top of the stack of plates is a wrapped plate that is very clearly broken exactly in half. On the back, there is a tell-tale line of dirt mixed with school glue from one of my many attempts at repairing the plate ... a plate that no longer "haunts" me, but rather comes along for the ride as I tell MY kids the story of that plate ... that stupid blue willow plate that Mom got with Octagon Soap coupons.

Idea from Magpie Tales #14

Quiet Passing ... The Baton ...

2010-04-26T11:06:00.005-04:00

A thousand songs.

A million tapping feet.

A Band at his command.

Drummers drumming merrily.

His baton carried the rhythm.

He anticipated the clang of the cymbal

and the trill of the flute ...

Beneath his feet he felt the following

of a hundred musicians

all watching his baton.

And when at last he lowered it

that warm April morning,

the drummers stopped their drumming

and the band came to a halt and waited.

"I am old and tired," he spoke lowly,

"I can only hear the rhythm in my mind now."

No one moved. No one breathed.

All eyes were once again on the baton

as his elderly hands passed it on ...

and the drummers once again began to drum.

A Vignette on Mt. Fuji ...

2010-04-15T19:48:00.001-04:00

Let it be said that "travel" is the greatest thing since public transportation. :)

Okay, seriously, my friend Tamarra reminded me today of the time the three of us took a trip to Japan to see the opening of a new resort near Mt. Fuji. It was billed as "the place with the worlds most breathtaking views" and it indeed was all that, but after staying in our hotel room for eleven hours LOOKING at Mt. Fuji, we decided to go climb a small portion of it ... and when I say small, I do mean small. Fuji is the type of mountain you need a whole TEAM of people with you for the climb. It's massive.

So .... we set out for Fuji and had heard from a man in Tokyo the we were welcomed to stay with his family in Fujinomiya ... a small town just southwest of Fuji! Transportation was a breeze! He even managed to set us up with transportation by "a man hauling rock" to the area. All it required of us was a short bus ride, a two hour stand under an awning, and to keenly watch for a "man hauling rocks". From there, we had a piece of paper written in Japanese that we were to give the "man hauling rocks" and he would deliver us to the home of the sister, or cousin, or whoever he said. We were just happy to have a free place for a couple of nights.

Amazingly, it worked like clockwork. Bus. Stand under awning. Look for the "man hauling rock". He came along almost EXACTLY two hours later. We handed him the paper, he studied it a moment, smiled and rattled off something that sounded like he'd been dubbed in Japanese. He motioned for us to throw our bags in the back of his wagon and get in.

This was actually the START of our adventure!

The rock man was indeed hauling rock ... HUGE boulder type rocks that we were constantly having to jump out of the way of as we were jostled around in the back of his wagon. The wagon was being pulled by two animals that I suspected to be oxen and our driver was a sweet old guy who smoked cigarettes and talked endlessly to either us or the oxen ... because we never understood a word he said.

Three and a half hours later we were deposited at a trail head and the "man who hauled rocks" pointed up the trail and shooed us along. We grabbed our bags and looked around. Okay, this was dire ... we were at the base of the mountain, it was getting dark, and had no idea where or how far it was to wherever it was we were going. To make matters worse, dogs, who obviously didn't understand English, were stalking us. Even when Paula, another one my traveling companions tossed them a Snickers, they only looked at it curiously as if we'd just tossed them a box of nails.

So we began to walk up the trail with the dogs following us ... probably ten of them ... all shapes and sizes. I don't know how long or how far we walked ... walking uphill always messes with your time ... but eventually we came to a hut-like cabin that the trail curved around at the rear. It sort of sat snuggly in a switchback of trails that led up the mountain. At sunset, it was beautiful and the trail seemed warm, inviting and beckoning.

No sooner had we decided that maybe we wouldn't be dying that night, the front door of the cabin opened and a woman came out, followed by four or five kids. We handed her the piece of paper and she scurried us inside and helped us off with our backpacks. We were led into the kitchen and she showed us a place where we could put our things and then began to set the table. I believe it was duck we ate, although I can't be sure, but it was delicious and the kids not only cleared the table the second (and I DO mean the second) we were finished but washed down the kitchen and happily twirled and laughed around us.

Then, as if on que, the woman began to turn off the lights, everyone filtered into two doors on the left and right side of the room, and the three of us were left standing there wondering what we were suppose to do next. Tammara noticed three rolled grass mats standing neatly in the corner with small pillows tied around them and she surmised that those were to be our beds for the night. So, we rolled them out on the kitchen floor (there was no living area) and almost immediately fell asleep.

We woke up the next morning to the happy sound of everyone filing OUT of their rooms and we joined them at the table where we had some kind of egg stuff with wasabi and onion I think. It was really good ... but so spicy it burned our mouths. To wash it down, there three communal cups filled with milk and as you know I don't do milk. So I ate the Japanese pancake instead to cool my mouth and drank strong strong STRONG tea instead.

After breakfast, we helped clear the kitchen, and were then immediately handed our backpacks and marched out the BACK door and our gracious hostess and her kids shooed us up the path for our hike. They all stood outside the back door and waved until we were out of site. It's a picture in my mind I'll never forget.

The dogs, which once again came out NOwhere, began following us, then trailed off on their own on a side trail down the mountain. In any event, we were hiking up Fuji on a beautiful day and couldn't have been happier!

Then it happened.

About an hour into our hike we all experienced an odd rumbling in our bellies. The rumbling turned into a growl and before we knew it, we were looking for bushes. All three of us were experiencing the Japanese version of Montezumas revenge, but this came on like an earthquake and for the next hour, we spent our time ducking behind the tiniest bushes and cleaning ourselves with whatever leaves we could find. It was then we decided we were never going to get anywhere at this pace, so we turned back.

Going down the trail we happened upon a Japanese man on a donkey (I swear I'm not making this stuff up) and using the wildest hand motions we could, we explained our predicament. Tamarra tried to give him the international sign for "toilet paper" ... which to her was making "rolling toilet paper off the roll" signs with both hands rolling. Paula, between cramps, struggled to tell him we had ate something bad by holding her belly, bending over and groaning. And I, being the one who hated milk so, decided it might be a good idea to give him the signal that I had drank milk, by tilting my hand up and down at my mouth and making "milking the cow" motions.

Now this man, who was smarter than all three of us put together, immediately summed up our problem and dug into his bag until he found exactly what he felt we needed. Into our hands he presented a brown bottle filled with a liquid that smelled somewhat like lighter fluid. He smiled and made the "drink it" sign and handed it to us. Tamarra greedily slurped a bit down and passed it to Paula and ultimately to me. He motioned for us to 'drink more', and we obeyed.

It tasted like lighter fluid.

In any sense, we chugged down the bottle with his encouragement, thanked the man profusely and handed him back his empty bottle. He trotted up the trail on his donkey, looking back only once to see us standing there as the curtain of bleariness began to slowly rain down upon us. It hit us so suddenly that my diarrhea was NOW accompanied by a fit of giggles in two seconds flat. Paula stumbled backwards and ultimately fell onto her backpack. Tamarra said it first ... "Oh my gosh ...We're sodden down drunk."

I could hardly stop giggling, being the lightweight drinker that I am (I grew up sneaking sips of my mothers homemade muscadine wine) and as I watched Paula try to stand upright and quickly tumble over, I would burst into a fit of laughter. We were horribly drunk now and in addition, the diarrhea had reached it's peak. Pardon the pun.

We could clearly see the cabin across the five or six switchbacks along the trail, and decided (in our inebriated state of mind) that it would be a grand idea if we just forgot the switchbacks altogether and just took a shortcut through low growing brambles and bushes, straight down to the cabin. So down our trio went. Paula mostly stumbling and getting back up, me pooping every twenty feet and killing over laughing, and Tamarra calling "the dogs" (in what sounded eerily like drunken Japanese) which we could see trotting up through the underbrush to greet us. Despite our situation, we were a happy bunch ... drunk out of our minds and staggering through the brush. We were a sight, I'm sure.

Twenty minutes later we burst through the back door of the cabin laughing. I ran to the bathroom to clean myself up, and Paula looked around for those mats so she could lay down. The woman looked TERRIBLY surprised to see us, and the children stood blankly in the kitchen looking at us as if they'd never seen anything like us before. We offloaded our stuff as the woman curiously watched us, then began preparing our lunch of rice cakes and fish. We were too exhausted and drunk to eat, so we just lay in the floor and softly moaned until we fell asleep.

We awoke to the sounds of many people in the kitchen milling around us. There must have been ten or fifteen people there now and they were taking pictures of us and pointing curiously at our bags. The woman prepared dinner, everyone ate and quietly talked among themselves, occasionally nodding to us and muttering in Japanese something we could not understand. Before dinner was over, another man with a small boy came in and we discovered to our delight (and horror) that the boy spoke English.

He gestured towards our hostess, "She want to know who you are."

Paula, our spokesman, explained we were from America and were here to hike a little on the trails.

He smiled, "She want to know why you are in her house."

It was Tamarra who began blearily putting pieces together .... we were not IN the same house we had spent the night. In fact, after taking a second look, this was not at all our hostess ... although in our state of mind, every single Japanese looked exactly alike. We had stumbled into a strangers house, made ourselves at home, and bless her heart, she was doing the best she could to be hospitable. We apologized profusely and began to leave, but our hostess insisted that we stay ... her father could take us back to the bus stop in the morning.

That night we fought off the giggles as we slept in a sea sickness type hangover. The next morning we walked down the long long LONG pathway until we got to the intersection we'd been dropped off at the night before. There were four roads here ... one going around the mountain, and ours going straight up.

The main road was flatter ... this was where the rock man had put us out the night before.

No sooner had we dropped our packs than we heard the familiar sound of a donkey braying and the rolling of wooden wheels. As if on que, the "man who hauled rocks" pulled up at the drive, motioned for us to get in, and he cheerily carried us back to the bus stop.

We all piled off laughing as the pack of dogs stumbled out of the woods across the road and waited with us at the bus stop.

It must be said that two of those dogs got ON the bus and rode with us for a few stops before they got off. Locals. pshhh ....

The Flasher ...

2010-03-25T13:55:00.005-04:00

"I'll be the first one up," she said

to her chubby siblings

who quietly lay in the bed beside her ...

and silently rolled their eyes.

"You watch," she said

as the snows melted

and rain began to fall upon their earthen roof,

"I'll be first one up," she bragged again.

The sun began to warm the ground

and quietly called the sleepy heads.

"See you at the top," she called

as she stretched upwards and downwards ...

... racing her bedmates to be the first

to take a look at the world.

But they shook their heads and muttered,

"Aren't you a mid-spring flower?"

Giggling she took one last great stretch,

pushed up the earth and then popped through

just in time to look back and see

her bedmates just arriving.

"Told you I'd be first," she quipped ...

Then victoriously leaned forward,

flipped up her skirt

and flashed her yellow pantaloons.

For more Daffodil poems, be sure to follow the link over to

Magpie Tales ...

A Box of Nails ...

2010-03-20T18:07:00.007-04:00

To Whom It May Concern ...

"I've had enough of your cold ornery ways!

I'm tired of your lying, cheating and backstabbing!

I've had enough of your leaving ...

making my heart soar as I happily packed up your clothes

and stuffed them out of sight (out of mind)!

And then, three days later ...

you'd show your ugly face again ... back at my door

expecting me to be happy to see you!

So once again

I pulled all of your heavy moth-ball infused clothes out

and hung them all back in the closet ...

angrily, I might add.

Never again will I trust your tawdry"signs"!

Your "I'm leaving this time for good" song and dance

no longer enchants me because

you ALWAYS come back!

Well, you cold, bitter,

what-ever-you-want-to-call-yourself today nuisance ....

I'll have you know that I've put your clothes away

once and for all.

I have in my possession a box of ten-penny nails

and I intend to use every last ONE of them this time.

That's right ... I'll be nailing the closet door shut this time

with your heavy as lead clothes inside.

You heard me right ... you no longer have access

to what everyone from Washington to Delaware

refers to as "your clothing"!

I've found another and will no longer

have room for you in my life!

So let this be our final "goodbye" ....

Spring is upon me and I simply don't have

room in my life OR my closet for you.

Goodbye Winter ...

Don't let the door hit you in the icicle on the way out."

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford

(having fun with a box of nails)

Thanks for having a giggle with me and my friends over at Magpie Tails on the first day of spring! :))

Another Spring ....

2010-03-20T13:04:00.003-04:00

It's been the longest, hardest Winter I can ever remember. Truly. Bronchitis hung on to me almost the entire season, so believe me when I say I'm THRILLED to see it go.

On Cherry Mountain there is a tiny little spring ... so tiny that if you were hiking through the woods across the mountain a week ago, you would step in it and scarcely realize that you had just crossed one of the most charming features of the mountain. But if you were to pause for a moment ... really pause and breathe in the surroundings a bit, you would realize you were standing between two upward slopes. At your feet you would look down and see that you were standing on rock, and perhaps then you would hear the faint, ever so faint, dripping of water. Watercress and moss lay like carpet at your feet, and the only other sounds you would hear are the chattering of birds and perhaps the scurry of squirrels in the trees.

Up until yesterday, my life felt very much like that spring ... dripping, tired, and unseen in many ways. I felt as if I had little more to offer, for that is what being shut up all winter can do to you. The world around me had buried me ... covered me up ... and nearly made me feel invisible. I knew I had potential ... I knew that somewhere inside myself, all I needed was a little dose of Springtime and I'd feel myself burst back to life. But Spring always seemed just out of reach ... always a week away ... another frost ... another cold front ... always coming and coming, beating me down and down until I was even LESS than a drip.

I was stagnant.

All this talk in metaphors brings me to this:

Yesterday, for the first time in a while, I talked to my Mountain Mother. To my surprise, she and I have shared this metaphor all winter. It has been as if we've been walking side by side all winter long, scarcely aware the other one was there. You cannot know the immediate comfort I felt in knowing that when looking back on my long lonely Winter, I was never really as alone as I felt. My Mother was walking with me and our closeness carried the two of us through the hardest of winters.

Then, yesterday afternoon after we talked, she took a walk down the mountain for the first time all Winter. It was as if something was pulling her along ... one foot in front of the other down a path she had walked a million times before. Across the road, down the drive, around the bend and through the deep Cherry Mountain ground cover she went. I can close my eyes and see her ... her heart thumping ... her eyes on the greenest spot in the woods. I can see her stepping determinedly ... her hand firmly clutching her walking stick ... I can hear her breath quickening.

Squinting her eyes, she takes a closer look ... then opening wide at what she sees! For years it had only been a lingering drip, and now, there it was ... flowing freely over the rocks again! The Spring head was alive and somehow Cherry Mountain worked it's magical spell and she, as well, felt herself coming back to life. She breathed in deep ... so deep that her lungs filled for the first time all winter.

And I, a hundred miles away at my home in Atlanta, felt it as well! It was as if she breathed in enough for the two of us and slowly I felt a gentle sigh flow through me. Winter was nearly over ... tomorrow it would be Spring!

Below is a home movie of that very spring and Jeff and I are playing in it, just as we did a dozen summers! He is coaxing a salamander out from under a rock in the movie and I stand enchanted as I watch him!

(Pause the music in my "Smokey Mountain Playlist" in the left hand column of this page before playing)

My House in Spring ...

2010-03-19T16:00:00.013-04:00

Spring at my house ....

Typing Under the Influence ...

2010-02-04T06:58:00.004-05:00

I am under the influence. That's right ... I'm under the influence of an accidental overdose of Chocolate Cake before seven o'clock in the morning.

It turned up in the refrigerator yesterday morning after an "I'm-starving-to-death" trip to the Grocery store ... one of those trips where everything looks delicious and there's always room in the buggy to squeeze in a bag of chocolate dipped pretzels or a one pound sack of yogurt covered peanuts. Mom called them "nibbles" ... food you don't REALLY need, but it sure is comforting to know they're in your pantry or fridge. These days, I call them deadly.

This morning at 5:45, I woke up and the first thing that went through my mind was, "HOLY COW I THINK THERE IS CHOCOLATE IN MY REFRIGERATOR!!" So, being of sound mind and body, I calmly walked into the kitchen, lifted the little white Pepperidge Farm Box out of the refrigerator, completely obliterated a quarter of it, washed it all down with coffee, and went back to bed.

I'm suffering from a side effect of not having my husband, Eric, here for two days. He's in warm sunny Florida for a business meeting and I'm stuck here seeing how much I can inflate my thighs and hips before he returns. So far, it's not looking good.

Actually, I take that back ... It's looking DELICIOUS!!!

He comes home late tonight and Alex, our 18 year old will be coming for a visit as well. Here's my conundrum ... do I save the cake until my diabetic husband and hypoglycemic son gets here? Or do I finish off the cake this morning and put this whole silly gastronomic disaster to rest once and for all? The third option that involves the trash can isn't an option at ALL. As mom would say, that would be like throwing the baby out with the bath water ....whatever THAT saying is suppose to mean.

HI MOM!!!!

2010-02-03T17:11:00.001-05:00

A little love to the worlds BEST mom!!! xoxox

SIX WEEKS People ... SIX WEEKS!!!

2010-01-27T11:45:00.002-05:00

For six weeks I've been dragged through every disease known to man ...

Haha ... okay, that's not entirely true, but I HAVE had the worst case of BRONCHITIS known to man and it's hung on for six solid weeks. Every time I have felt somewhat better, I've excitedly ventured out beyond the realm of my confines and discovered upon my return, that I've taken two steps backwards. This is the irony of this illness.

Two weeks ago I woke up feeling robust and rosy! It was a chilly day, so at noon I pulled on my coat and hat and took a walk up to the mailbox which was OVERFLOWING with mail. It seems I'm the only one who knows the way to the mail box -- the top of the driveway CAN be hard to find for some people, I suppose. And too, once they get there, there's that whole business of getting the thing open. *sigh*

Anyway ... I leisurely strolled up to the top of the drive, gathered, chipped, scraped and dug all the two week old mail in the BACK of the mailbox, and then strolled slowly back to the house. All the while, I admired how beautiful everything looked, except for my roses which had obviously taken a little freeze damage during the cold snap. Uugh.

The birds I had been feeding regularly up until the time I got sick, were so happy to see me they fluttered around me like they thought I was Snow White or something! So, while I was outside, I fed them and came on in. It felt so good to have fresh air in my lungs!

I gave the kitchen a thorough wipe down, folded the mountain of laundry that had piled up on top of the dryer, and put away dishes in the dishwasher! Even my favorite chair in the keeping room got a visit from me as I plopped down and just surveyed what the OTHER end of the house looked like after a four week absence!

I would have sat there all day perhaps, but the phone rang and I stood to answer it. That's when it happened .... a coughing fit to end all coughing fits. All I could squeak out was a feeble "hello". Luckily it was Eric making his noon call to see how I was feeling. "Uh oh," he said, and then ordered me back to bed, preceded by a heaping spoonful of the worst cough medicine known to man kind.

And then today, this morning, I woke up feeling better than I have in what seems like AGES now! I've cleaned the house, but avoided going outside. Not one little cough has passed my lips today! It feels so good to know that here it is almost one o'clock and I still feel great! Perhaps I've turned the corner at last!

Special Note to Mom .....

2009-12-26T12:45:00.002-05:00

I love you all so very very much!!!!

Cooking and other Monday Near Disasters ...

2009-12-07T12:06:00.000-05:00

CONFESSION: I am not really a cook.

DISASTER #1

People think I can cook. They think I'm the type of person who can (at the drop of a hat) whip out a recipe book (one of among the hundreds my mother left me when she passed away), pick any recipe, zip off to the market for the ingredients, come home, go precariously step by step through the instructions, and create a masterpiece that would rival Martha Stewart. Really ... I get that all the time.

A girlfriend once called and said something like, "Hey ... I'm making Bruschetta, and this recipe calls for arugula. This store doesn't HAVE any arugula. What can I substitute?" ... as if I even know what arugula actually IS!

Secretly I'll Google it, discover that it is a small island in the Pacific and has NO business being in a recipe for Bruschetta. After checking the spelling and RE-Googling it, I discover that according to WiseGeek.com, arugula (Eruca vesicaria sativa) is a leafy green herb of the mustard family, similar in taste to watercress. Known also as rocket, Italian cress, roquette, and rucola, arugula has elongated dark green leaves that are lobed like the leaves of an oak. In the ground, the plant resembles a loose lettuce with long, slender leaves.

Aaah .... watercress ... that was something I knew a little about. I'd pulled it up by the handfulls out of the spring at Cherry Mountain and ate like a bunny, so I told her, "Just substitute watercress for it. That should do the trick."

Three hours later she called me back and lavished me with praise ... the watercress was wonderful on the Bruschetta .... whatever THAT was!

While I'm not a natural cook, I DO consider myself a "lucky" cook. Things just seem to usually turn out for me. Eric says I have a "nose" for it ... I can smell it while it's cooking and tell what it needs and I'll toss in a pinch of salt, a dash of pepper or a sprinkling of thyme.

Today I decided to kill two birds with one stone and make two stuffed pepper cups for me for lunch and chili for twelve people tonight at a friends house. That's three pounds of ground beef, browned and washed, divided into one LARGE serving for the chili, and a small proportion for my pepper cups. After the ground beef browned, I rinsed it in warm water and began chopping up the onion, the half of a bell pepper, the three cloves of garlic, and rubbed the sage and salt together.

I have no idea how it happened or what I was thinking, but instead of chopping up ONE onion, I went into an "onion chopping zen" or something and chopped a humongous pile of FIVE onions, and ALL of the bell peppers (leaving no cups for my "pepper cups"). Actually I was watching Kate belittle Jon again on a rerun of John and Kate Plus Eight and just got completely self absorbed.

Anyway, I didn't realize my kerfuffle until I had dumped everything into the ground beef and gave it a stir. I was mortified. It looked as if I was cooking chopped onions and peppers with a sprinkling of ground beef for twenty instead of twelve! My heart headed south.

Quickly dumping everything into my largest spaghetti strainer and running cool water over it so it would be easier to handle, I stood at the sink and picked out onion chunk after onion chunk ... pepper chunk after pepper chunk. After twenty minutes I finally had the proportions right, a trashcan foully steaming with hot onions and peppers, and finished up my chili and tossed it in the crock pot to stew till dinner time.

The mixture that was SUPPOSE to be pepper cups became a casserole and is now baking away in the oven. Topped with Parmesan cheese, it smells heavenly!

Disaster #1 Avoided.

DISASTER #2

Decorating for Christmas is one of my favorite things to do, so yesterday when I clipped off the most beautiful branches of our evergreen tree beside the garage and brought them inside, I could FEEL Christmas in the air!! Evergreen smells wonderful and this morning I arranged them with hurricane lanterns on the railing beside the stairs going down to the basement and turned to make the chili and pepper cups.

Two hours later I turned around to see my cat Gracie standing on the bench beside the railing with her paw raised. She was so cute that I went over and rubbed her head and asked her, "You like the decorations?" She didn't move a muscle, but gently tapped at the decorations and let out a soft little "mew" that made me take a closer look.

Maybe it was the warmth of the house, or maybe it was just "time" for it to happen, but HUNDREDS of baby praying mantises were ALL over the top of the arrangement! HUNDREDS of them ... about a quarter inch long, green and creepy looking squatting there praying.

-ewww-

I attempted to toss the entire arrangement over the back deck, but tripped in the doorway and launched it straight onto the deck floor, then watched in horror as the hundreds of mantis's scurried off their habitat and began marching across my deck like the Israelite priest at Jericho. Ten minutes later a flock of birds had a literal FEAST on my Christmas Decorating Crashers. So much for Jericho.

So it's not even noon and I've thus far avoided two disasters. The chili and pepper cup caserole smells heavenly, and even as we speak the back deck is a plethora of birds, reminiscent of some Dora the Explorer version of Alfred Hitchcock.

THE "Near Disaster" SCORE SO FAR THIS WEEK

Girl: 2
Disasters: 0

I am a happy girl.

PS ... on a side note, an earthquake hit my hometown of Milledgeville, Georgia last night at 7:30. Luckily for them, I wasn't there. :)

My Heaven ... a Weekend at Cherry Mountain!!!

2009-11-23T19:56:00.018-05:00

Enlarge this photo by clicking on it and you'll see why I call this picture "Heaven Under the Moon". Why is it heaven? Just look at the angel standing on the porch! :))

---

It was such a thrill watching my 15 year old daughter drive down the twisting turning road that leads up to the house! She did an amazing job!!! I'm so proud of her!

---

Sasha, the part wolf dog, is a gentle soul and always the first to greet me when I open the car door! She's quite the lady ... the "queen" of the hill!

---

Moss rock is a lovely little rock about a quarter mile from the house! Below it, you can see the old road. I'd love to know how many people she's watched pass her over the years!?

---

This is the switch-back in the fall .... I love the river of leaves!!!

---

Me and my Brother Dog, Nugget. He's the most faithful dog in the world and I love him dearly. Sasha is precious to me, but Nugget .... Nugget owns my heart in the dog world!

---

The Davey Mountain rising up in the sleepy blue afternoon mountain mist. I love how colors change up on the mountain ... it's amazing!

---

Clover and dandelions live happily above the frost line!

---

Dandilions ...

---

Orange geraniums on the mountain will keep going till after the first frost!

---

My daughter took this photo of her way out pop-culture shoe against the aged stone and green moss. It's sort of like "two world collide" right there in one photo!

---

Mom's roses blooming heartily above the frost line ....

---

So beautiful ..... it'll take your breath away with the leaves!!!

---

The frost has happened below, but up here, the roses are putting out new buds as if oblivious to the fact that winter is on the way!

---

A parade of corn-husk dolls, all dressed up for another lovely day of standing around doing nothing but looking adorable!

---

Beautiful!

PS ... my beautiful daughter took most of these!!!
I love her!!!!

Finding My Feet BELOW 35,000 Feet!

2009-11-17T11:55:00.000-05:00

I tell everyone ... "At 35,000 feet in the air, I misplaced my own".

That's what happens when a mother and wife becomes a flight attendant. I lost my feet ... lost what grounded me ... and somewhere up there, I found myself trapped in a world I did not belong.

I was far FAR from home and hated every moment of it.

But my Mountain Mother, Nancy, always said "God never closes one door without opening another," so one dark night, 35,000 feet up above the Rockies somewhere over Colorado, I found my feet again. I put them firmly back on my legs, and left the job I had a love/hate relationship with from the start! That's right ... I'm no longer a flight attendant. No longer will my career EVER take me so far from my family and the places I love.

These days, you'll find me closer to home with a camera in my hand. I'm doing professional photography and even though I've done it casually for years, I've finally taken my art to the next level. I'm calling it "artography" because my pictures tell stories. So far, it's become my best paying job of all time. Mom was right ... the door didn't just open ... it blew off the hinges!!

Here are a few samples of my work:

-sweetness & light-

-the giggler-

-cherubic eyes-

-celebrating fall-

-i get by with a little help-

-mother & son-

-the little princess-

-autumns eyes-

-a walk in the grass-

-stopping on the bridge in fall-

Or, you can head over to my website: Lynn Rutherford Photography and see samples online! Some galleries are password protected.

If you'd like me to come up to NC and do photoshoots that are unlike any other, please give me a call at 404 735-4210. I'm planning on coming up the first week of December for two days to do shoots in the area. My prices are the best anywhere for the high quality work I do: $25 an hour/then you purchase whatever prints you want at your convenience online. No high pressure sales! Prints start at less than $1.50 each ... and 8x10's are less than $10. I can deliver in less than seven days!

Please let me know what you think of my work!!! Love you all ... and I'm continuing to write write WRITE!!!

-Lynn

Thirty Year Class Reunion ... In Splats!

2009-10-25T18:03:00.001-04:00

I can't believe I considered missing it in order to stay home with my partially mobile hubby, but he was getting around nicely ... even driving, so I went!! Trust me when I say I had the best time!!!

Glenda, Lori, Beth and Me

Now for those SPLATS!

* Even though the drive was kind of long, driving through the little towns of Locust Grove, Jackson and Monticello brought back tons of memories of when I drove home every weekend when I first moved to Atlanta. All those cows and pigs and horses and chickens ... it was like driving through Farm Town!!

* So downtown Milledgeville was closed off for the Deep Roots festival. Since I got into town early to make my pilgrimage to the Bakery, I enjoyed browsing the crafts and bumping into people I knew way back when I lived in this amazing little town! Deep Roots was a lot of fun and the music was REALLY wonderful! There is something paradoxically funky about walking through Milledgeville with some guy with a very strong hillbilly accent singing Patsy Clines "Crazy" at the top of his lungs! Even MORE paradoxical is when you notice that not only are YOU singing, but everyone around you is singing along as well!!! I'm so proud of my town!!! Haha!

* Three people came up to me, hugged me, called me by name and asked how the family was! They even told me they sure hated it when my mom died and wanted to know how Eric and the kids were. I have NO idea who they were. *blush*

* The first person I saw when I parked at GMC was Russel Harding who gave me a ticket to the football game. FABULOUS game and as always the GMC band rocked it! This half-time they did a melody of Queen tunes which was incredible!!! It takes real talent to do Bohemian Rhapsody and they didn't miss a note!!! Freddy would be proud!!!

* The campus looks amazing!!! General Boylan has done an awesome job with the school and it really reflects his efforts and success!!! Back when I was there, Air conditioning was just the cold stuff in the library ... now they have these amazingly wonderful buildings that perfectly reflect the nostalgia of the place and they are fully air conditioned!! I WELL remember literally sweating through finals.

That's her ... The old Capitol Building ... lots of great memories there!!! And yes, that's my old High School. Beautiful.

Duty Honor Country

Character above all ...

So beautiful ....

* I always have to make a pilgrimage to see the concrete bulldog that sits right outside the library. Number one, he is a point of pride for our school and represents the Bulldogs and our school spirit. But secondly, I have some fond memories of distracting Bob (the security guard at the time) with chicken from the Shrimp Boat (his favorite) around the back of Vinson Hall. While he munched down on chicken, me and my posse would sneak back around and paint the bulldog. I will always be partial to our baby blue one with hot pink eyes, but this new creation looks pretty good and I'm ashamed of myself that I never thought of it myself. :))

Okay ... how many times did I paint this dog?!? Three? Four? I sort of like this rendition ... :))

* The class of 79 met at Chops, an ancient bar downtown Milledgeville. The first person I saw was Glenda Brookins Chandler. It was the perfect way to start the reunion. While she and I barely passed three words between us my entire four years at GMC, I now consider her a very good friend and truly a kindred spirit. Over the years we've discovered we have so much in common and her husband Herbert is so much like Eric it's scary. Anyway ... eventually the rest of the class began trickling in (fashionably late of course) and the party began.

Me and Glenda ... haha ... LOVES her!!!

Lena and Glenda & Mike in the Back ...

At Chops ...

* The girls hadn't changed a lot ... at least "I" don't think we had. And as usual, we had so much to talk about and catch up on. It was so nice seeing them all!! It's been AGES since I'd seen Lindi and I was overjoyed to see her!! She hasn't changed a bit in thirty years!!!

The chicks ... Claire, Lindi, Glenda, Marsha, me and Lena

* The guys hadn't changed much either and amazingly they were still talking about the same things they USED to talk about thirty years ago. haha ... FOOTBALL!!! These three were my three favorites to watch during our GMC football games .... Walter, Mike and Russ ... it was nice to see the three of them sitting there chatting like old times!!! Great guys! Lets' see ... Walter is an attorney, Mike is an entrepreneurial genius ... he's in chalk and food, and Russel is an insurance agent. Still a force to be reckoned with.

Me & the guys ... Walter, Mike, me and Russ .... love these guys!!!

* I was happiest of all to see Lena!!! It has been thirty years since I saw her and she is still the warm and wonderful person she ever was! We used to love Journey and Queen ... now we love Casting Crowns and Queen! haha .... Anyway, I adore her and her laugh is absolutely contagious!!! She and Tony (her husband) were a happy addition to the reunion this year!!! I adore her!!!

Me and Lena ..... LOVE her!! ♥

* The food was yummy and the pasta salad was incredible!!! We danced, ate, had drinks from the bar, but most of all we did what the class of 79 is most famous for ... we partied!!! Before we went onto the Dance Floor, I grabbed the 1979 Sign on our table and we boogied out flaunting our sign and letting everyone know the class of 79' was STILL mighty fine!!!

Oh yeah ... the class of 79' is STILL mighty fine!!!

* I had to leave early to get back to Eric and his recovering knee, so after I said my "good-byes", I began the long dark trip back to Atlanta. About half way home I glanced over in the seat next to me and saw with delight the perfect picture to sum up my day .... acorns from the campus so I can root them and plant them in my yard ... confections from Ryals ... my GMC football ticket ... the alumni weekend program ... my name tag ... and a full and happy heart!!!

The seat next to me on the ride home ... my name tag, acorns, a box of Ryals, the program book and ticket to the football game!

* I looked around the tent last night at all the other classes mingling and talking, and perhaps it's because MY class is, after all, MY class ... we seemed different to me somehow. We're closer ... we seem to have a more spirituous thread that has kept us connected us through the years. We've lost a handful and those losses are deeply felt ... but those of us that remain are better, stronger, wiser, and happier because of our roots to GMC! Maybe it's because we were the 100th year class, or maybe it's simply because we are the more determined. But I believe with all my heart we took those values, traditions, and challenges put forward to us by our teachers and instructors at GMC and we took them as far as we could! We're all happy ... we're all successful ... and we're all still connected.

In my journal from 1979 I wrote down a quote from General Salet, headmaster of GMC when I attended. He and I had a great conversation while I was babysitting his dogs for him at his house one weekend while he and his wife traveled. We were sitting on his dock watching Balzac, his gigantic poodle bound around in the water after they returned, and I'd asked him why he preached "mental toughness so much".

"I'll tell you a secret," he said, "You won't get mental toughness at high school or even college, ... you'll get it once you're out there away from it, when you're out in the world and it's just you and everything you've been taught. The TOUGHNESS happens in your failures, not your successes ... but MENTAL toughness happens when you finally realize that it was your classmates and comrades, not your instructors, that shaped your ideals. Fifty years from now when you realize you've been a success, it'll all make sense. You'll see."

Amen. AMEN!

Well, it could be worse ....

2009-10-22T18:43:00.001-04:00

Well, we're past the "ow ow ow" phase and have entered a more familiar phase ... the "can you fix me another sandwich" phase! This is such a good sign because I know the pain is lessening and he's starting to overcome the anesthesia and all the creepy side effects that go along with it.

Foot pumps are these interesting little exercises he has to do five or six times a day. When he does them, he looks as if he's mashing hard on the gas of an invisible car then letting off, over and over. These little exercises are sort of the precursor to the exercises I'm sure they'll assign him once he begins physical therapy next week.

Tennessee plays Alabama on the 24th and I'm anticipating that he'll make an attempt to struggle up the stairs into the family room to sit in his "football injury" chair for the game. It has been suggested by friends that I invest in seat belts and possibly a straight jacket for the game if he insists on watching it. Therefore, my duty all day Saturday morning will be to pile the stairs leading to the family room with as much clutter as I can dig up so that he'll have to reconcile himself to the smaller downstairs television and the more up-right chairs. As a consolation prize, I'll fix him all the football goodies I can think of ... wings, nacho's, and dip ... in hopes of fulfilling his game day expectations in other ways! *grin*

It should be an interesting Saturday.

I'm just thankful he is a football fan and not a NASCAR fan. Can you imagine what would have happened if he injured himself watching NASCAR? I can imagine him tossing himself out the window, down the stairs, or flipping the Lazy-Boy upside down in a ten car pile-up!

What a WEEK! What a MONTH! What a life!!!

2009-10-21T15:35:00.000-04:00

What a week! WHAT A WEEK!!!

Even now as I finally sit down and type, I'm amazed by everything that's happened over the last seven days. Since it would take ages to write it all out, I'll put this one in splats to make it easier:

* So last week Eric was scheduled for surgery on his knee. It seems a thing inside the knee called a meniscus ended up getting torn during a football injury about three weeks ago during the Tennessee/Florida game. No, he's not a football player, but he DOES play tight-end from our Lazy Boy in the Family Room upstairs. He missed a tackle (from his seated position) and in an effort to recover the football, he jumped out of the Lazy Boy and tore the thing called the meniscus. Long-story-short ... it got better, we canceled surgery, it got worse, we rescheduled it. Anyway, surgery happened yesterday at Piedmont and now he's recovering here at home. I'm suddenly thrown into the role of mom, nurse, cook, fetcher, and "oooh'er and aaaah'er" when it comes to looking at his knee. I'm getting pretty good at turning an "ooh, that looks gross" into an "Awwww, you're handling the pain so well, honey".

-- my little ham ... right before going in --

* I took Alli and three of her best friends to the Georgia National Fair to see David Cook in concert last Sunday. We only had four tickets, but since really good things almost always happen to me when I least expect it, a lady in the parking lot came up and asked me if I wanted a free ticket to the concert! Of COURSE I agreed and amazingly I sat directly two rows behind Alli and her posse. The concert was really great and even though I'm not a big "concert goer", I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. David Cook does a great show, he really does!

-- fantastic concert --

* Fair food is one of the most incredible inventions by modern man. What is it about cotton candy, corn dogs, nacho's and funnel cake that tastes SO much better served on a cheap paper plate with brown napkins? I enjoyed a little taste of everything until I simply couldn't keep another thing down. I was JUST paying for my lemonade when out of the corner of my eye I saw David Cook and HIS posse talking to a security guard who was giving him a box of drinks and candy apples. I sauntered over and asked what I had to do to get a T-shirt for my daughter. Amazingly, David Cook told me to follow him and we went inside the empty concert venue and he told the guys at the table of t-shirts to give me what I needed ... a t-shirt and two bracelets. What a nice guy and like I said, the nicest things happen to me when I least expect it.

-- There he goes .... David Cook heading back inside the concert venue! --

-- Nikki, Kayla, Alli and Ashley enjoying the concert from row ten! --

-- funnel cake --

* Lets see ... Monday afternoon I made one of my favorites, meringue mushrooms for a study group I'm in. These little confections are not only fun to make, but equally fun to eat because they look EXACTLY like mushrooms that pop up in the front yard after a rain shower! Anyway, I walked into the back door of the home where we have our study group and the hostess stared at my little basket of mushrooms and said, "Oh my ... what did you bring?" Obviously a kindred spirit who detests REAL mushrooms as much as me, she was rather intrigued and enchanted when I revealed that they were only a faux confection that only LOOKED like the real thing. Needless to say the group devoured the entire basket! Yes, they are just that delicious!!!

-- Faux mushrooms, made from meringue --

* God amazes me. Check out the incredible sky He painted for us a few weeks ago!!!

The sky tonight ... our creative God!!!

Bed Time Ramblings ...

2009-10-15T10:29:00.000-04:00

This has been an interesting little week to say the least. Actually, the last THREE weeks have been doozies if you want to give this note it's rightful label, but I don't have the energy for that, so I'll just get straight to the meat of this little bed-time ditty.

* My son, came home for the homecoming dance last weekend. Not only had he grown a foot and a half, but he seemed so much older and wiser! He talked in strange syllables, and actually revealed he has a rather active social life now! My gosh .... I did it. I actually made a man!!

* NOTE TO SELF: No matter how much you're craving them, it's never a good idea to eat two boxes of Frosted Mini Wheats straight out of the box in three days. Yes they are healthy. Yes they are fabulous. But I don't cotton much to the post-cereal-overdose effects on the colon. Even now, days later, I feel as if I've been filled to the brim with soda pop and thoroughly shaken.

* Alli is into Scrabble and has beaten be twice... not only does she know bigger and better words than I do, but because this isn't just a GAME to her. It's a vendetta. I won the third time but only because I cheated. YES, I cheated ... sue me. But no way was I about to give my "already smarter than me" tenth grader the satisfaction of beating me a THIRD time, and learning more words to slay me with in the process.

* I'm turning Alex's room into a study/guest bedroom .... a "not for the squeamish" project that has conjured up some rather interesting observations about the man formally known as my little boy. It has also stirred up some questions that I just don't quite know how to phrase, but I'll try. "What is a pickled shark and why is it in a jar in your room?" "What's the Styrofoam block with duct tape and medical tape wrapped around it for?" "How many BRAND new protractors does one kid need? Six obviously wasn't enough." "A bag of leggo men heads with a torn of Ace of Spades inside .... you're not into Witchcraft or anything weird like that are you?" "I found the fish you won at the carnival nine years ago. He doesn't look too good."

Odd things found in Alexs room: two old dice, a triangle, a pickled shark, and a piece of Styrofoam covered in duct tape and medical gauze.

I have no idea?!?

* Eric has surgery Tuesday ... for REAL this time. The last time it mysteriously got better ... then it got worse after he canceled the surgery. Now it's hurting so bad he can't straighten his leg and when he walks, his arms fly up in the air as if they are in a gravitational field of their own.

* I'm making meringue mushrooms tomorrow.

Vignettes from Cherry Mountain ...

2009-09-06T21:05:00.004-04:00

It was wonderful ... I drove up the twisting curving roads ... across meadows ... through afternoon haze ... cornfields ... up and down mountains ... through sleepy towns and farmlands ... and finally arrived to find Moms arms outstretched at the back door.

~~~~~~~

The "hold-me-up" tree ...

This tree is so old and tired, it depends on the other
trees around it to help hold it up.

Alli's Surgery ....

2009-07-08T20:01:00.002-04:00

Conversation between Alli and her doctor right before surgery ...

ALLI: So can you put my appendix in a jar for me?

DR: No, I'm sorry, I can't do that.

ALLI: But I want it.

DR: Sorry, but I can't let you have it.

ALLI: I ALREADY have it ... I grew it. It's mine.

--------------------------

---------

I'm going to cut to the beefy chase ... as most of you guys know, Monday Alli woke up with a sharp pain in her side. Since she's REALLY tough and never complains about anything, we rushed her to the doctor and they ordered an ultrasound Tuesday Morning since they suspected it may have been early onset appendicitis.

Tuesdays tests didn't come back till Thursday morning, and since they came back inconclusive, and since Alli's pain was STILL there, they ordered a CT Scan this morning (Friday). Since I had to get dressed for work this morning, Eric took her to the hospital for her scan. I got dressed and since I had about twenty minutes, I ran by the hospital to kiss my girl "goodbye" before I left. By this time, I was thinking it was just an ovarian cyst, which was the doctors second suspicion.

I walked in the hospital, turned the corner and saw Alli and Eric standing in the hallway in front of the OR. Alli looked worried .... "whats going on" I asked. Eric broke it to me that Alli had to have emergency surgery on her appendix ... it had to come out ASAP.

Yadda yadda yadda ...

She was prepped ... the nurse doing her IV's blew three veins *grrrrrrr* and then stuck her four more times trying to get the IV in. She kept complaining about Alli's veins ... and was about to sick her again when Alli's eyes welled up with tears and I felt my face turn beet red with anger. Daddy's "daddy claws" came out and IMMEDIATELY a new nurse from the lab (a ten year pro) came in, and in one smooth stick, she had the IV in and going. THAT was the only bad part of the events.

ANYWAY, They gave her "whoah I feel grooooovy" drugs, Alli got really chill and then it was time to go. They wheeled her in ... they wheeled her out an hour later ... and my very VERY groggy daughter awoke hurting and dazed. We sat with her for about an hour and then our wonderful friends (and hers) came to the hospital to wish her well. How I LOVE our friends and I don't know what I'd do without them!!!! As a mom, they are the glue that holds me together in times like this.

Alli's favorite teacher, Mr. Windsor, stopped in first ... then my girlfriends, Rhonda, Monica, Susan and Diane ... then Alli's friends Ashley and Tiphani and two more of my girlfriends Lisa and Nancy. You can't know how much those short visits brightened my daughters day. She lit up like a Christmas tree.

After everyone left and about twenty minutes later, they discharged Alli and she stood up to get changed. The moment, and I mean the MOMENT she stood up, my daughter went from pale to absolutely GREEN! She immediately threw up and had to lay back down a minute. Ten minutes later, she was ready to try again, and we successfully made it to the car.

She's home now ... exhausted ... horribly sore .... but happy for this chapter in her life to be over. She's been resting in her bed and a few minutes ago she woke up long enough to ask for a bite to eat. I fixed her some soup ... she ate a little ... and fell right back asleep.

As for me ... I'll be here with her for a few days. NO way am I leaving my daughter when she's so fragile.

Anyway ... so that's the day in a nutshell. I am so thankful for all the prayers and wonderful notes and calls and messages. You guys have NO idea what you all mean to me!!! I miss home ... I miss my Cherry Mountain and I miss Moms hugs ... I miss the dogs and the smell of the garden ... I miss home. I miss home so much.

I love you all dearly ....
Lynn

Holy Snakes in a Cemetary!!!

2009-07-08T19:45:00.003-04:00

From October of last year ...

Sunday afternoon we drove down to my hometown, Milledgeville Georgia, to put flowers on my mom and dads graves. I don't get down there as often as I'd like to, so when we go, we enjoy taking our time and visiting my old haunts. Sundays trip was no exception.

The cemetary is located WAY out in the country down a road that you won't find on any state map, county map, or any other map for that matter. It's an old logging trail that was cut over the top of an old wagon trail. It is my fathers ancestoral homeland ... the place where they settled in the mid 1800's to grow cotton, tobacco, and corn.

.... REYNOLDS CHAPEL CEMETARY ....

It's a place of rich history and every tree around tells a story. Five thousand acres were owned by my family at one time, so I know this area very well. I know the creeks, the hills, the nooks and crannies. I can tell you where the old stills were, and where the houses of my great great grandparents stood.

....THE OLD HOME SITE ....

Reynolds Chapel cemetary is located on a road not listed anywhere. The name of the road is Davis Road ... my great great grandmothers maiden name. The house that used to sit on Davis Road is long gone ... struck by lightening in the 1950's. Amazingly, the house was being aired out at the time and most of the antique furniture had been moved into the barn. The floors were being polished. My great grandmother always said it was the best bad luck ever. Anyway, I'm off track ...So, we pulled into the cemetary and got out of the car. While I placed the flowers on Mom & Dad's graves, Eric and the kids walked around the cemetary looking at the old tombstones and markers. I enjoy the time alone.

....MOM & DADS GRAVES @ REYNOLDS CHAPEL ...

The oldest grave here is from the early 1700's ... it's down a small pathway lined by iron fencing. The kids love walking the paths and reading the markers. Eric decided to walk with them. Thank heavens.They'd been gone five minutes or so when I heard yelling ... "And there's another one ... and another one! Look at that one! ANOTHER ONE!" I assumed they were looking at some sort of grave, so I ignored them. Then something crawled past me."DON'T MOVE HONEY!" I hear somewhere to my left. I don't dare move.The mysterious thing went on past me and Eric and the kids dashed over to where I was and informed me that the graveyard was CRAWLING with snakes. Eastern Coachwhips to be exact. They were EVERWHERE and I'm not just saying this ... they were literally everywhere. Perhaps 20 to 30 of them ... HUGE snakes around four or five feet long ... as big around as a large plum. They lay all around the cemetary in the sun warming themselves, and when disturbed, they crawled MUCH faster than any of us could have ran. Luckily they were more afraid of us than we were of them.I was so thankful I had brought my camera, because there is NO way to describe how sureal this experience was ... laughable ... hysterical ... unbelievable ... I could go on and on. There were just too many snakes to wrap your mind around and we were standing in the middle of them!

...THE SNAKE THAT DASHED PAST ME ...

=================

... THE LARGEST OF THE SNAKES ...

=====================

...ANOTHER SNAKE ...

------------------------

...ERIC POKES ONE HE THOUGHT WAS DEAD BECAUSE IT WASN'T MOVING ...

The snake above was one that didn't seem to have much life in him. He just sort of lay there like a water hose till Eric poked him. I can't TELL you how fast this snake moved ... he could have easily outrun us if he'd headed our direction. And as he ran, his tail whipped like a bull whip ... going at least a foot in the air. It was incredible.

We stayed a bit ... marveling at the sheer numbers of snakes and then we started back to the car. Carefully ... and quietly.

We were about half way there when we were passing the old Johnson plot (where the Johnson family is buried). This is one of the ancient plots ... 1800's or so. Anyway ... we're walking by and from somewhere under the tombstone we heard a very unfamiiar sound. It was a loud sound and it scared me and Alli half to death. You don't usually HEAR sound coming from a grave.

Eric yelled "freeze" ... and Alli and I stood frozen. There in the front left corner of one of the Johnsons graves, was a hole about the size of a grapefruit, and snakes were slithering in and out of it (photo above). We all watched, dumbstruck, for five or six minutes ... keeping in mind that these snakes could have outrun us if we had upset them in any way. So ... we stood there as they went about their business.

Eventually all the snakes going in were in ... and the ones coming out were out and had curled up in the sunshine.

... CLOSE UP OF THE HOLE WITH A SHINEY SNAKE HEAD COMING OUT ...

I've seen a lot of interesting things in my life, but nothing will ever compare to this experience! It was like a movie ... the ground crawling with snakes ... the Johnson grave ... the speed of an Eastern Coachwhip.

All the way home we talked about these snakes ... about our experience in a dusty central Georgia graveyard down a road not listed on any map. For a long time we'd agreed that this would be the place we'd all be someday laid to rest ... under the swaying hickory trees. But sometime during the two hour trip between Reynolds Chapel cemetary and home, we all agreed we'd be cremated instead. After all ... we don't want to end up like the Johnsons.

*quiver*

======

FOOTNOTE: I'm flying almost non-stop ... rarely seeing home .. until this past Friday when Alli had an attack of appendicitis and had to have emergence surgery. I FLEW home to be with her. She's recovering now and in only a little pain. Prayers for her continued healing are appreciated!!

MIXING BISCUITS WITH MOTHER

2009-05-27T09:07:00.003-04:00

The scent of coffee always
aroused me from my slumber,
rumpled headed,
bare footed, eyes barely open.
I'd wander into the kitchen
and find my mother at counter,

staring out the window at the birds,
with her hands pressed up to the wrists
in buttermilk biscuit dough
she'd mixed in her grandmothers
well worn wooden bowl.

She'd turn to smile at me when
she'd hear me toddle into the room
and crawl up in a chair beside her.

I'd ask for a bit of the dough,
and she'd pinch off a piece
and roll it in flour for me
so I could eat a little
without getting the stickiness
on my fingers.

Then together, with flour on our cheeks
we'd roll out ping-pong ball size balls of dough
with our well-floured hands
and press them into the pan
with the backs of our knuckles.

I pressed my nose against
the glass oven door and watched
as our biscuits rose high in the oven,
fluffy white centers,
and mine and mothers
imprints ... big and little ...
pressed into the tops.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford

Oh Where Have You Been, Lynnie Girl, Lynnie Girl ...

2009-04-19T14:03:00.002-04:00

It's been a wild and wooly two months and now that it's actually happened, I can share it all with you without the fear of jinxing it!

Two months ago I was hired by AirTran Airways to be a part of the Flight Attendant Training Program to become, you guessed it ... a flight attendant.

It was a grueling two months with so much study that even now that it's over, I can't quite believe I was able to wrap my mind around THAT much information. It's so much more than serving drinks and pretzels these days. Gone are the days of merely the sweet face greeting you at the door to cater to your every need. Nowadays, since September 11th, we are now trained to fight terrorism in the air, which includes hands on combat, recognizing tools of terrorism, and protecting the flight deck. Flight attendants literally lay their lives down for every single person on the plane as WELL as the people on the ground should anything happen. We're also trained in First Aid ... stopping bleeding, CPR, and doing general first aid for over twenty emergency situations.

Yes ... this is my life now and while at times I stop and think "what have I done?" ... for the most part, I'm ecstatic about my new career.

On the flip side, I miss my family and my Mom in North Carolina more than I can express. I miss the dogs and waking up to the smell of coffee. I miss hearing the kids laughing or Eric in the kitchen cooking and joking with us all.

Mostly, I miss my writing. I miss waking up and typing out the latest thoughts that waft through my mind. When I DO have time to write, I'm usually so tired that I just fall into bed and fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.

So ... we'll see how this works out. I just wanted to let you all know I've not forgotten any of you.

Love always,
Lynn

Soles ...

2009-03-17T19:18:00.005-04:00

We'd hiked down the hill on muddy ground,
taking the same path he'd taken
too many times to count,
and stood together on a little bridge
gazing up the hill
melancholy
as his ashes were scattered
glistening in the sunlight
floating in the breeze

mixing
mingling
intertwining
dancing
and weaving as one with mother Earth.

Leaving our shoes at the back door
with his shoes
still waiting where he left them ...

ashes and mud
still clinging to the soles
of a dozen pair
all kicked off
in one lovely pile

mixing
mingling
intertwining
dancing
and weaving together as one
once more.

Clearing ...

2009-02-18T16:57:00.008-05:00

Beside a mossy rock
in the woodsy darkness,
we stopped for a moment,
our daypacks heavy
with droplets of dew
our feet sore and aching.

In twilight like woodlands
we'd walked for hours
among conifers and fern
over a stone littered ground
taking each step carefully.

Then, as if God
has flipped a switch
in the darkness,
we were suddenly aware of
a clearing ahead
where the ancient pathway
lined with grass the color
of Granny Smith apples
meandered slowly
through the North Carlina wilderness.

We stare ahead,
as our eyes struggle
to dilate from the sudden brightness ...
like a shade had been thrown open
and sunlight had streamed
into a darkened room

We sat and watched
as tree limbs pressed
against the deep
blue sky overhead,
forming dark shadows
along the pathway,
airbrushing crosshatched
ever-changing patterns
onto the well-traveled soil
in the clearing just ahead.

Then, without a word,
we picked up our packs
and followed the trail
until we were standing
in the sunlight,
our faces tilted upwards,
our eyes closed
breathing in deeply
the sweetness of the moment,
unaware for the first time
in days that our
feet were hurting.

(This is the second poem of a twelve poem series I'm currently working on entitled, "Crossing Blood Mountain" ... ruminations from when my daughter and I hiked the Appalachian Trail in Georgia and North Carolina.)

Lynn's Homemade Chicken Parmesan Soup

2009-02-16T11:35:00.000-05:00

I love making up soup recipes and this is one of my better creations! We've drained the pot and everyone is asking for more!

INGREDIENTS:

1 whole chicken cut up
2 cans of mixed beans (lima, black and navy is what I used but any beans will work really)
3 cups of diced potato partially cooked
1 cup Parmesan cheese grated
2 tsp Italian Seasoning
1 tbsp flour
2 carrots cut up small
1 cup onions chopped
3/4 cup celery diced
3 cloves chopped fresh garlic
1 cup ditalini pasta (uncooked)
2 tsp butter
Salt/Pepper to taste
Fresh Parmesan cheese grated or sliced Provolone Cheese
Toasted hard bread - any type (I like baguettes)- sliced 1/2 inch thick
Chopped parsley for garnish

METHOD:
Put the chicken in a pot and cover with water to about three inches above. Let it cook until tender and falling apart. Remove chicken from the water (now broth) and pick out the bones. Chop up the chicken and put it back in the broth, cover, and let it continue stewing on medium heat while you prepare the vegetables.

In a saute' pan, let butter come to a sizzle. Saute' carrots, onions, celery, garlic and a little salt and pepper. Let cook until onions are clear and start to caramelize a bit. Add that to the soup pot.

Drain the beans, and dump them in the pot along with the diced partially cooked potato. Add the Italian Seasonings. Stir well and let stew for about a half hour, covered, on low heat. Stir often and add water if you need it.

Turn up the heat to high. Mix the 1 tbsp of flour with 1 cup of water until it's dissolved and pour into the pot. Soup will begin to thicken, after it does, turn back down to low. Add the ditalini pasta and the 1 cup of grated Parmesan cheese. Stir this in really well. Let it stew for about thirty minutes. It's going to start smelling REALLY amazing!

SERVING:
Put a piece of toast in the bottom of a soup bowl. Ladle soup over the top and top with the fresh Parmesan cheese or Provolone. Give it a minute to melt. Sprinkle with fresh parsley. OMG! It's soooo good.

Without the toast so you can see what it looks like.

More Photo's From the Poetry Reading ...

2009-02-15T16:48:00.020-05:00

Here are a few other pictures I thought you all would enjoy! Please feel free to take and use any of these as you like!!!

I apologize if I don't remember everyones name, but I was sort of in awe of all the talent in that room!

Michele Keller opening up the meeting!

-------------------------

Kathryn & Me
---------------------------

Me & Karen Holmes
Her round poem was amazing!
-------------------------

Richard Argo
One of my favorites!
----------------------

Clarence Newton
His poem was truly unforgettable!!!
--------------------------

Nancy Simpson (Mom), Kathryn & Me
I'm SO out of my league in this photo, but I'm so
proud to be able to simply stand next to them!!!
----------------------

Michelle Keller
Organizer of the Event ... what an amazing job she did!
---------------------

After the meeting was over, I snuck back in and
took this shot from around the corner. I sort of liked
all of these incredible poets having private "poet-talk"!
--------------------------

Linda Smith
------------------------

Idel Shook
Her poem was one of the wonderful little feel-good poems!!
------------------------

Karen Holmes reading her unforgettable poem!
------------------------

The room was filled with talent and I felt so blessed to
simply be in the company of these amazingly creative minds!
----------------------

Glenda Barret
She is SO precious!!!
--------------------------

Carole Thompson
A beautiful lady with amazing poetic style!
--------------------

Brenda Kay Ledford
You gotta' love Brenda Kay! From her wonderful accent to
her unique style, she's the whole "poetic package"!
---------------------

Elizabeth Rybecki
An amazing hostess! She made us all feel
right at home!

A Moment on the Trail

2009-02-13T08:28:00.006-05:00

A narrow path vanishes into the woods
several feet wide
several thousand miles long.
We step onto it
my daughter and I,
our daypacks strapped to our backs
a walking stick in our hand
and climb towards the summit
of Blood Mountain.
For hours we walk
through rhododendron thickets
and beneath moss covered trees
bowing deeply over the well-worn pathway.
Dampness encloses us
as trees silently breath in and out
the sweet scent of living wood.
We stop a moment to catch our breath
and listen for the deafening silence
that surrounds us
in a hazy green darkness
interrupted only by white blazes
that mark the way.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford

(This is the first poem of a twelve poem series I'm currently working on entitled, "Crossing Blood Mountain" ... ruminations from when my daughter and I hiked the Appalachian Trail in Georgia and North Carolina.)

Fog Departing

2009-02-12T08:06:00.007-05:00

I've crossed this mountain
a hundred times on clear blue
days when the air was so crisp
I could slice it with my hand
stretched wide out the car window
like the wing of a bird
floating on the wind
tilting up so it would rise
and dipping down to watch it fall.

But today the summit is hidden from my view,
encased in fog that rolled
in from the slopes of Blood Mountain
settling here on Neels Gap
... a bridal veil tossed down from heaven.

I find my way to the drive
slowly pull into Walisi Ye's parking lot
and climb out into the dense fog
amazed that I can't see my own fingers
at the end of my hand.

Muffled voices in the fog are laughing
"I can't see you, but I can hear you,"
they say, "Keep talking so I can find you."

The stone Walisi Ye store
sits ten feet before me
but today the curtain is drawn
and I see nothing but grey-white velvet.

All around me are footsteps and voices
of people finding their way
up the seven steps that lead to the patio
of the seventy year old building,
feeling ahead with their toes
arms outstretched in the heavy mist
eyes squinched, trying to focus.

A damp breeze brushes against my neck
and in a breathy wave
the fog is rolled up,
the curtain tossed down the back side
of Blood Mountain.

Forms and shapes of people suddenly appear.
A woman in a red hat is standing
less than a foot from me.
A bald man in an overcoat
is scratching his head.
A couple standing
beneath an umbrella.
All around me people stand frozen,
gaping, surprised,
looking around as if they had just been
beamed down from heaven
unaware of new surroundings
in a newly unfolding
bright and sunny day.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford

Photo's From the Poetry Reading!

2009-02-11T19:13:00.019-05:00

I will never forget this wonderful day!!!! From the moment I woke up to
the time I got home ... it was a wonderful trip!

This is the view from the sofa I sleep on. I COULD sleep downstairs
in the bedroom, but I love being close to Mom and being able to
look out the window at night. The moon usually comes
across the top of the house and hits me in the eyes around
one in the morning. Last night though, it was so overcast
the moon let me sleep all night without waking even once!
Thank you moon!
---------------------------------------

Here's Mom (Nancy) introducing Kathryn Stripling Byer to the
group! She did such an amazing job! I'm so proud of her!!!
_____________________________

The Little Bookstore where we all read.
--------------------------------

The beautiful and talented Kathryn Stripling Byer!
She dazzled us with her poetry. You could have heard
a pin drop as she read! Amazing!

________________________

The poets and poetry lovers!
_____________________________

The incredible dessert table! Wow, was that
cake ever wonderful!!! Thank you to our
hostess!
_________________________

I'm so proud of this picture! Two of my favorite poets in one shot!
Mom (Nancy Simpson), Kathryn Stripling Byer, and me! You guys
just don't know how PROUD I was to be among such
distinguished poets!
____________________________

Meeting of the minds afterward!
_____________________________

Looking from the bookstore downtown Hayesville!

____________________________

Downtown Hayesville! So Lovely!

--------------------------------

As I was crossing Blood Mountain driving home,
the visibility was less than fifteen feet! This was one
of the better moments and it was like
driving through soup for about ten miles!

-----------------------------

Another shot of the fog on Blood Mountain!

Grandma's Remedy

2009-02-09T16:31:00.014-05:00

Night. Sweet night.
The smell of Grandmas' hair
unfurled from the bun,
lavender oil combed through
lays in wisps across her pillow.
She's out like a light
and unaware
that in the bed next to hers
we nibble the last slice of
pound cake left out.

Warm cocoa
laced with peppermint schnapps
served with a pepper mint stick
so we never suspect
will lull us to sleep soon.
It is her way of quieting
us down.

My cousin drank hers too quickly
and cannot stop giggling
at the sound
of someones stomach growling
somewhere beneath the quilts.
Is it mine?

Eight feet in one bed
we whisper "do you feel woozy?"
"who's feet are those?"
or "don't hog the covers."
There is never enough
real-estate in grandma's
guest bed.

I raise up on my elbow
looking for more room
and see grandma
sleeping soundly
in the twin bed next to ours,
slightly smiling
with cocoa foam still
clinging to her upper lip
the strong scent
of peppermint
heavy on her breath
and an empty cup
on her nightstand.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford

Trickle and Flow

2009-02-08T13:06:00.005-05:00

I long to see the spring head
now buried beneath
ages of leaves and limbs
that have decayed to dirt
blocking the flow.

It once flowed freely
over rocks and pebbles
tumbling down
carving a mark
in this old mountain.

Salamanders once hid
squeezed tight
beneath the rocks
yellow eyes peeked out
toes dug into the mud.

I pull away the mire
and watch water gurgle
slowly to the surface
then lazily roll down
half buried rocks

No salamanders
will be disturbed today
they have moved
further down the mountain
following the trickle

to where it joins a lively stream
flowing freely
over rocks and pebbles
carving a mark
in this old mountain

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford

Underneath

2009-02-07T10:49:00.028-05:00

Mud,
black and smelly
like cold week old
chili that's been
left out to spoil,
I smoosh my toes
down into the guck
and watch
them vanish as they're
sucked under.

My red cork
bobs in the river,
as I occasionally tug
but forever being
outsmarted by
fish that swim
in the dark
and brackish water
of the Altamaha.

For all I know
there are eyes
of strange creatures
just beneath
the surface watching,
using a long tongue
like a windshield wiper
to wipe away
mud from the lens's
of their eyes.

My toes are
in another world
where worms
and crawling no-see-ums
squirm and wriggle
yet I feel nothing
but the muddy yuck
and coolness
against my feet.

I lift my foot.
The mud slurps
my toes,
like the first
scoop of jell-o
being spooned
from the bowl,
trying to suck them
into the underworld.

I pull in my line
and find once again
that I've been robbed,
my bait gone
and a muddy blob
of earthy muck
left in it's place
like a calling card
"We were here."

The smell of
rot and decay
wafts up
to my nostrils.
I pull my feet out
and wipe them
in the deep grass
growing thick
on the riverbank

leaving holes
in the mud where
my feet were,
slowly being refilled
by creatures below,
annoyed that once
again they'd failed
to pull in the big one
that got away.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford (1984 -Darien Ga.)

(Twenty five years ago I traveled to Darien, Georgia to house-sit for a friend. Their beautiful cottage sat on the banks of the Altamaha River, one of the muddiest places I'd ever been to in my life! This morning I opened up Kathryn Stripling Byer's blog and read her poem "Night Fishing" and it literally took me back. So I dug through my poetry box and found this piece I wrote during the week I was at the Altamaha! Thank you Kathryn for sparking a memory! I'd forgot I ever wrote this!)

A LESSON IN EGGS

2009-02-06T16:28:00.009-05:00

Hanging on a nail behind the door,
stained with droplets of coffee
was a yellow apron with white rickrack
that tied around the neck like a bib.

Aunt Jewell stood me on a stool before the stove,
slipped the apron over my head and rolled up my sleeves.
In front of me, a cast iron frying pan
laden with bacon grease, sizzled on the stove,

and in the oven, two-story biscuits
were turning a golden brown.
She asked, “Do you know how to crack an egg?”
And then, with her gentle but twisted hands,

she helped me tap the eggs until they broke
into the bowl, “Do you know how to stir?”
I beat those egg with all my heart
as Aunt Jewel watched

and massaged her arthritic fingers
never once letting on that they ached.
“Do you know how to pour?” she asked,
as she handed me a wooden spoon

and tied my hair back with a green velvet ribbon
as I poured them in the pan. “Stir them around,” she told me,
and as I did, they turned deep yellow like the apron.
And when they were done she scraped them into a bowl

and announced to the room that
“Lynn made the eggs all by herself.”
Dad said they were the best eggs he’d ever had
and winked at my Aunt Jewell as I

reached for another biscuit
and fill it with warm honey,
as I sat, still wearing the yellow apron
with fresh dots of yellow egg on the bib.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford

17 Minutes With My Daughter ....

2009-01-31T19:43:00.002-05:00

There are moments in our lives that if we let them pass us by, we never get back again. Tonight on our way back from Books-a-Million, my daughter Alli and I had such a moment. As we drove out of the Books-a-Million parking lot, Alli spotted something in the sky that caught her attention. A gigantic flock of birds, some sort of blackbirds, were sweeping across the sky against the background of the setting sun.

There were thousands of them ... perhaps millions ... all in one long line perhaps a quarter of a mile wide in places. We were dumbfounded.

Right before we turned onto Pates Creek Road, we realized that we would be passing right beneath them, so we sped up a bit, not wanting to miss a moment. What happened next is something I'll never forget and I'm so happy I shared it with Alli.

As the gigantic flock of birds flew over, we pulled off the side of the road and parked, rolled down our windows and gazed straight up over our heads as tens of MILLIONS of birds flew over. Yes, MILLIONS. It was the most amazing thing I've ever witnessed.

For seventeen minutes we sat there looking up, mesmerized as this incredible flock flew over. We sat there until the last threads of birds flapped noisily overhead ... seventeen minutes of nothing but an endless stream of birds, and heaven only knows how many were ahead ... perhaps ten miles of them or more!

As we sat, we thought up all sorts of interesting thoughts .... our favorite was that some angel up in heaven was saying, "Ooops ...." and accidentally draining heaven of all the unborn bird-souls, pouring every bird that will ever be, down onto the earth. And we imagined God saying, "It's alright! I'm God! I can make more!"

We pondered why they were flying north-east instead of south ... or when they would take a rest an let the guys in the back catch up to the guys in the middle! It was the most wonderful 17 minutes I've ever spent with Alli and I'm so glad I pulled over!

We estimated that we had witnessed a line of birds at LEAST eight (maybe ten) miles long, and what amazed ME the most was what Alli said as the last bird flew over ... "And imagine Mom, God knows them all by name."

I can learn so much from my 14 year old daughter.

Frozen ..

2009-01-22T10:21:00.006-05:00

Today I'm not inspired to write
for I've been stranded here all night
stuck in my cabin far from town
watching the snow just tumble down.

The dogs and cat must think me odd
for up and down the floor I trod
looking out at the garden walk
and with myself I have a talk,

"I'm okay, the sun will soon
melt away this doom and gloom,
the road will thaw, I'll be set free,
but for now I'm here - and here I'll be."

The ice on the road is slick like glass,
the old switch-back I dare not pass,
for down the mountain side I'd go,
tumbling down to the valley far below.

So here I sit on my hill and wait,
and you know I sort of like my fate ...
I'm warm as toast in my cozy abode,
waiting for sunshine to thaw the road.

There's much to do and I don't mind,
for now at last I have the time,
I'm inspired by the view while there's still light,
but I'm not inspired enough to write.

Walking in Heels in January ...

2009-01-17T10:13:00.018-05:00

WRITING ASSIGNMENT from my Mom's Blog .... ... which, may I add is an incredible place to curl up on a cold January Morning!!! Thanks for this, mom!
THE ASSIGNMENT:

It is January, and it is the coldest day of the year. Your car stalled. You have to walk the rest of the way home, carrying something heavy. It is not your only burden on this cold day. Write a poem or write a scene for a short story.

=================

I hated to admit it, but for once my husband (to my everlasting annoyance) had been right.

"Those shoes look absolutely ridiculous with that pair of jeans," he had told me while brushing his teeth. I looked at him with horror as the foamy tooth-paste spit rolled down his awkwardly extended little finger and dripped on my carpet. "You should wear boots or something ... maybe your loafers!"

I rolled my eyes. Men knew nothing about fashion or how to stand over a bathroom sink and brush. Mine chose to walk around the house doing menial tasks while he brushed his ... like flipping channels on the TV, finding a pair of socks, or telling me what I should or should not do.

"How about you just keep your spit in the sink and keep your fashion advice to yourself," I'd said with a stomp. Besides, these were an absolutely fabulous pair of heeled pumps that I'd purchased on QVC for only twenty-nine dollars! Supposedly all the movie stars back home were wearing them, and since my know-it-all-husband had moved me from California out here to "hooterville" North Carolina, I knew I'd never find anything like this in Helen's Clothing on Old Riddle Mountain Road.

I looked down to admire my shoes. These were beautiful ... dark navy blue with 5" heels, gold buckles on the side, and tiny golden rivets sprinkled across the toe, like shooting stars on a deep blue sky. How could anyone not look at these and be impressed? My husband could, that's who.

"Bye," I called as I pulled on my heavy winter coat, grabbed my purse and the leash of our Basset Hound, Bert. Bert was given to me as an anniversary present from my husband. Actually, I believe Bert was more my husbands dog, but he'd played me like a fiddle that day and tied a little red bow around his neck and placed the five pound puppy in a picnic basket four years ago. I admit, Bert was an adorable puppy ... big sleepy eyes, long droopy ears ... he was the perfect example of a "cute" postcard puppy.

As he grew, however, he'd become a chewing machine and when left alone, he was absolutely determined to destroy anything he could. Our two year old sofa looked like a Salvation Army reject, and my husbands recliner hung in shreds from about a foot down.

Now at a whopping 67 pounds and with a broken leg and unable to walk, he was a little less than "adorable". I wrapped the leash around my hand and lugged the big gravity-sucking creature up into my arms and carried him out to our garaged car for our trip to the vet. "And thanks for the help," I called sarcastically over my shoulder as I let the back door slam shut.

It was a one mile drive down the mountain to Dr. Willards Animal Hospital and the part dirt, part gravel road was practically frozen solid all the way down. Luckily our car was equipped for weather like this, and it did a fine job gripping the icy road. Bert lay quietly in the seat next to me, occasionally stretching his neck to peer out. It broke my heart that he couldn't hop up on the window sill to see the icy woods he loved romping in so much. I patted his head, "Don't worry, Dr. Willard will fix you up and we'll go for a walk in a week or two, alright?" Bert looked at me with trusting eyes and then lay his chin on the seat as if he'd understood perfectly what I'd said.

Right then, I heard an unfamiliar thumping beneath my car. Bert raised his head and began to softly growl. What on earth? Since the drive was only a one-lane road, I stopped the car and climbed out to see what I'd hit.

Nothing. Instead, I realized that my front tire was completely flat. Great.

The one thing my father had never taught me to do, was change a tire. I could build a potting shed, fix the refrigerator, change the oil, but I had no idea how to change a flat. Climbing back in the car I reached for my cell phone in my purse and then remembered I'd left it charging on the table by the back door.

I knew my husband wouldn't be coming down the road a while ... today his college football team was playing in the playoffs and it could be DAYS before he missed us. I imagined him, days later, eating leftovers for the second day in a row saying, "Honey ... when are you going to cook again, and do some dishes? They've piled up pretty high! Honey? HONEY? Now where the devil did she go?" then looking around puzzlingly at the unfolding mystery of my sudden disappearance.

"Darn it!" I yelled as I slammed my fists on the steering wheel. Bert jumped a bit and dipped his head as if he thought I were about to smack him for some unknown reason. "Bert ... we're stuck old boy and it's either up or down."

I crawled out of our warm car and went around to his side to lug him out. It was 13 degrees and if I left him in the car, I was afraid he'd either freeze to death or rip the entire interior of the car to shreds. "Come on you big galoot ... let's get you back to the house," I grumbled while trying to balance on tiny heels and carry Bert at the same time.

Little by little, Bert and I made our way up the drive, my ankles twitching and wobbling under the weight of each step. Several times my foot would roll completely over and Bert and I would tumble down, wide eyed and panicking. Thankfully, my heavy coat absorbed most of the impact and we'd get start all over again ... me standing in heels, bending over, lifting sixty-five pounds of dead weight and taking that first precarious step, then another, and another.

Bert seemed to love the whole idea of me getting all dressed up, driving half way down the mountain, and then carrying him back up! His eyes sparkled as he looked around as if he'd never seen our mountain from this angle before, and occasionally he'd give me a little lick on the cheek as if to say, "Wow, thanks Mom ... this is wonderful!" ... all the while I'm on the verge of double ankle failure as I wobble, stumble and cuss my way towards home.

Finally we made it to the base of our yard, where road turned to concrete. I was certain I was within yelling shot of my husband who was undoubtedly engrossed in his game by now, so I yelled, "HONEY," at the top of my lungs.

I paused a moment waiting for the front door to open, but after a moment when nothing had happened, I yelled again a bit louder. Still nothing. So we continued while I shouted the most profane slurs I dared at my husband, happy now he thatcouldn't hear me!

Finally we arrived at the foot of the porch steps and had nine precarious steps to climb. Home at last!

The living room door burst open causing my husband to practically jump out of his skin and spill his tea all over himself and our shredded sofa. There I stood before him, my light beige coat torn and dirty, my hair hanging in stringy strands all over my head, and my beautiful QVC heels scratched and muddy. "What the devil have YOU been doing," he shot at me as I stood there looking as if I'd spent the night in the city dump, "I thought you were taking Bert to the vet?"

I lay Bert in his recliner and kicked off my once-beautiful shoes ... my feet throbbing from the walk and my toes nearly frozen from the cold. Breathlessly I managed, "We had a flat. At the bottom of the hill. I had to carry Bert. All the way back."

My husband stood up and jumped into action. If there's one thing he loved more than football, it was playing the part of the hero. "Leave Bert here," he said as if he actually thought I were stupid enough to carry him back down the mountain,"We'll go down in my truck, change your tire and then drive back up for Bert." I nodded, still out of breath and still somewhat annoyed at my husband for whatever reason.

I was just about to go in the bedroom and get warm socks and my boots when my husband turned and all-knowingly said, "I told you not to wear those stupid shoes. You should have worn your boots like I told you!"

The January ice entered my very soul as my stubborn I-will-not-be-wrong attitude gave birth to misery right there in my living room. I walked over to my QVC heels, smugly slipped them back onto my sore, cold, aching feet, and on now quaking ankles, precariously followed my husband out into the garage.

The bottom of an icicle ...

2009-01-14T09:35:00.004-05:00

At the bottom of an icicle
the world turns upside down.

I've felt that way before ...
as if I were encased in ice,
looking out at a cold life-sized world
while I dwell in miniature,
unseen and unnoticed
until someone takes a closer
look and realizes
"well there you are" ...
and admires me for a moment
and then moves on ...

leaving me alone to melt.

Nugget

2009-01-12T11:40:00.010-05:00

Look how Nugget tucks his paws under while watching the baby.

On a hillside we stop short of the bear cave.
The part-wolf dog bristled his fur
and stood in front of me
not letting me walk further.

In his mind we'd come to far.
How would he ever get this
city girl back up the hill
to where his master lay?

"Take care of her", his master told him,
and so he did. Walking close
and occasionally grumbling
to let me know he was there.

No dog had been more loyal.
No dog had ever had such honest eyes.
No dog had ever loved me more ...
not even my own.

No other dog would tuck his paws
to keep from scratching a child
or sit quietly beside my bed
at night just to watch me sleep.

I took his chin in my hand
and caressed his nose,
"Good dog," I said then
stepped around him to go a little further.

But he would have none of it,
and he let loose a throaty growl
pulled back his ears and dipped his head
and stood between me and the cave.

He would wrestle me
to the ground if he had to.
But he didn't have to.
I patted his head and we headed home

as the part wolf dog
walked close to me
nudging me towards home
and back to the safety of our human pack.

indecision ...

2009-01-11T16:09:00.005-05:00

we had sat quietly he and i ...
neither of us saying a word at first
his cheeks still shiny from
the wet tears that
had flowed freely down
as his heart began it's struggle to heal.

tears in the leaves ...
i pointed at them and we laughed
at the irony of it all ...
of sadness being absorbed
by this old mountain
that we all called home.

'i can feel myself breathe', he had said ...
and he flicked away the teary leaves
with a gentle brush of his fingers.
'remember this moment' i'd told him
'i'll never forget it' he'd promised me
... but how quickly he forgot

and i ... i want to storm up to the spot
where we sat that day
listening to every word he said
and letting my heart break a bit as well ...
and finding one leaf ... one leaf that
still held a single one of his tears

and crush it beneath my hands ...
and wish a thousand times
he could go back to that time
and remember the moment
his heart came home ...
right before he packed his bags and fled.

mother blanket

2009-01-11T15:23:00.006-05:00

up darkened banks i climb
breathless and cold,
my eyes searching for the top
it can't be much further

i walk this way often to gaze
respectfully at Davey Mountain
and then at the Shewbird
that looms high above Chatuge Lake.

shivers run through me ...
a little futher on
i tell myself
i'm almost there.

then stopping to catch my breath
i feel heat on my cheek
and turn to see
a sunlit crack in the canopy above.

closing my eyes
i drink in the warmth
and am soothed by
my mountains secret blanket.

i am embraced and held
i am stroked by the breeze
i am warmed and comforted ...
cuddled by mother mountain

the top is so close
i can see it from where i am
but today i will sit here in the light
and save the top for another day.

A Christmas "Tail" .... starring my family!

2009-01-05T16:12:00.003-05:00

Mom ... because you didn't get to share Christmas with us, here's a little peek at ours! I love you SO much! Thank you a million times over for what you mean to me!

Kisses and hugs ...
Lynn & family

i know my way in darkness

2009-01-03T12:13:00.004-05:00

i know my way in the darkness,
every curve, every rut ...
i know the sweet scent of rotting wood
means i'm almost to the first curve.

queen annes lace means i'm nearly half way ...
water trickling across the road means
i can look upwards to the right
and see the lights of home.

i know the creak of the rotting tree
that tossed down it's top
one morning as we watched perplexed ...
if i gave it a gentle push it would topple.

the final turn ... i can smell the winter kill
of knock-out roses and hear the
grumbling ruffs of half-wolf dogs
who will soon smother my face in kisses.

i know slippery leaves mean
i'm on the drive and almost home.
my heart leaps in my chest ...
the back door opens and there she stands

arms outstretched, her face lit up
and i'm welcomed home once again.
i am no longer lost
i found my way here in the dark.

-lynn hamilton rutherford

Red Rooster Strut ....

2008-12-30T13:12:00.006-05:00

He dashed from the side of the road
his head stretched forward
his eyes wide ...
his waddle waddling ...

And we all slammed
on the brakes
at the exact same time ...

us sliding to a stop
in our car ...
and that cocky rooster,
stopping short
right in front of our car.

We all sat for a moment ...
each waiting for the other to move
even though we had
no where else to go ...
drop-off to our left -
mountain straight up to our right.

Where on earth had HE come from?

He gave us a gimlet eye
and twitched his head
back and forth as if to say,
"I'm waiting for you to move."

Stupid rooster.
We're stuck here till you move first!

Eric blared the horn. Once. Twice.
Then a long "honnnnnnk".
The rooster flew up at our front bumper,
and his talons clicked on the grill.

I rolled down my window
and shouted at the top of my lungs,
"Shoo rooster! Shooo!"
Eric continued to administer the horn.

But the rooster defied us still,
until finally we put the car in reverse,
backed away from his fit
and pulled around that crazy rooster
who obviously owned the road ...

"He must be from the north," I said,
"Everyone from the north thinks
they own the road."

"He's a Rhode Island Red,
so you're right about that,"
Eric snorted as he blared
the horn one last time.

I leaned out the window
as we passed
and asked that rooster
what his problem was.

He twitched his head twice,
scratched a moment in the road,
and strutted precisely down the yellow line
in the center of the road
until he was completely out of sight.

Green Peas ....

2008-12-29T15:35:00.002-05:00

They were horrid little things, but for every meal I ever had until I was grown, my mother served (and expected me to eat) something GREEN ... and usually it was green peas.

These nasty little globular balls of chlorophyll would sit on my white Melamie plate like beady little eyes staring up at me. I detested them. Occasionally she'd serve them "in the pocket-books". This meant, they were still in the shells, which, if I ate, I'd get extra servings of dessert. I RARELY remember getting those extra servings, if ever.

I found the whole notion of biting into a oblong green "pocket-book" and having three or four peas squirt out the other end rather repulsive, so I found creative ways of disposing of the vile things. The pods could be tucked into my pants pockets or slipped under the chair cushions until I could dispose of them more properly, but the peas themselves required a bit more work.

Around the age of four or maybe five, I discovered that I could successfully make my peas stick to the underside of the kitchen table if I pressed them firmly until they popped like a zit. I would smash whole HELPINGS of peas at a single sitting, and could do it so slyly, that my parents never suspected that major infractions of etiquette was going on right under their noses.

It wasn't until we moved three years later that my mischief was discovered. When my father removed the table top to load the table onto the moving van, my eyes fell to the underside of the table. In the place where I sat, a sea of greenish-blackish wads like gum covered a radius of about ten inches -- as far as I could reach from my seat without looking suspicious.

It was appalling and never before had I been so "outed". My mother questioned me intensely... "are those PEAS" and "how on earth did they get there" ... until I broke down and admitted that I MIGHT have had something to do with it. While she scraped the gunk from the bottom of the table, I held my breath hoping I hadn't left anything under the chair cushion.

To this day I can't bring myself to eat a single pea. There is something about that horrible little snap they make in my mouth that I just can't bear. Later in life I did manage to finally eat green beans without imagining the underside of Mothers kitchen table, but you know how they say "what goes around come around"? When my son was four I was repotting an African Violet that usually sat in the middle of the kitchen table. As I pulled it from the pot, with it came a generous handful of moldy broccoli tops.

How funny. I thought he LOVED the stuff because he always "cleaned" his plate and asked for seconds.

Christmas Memories ....

2008-12-24T09:07:00.001-05:00

I love the holiday season so much that I find myself waking up in the middle of the night just to ponder unusual things regarding Christmas time!

Last night, I couldn't stop thinking about wheather or not I'd put my "Santa Claus" ornament, I received my very first Christmas, on our tree or not! So naturally it required me to get up at three in the morning, take a little chilly jog down the hallway and see if it was on the tree. It was ... nestled between the "first Christmas together" ornament Eric gave me in 85' amd the antique ornament from Aunt Alice.

I love my ornaments. It's like every single one of them tell a story, and I'd write about every one of them if I thought ANY of you would find it the least bit interesting. But to me, it's my history ... little vignettes of my life ... all shining and hanging on my tree.

Anyway ... so while I was up I had the last cheese straw I made Tuesday, nibbled on the baget' we bought at the farmers market today, and made a cup of tea to sip while I just sat in the living room admiring the tree and the lights.I've been thinking about past Christmasses ... the ones when I was a kid in Savannah, Hinesville and Glennville ... and how sleepy and excited I'd feel right before bedtime. Mom would bring in a cup of warm cocoa and tuck me in, then Dad would come in behind her and we'd eat an apple together or something similar. It was all very sweet. Then Dad would read "The Night Before Christmas" and they'd retuck me in and flip out my light. I'd lay there in my bed and look at all the paper snowflakes we'd cut out and hang outside my window until my eyes finally closed. Those gently swaying snowflakes, dancing in the south-Georgia breeze always lulled me to sleep ... and we never hung them till Christmas Eve.

And then there was the year of the "kitten". Christmas eve in Glennville, Georgia, I found a little black kitten downtown in front of the drug store, shivering, and brought it home ... HOPING my parents would let me keep it. But that night, the crazy little thing climbed the Christmas tree, knocked about half the balls off of it, clawed the wrapping paper off at least a dozen presents, and decided to use moms indoor house plants as a litter box. We woke up the next morning to find the living room a wreck, and the little kitten was sleeping in the middle of the kitchen table. I thought my moms head was going to pop off.

Kitty vanished a few days after Christmas and reappeared at a neighbors house down the street. They named him Nicholas and he was forever and out-door kitty who was constantly seen walking on the ridge line of numerous houses on our street.

Anyway ... Merry Christmas to all of you! I hope it's happy and bright and very VERY merry!

Love to all ....

Lynn

The Miracle on my Countertop!!!

2008-12-09T10:28:00.000-05:00

So at nine-o'clock this morning I fixed a cup of coffee and came upstairs to my office and caught up on my email. When I was finished (about ten minutes ago - that's approximately 50 minutes later), I went BACK down into the kitchen to take my empty cup to the dishwasher.

Incredibly, a TREMENDOUS line of ants had converged on my kitchen.

(Optional paragraph coming up ... skip it if you don't really CARE how they got into the kitchen)

I followed the line back to where it began and was amazed. The line started at the upstairs window (little rascals were squeezing under somehow), went down to the baseboards, walked in the crack below the molding, crossed the entire 20 feet of space in the room, went into the bottom of the storage cabinet and came out the top behind the counter-top and wall, walked UP to the ceiling and crawled along the corner from the upstairs, down the stairs, around the back door, across the entry-way hallway, DOWN the wall, and then across the kitchen floor.

Long story short (in case you skipped all of that) ... they had covered approximately 65 feet to get to my kitchen. In other words, they weren't just taking a Tuesday morning stroll ... these ants were on an expedition of MASSIVE size!!

Next they hiked over to the center island and climbed up the side of that and then onto the top of the island.

What were they after? A gigantic blob of cake? A cookie? A lollipop? Breadcrumbs?

Oh no .... absolutely not. Not these ants. These ants had walked ALL that way for a single DOT of grease no bigger than a pencil point. Hundreds and thousands of ants invaded MY house for that one speck of grease. I don't even know how the speck got there, but it had sure attracted a lot of attention ... sort of like the Miracle at Lourdes for ant world, although I seriously doubt the ants version of the Virgin Mary appeared on top of that dot of grease.

With my trusty can of Raid in hand (and feeling rather godly), I started at the window and smote them all, whisked away the dot of grease, then cleaned it all up ... hoping with all my heart that the Ant Version of the Virgin Mary WASN'T, in fact, making an appearance on my kitchen counter today.

NOTE TO SELF: Call National Enquirer just in case.

Stealing Mistletoe and other Monday Sins

2008-12-08T16:25:00.001-05:00

Sin #1: I told a lie this morning. The phone rang around nine-thirty and it was a telemarketer from some company who wanted to sell me vinyl siding. I told him I had stucco siding and I really didn't want to cover it up ... "thank you anyway". But that wasn't the lie. Then he asked me if I could give him names and numbers of people who may want to replace their siding with vinyl ... and that I'd get a $10.00 Starbucks card for every five names I gave him. He said he couldn't share my information with the people I recommended to him, so I felt fairly safe. This is where the lie happened: VOILA! There is this amazing contraption called a telephone book that lives in the laundry room. I whipped it out and rattled off enough random names for $20.00 in Starbucks cards which I got to download online!! And yes, it worked! I had my first free coffee about twenty minutes ago, compliments of the vinyl siding guy.

Sin #2: I stole Mistletoe from Waffle House and IHop. It was just hanging around up in the elm trees outside Waffle House and with every waitress and grease covered customer in there watching me with curious eyes, I pulled up next to their tree and pilfered it of as much mistletoe as I could reach. I got a nice sized clump, but my greed got the better of me and ten minutes later (after driving around LOOKING for more), I whipped into IHop and raped yet another tree of all it's mistletoe ... IN BROAD daylight, mind you.

Sin #3: I was a glutton. Between all the lying and stealing I did this morning, I found time to bake chocolate crinkle cookies and a chocolate roll cake. Not only did I lick the bowl, but ate six of the cookies and the ends of the chocolate roll cake as well. Then I washed it all down with that FREE Caramel Machiato from Starbucks and an Energy Drink to give me the berries to steal the mistletoe.

Thankful for the Road ...

2008-11-27T08:56:00.005-05:00

I am thankful
for the ancient road that leads up
into the lofty tops of trees
where I look down
to where I once stood
looking up to where
I wanted to be.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford

Do Dreams Mean Anything?

2008-11-25T13:26:00.004-05:00

Have any of you ever had a dream so vivid that when you awoke your life has somehow changed ... even in a small way?

It is SO detailed that I feel as if I were actually there.

I kept waking up and re-dreaming the same dream ... over and over ... at least four or five times. Maybe more. It was an elderly man with an autoharp ... sitting in an old cane back chair. In life I don't know this man at all, but in my dream I knew him very well. I even knew his name, Ray Hix (or Hicks)? He was playing this autoharp, wearing overalls, and teaching me this songwith a very heavy mountain accent:

Oh great light
on yonder mountain
Can you tell
me what I see?
Oh great love
shine down upon me,
give me life
and set me free.

Oh great home
on yonder mountain
for someday you will be mine,
Oh great light
on yonder mountain,
pull me close
don't let me die.

Oh great light
on yonder mountain,
let your heart
encircle me,
You're my home
sweet yonder mountain,
life and light
will set me free.

I've never heard that song before but he was SO insistent in my dream that I learn this song, that even when morning came, I knew every word by heart.

When I woke up the next to the last time and fell back asleep, he said, "Now I'll play and you sing it." I said, "What if I forget the words?" and he smiled and said, "You won't forget."

And he began to play ... and I sang every word. Anyway ... as I sang, I was looking across this ridge and there was a light on this smaller mountain, a flickering light that had a golden cast to it ... and I was singing to that light. As I sang, it got brighter and brighter and when I turned around to see if the man was looking at it too, he was gone, chair and all. I stopped singing and started walking up this pathway.

When I woke up again, I stayed awake and hurriedly wrote the words down so I wouldn't forget them.

So ... what does a dream like that mean, if anything? I can't stop thinking about it and wonder if dreams are simply dreams and nothing more?!

Anyway ... it was a sweet dream. Yonder Mountain! .... *sigh*

Pruning ...

2008-11-20T14:07:00.003-05:00

There is something so therapeutic about pruning roses ... about lopping off the dead-heads so new ones will burst to life in their place. I don't know, but I get a little tingle every time I see new growth springing up where there used to be only stem.

When I was little, I'd go out into the garden with my mother and watch her prune HER roses, carefully clipping, looking for new growth and counting leaves. My job was to carefully pick up all those dead clippings and put them in the back of her garden so I didn't step on them later.

Today I was out pruning my roses and happened to look down at my hands as I clipped. My rose bushes weren't the ONLY thing that was being pruned these days .... my hands, were very much beginning to look like my mothers hands. Little lines, little displaced lumps of fat, blue veins, red knuckles ... somewhere along the way, my hands had become my mothers!

I'm suddenly seeing my hands in new light! I caressed my arm and saw my mothers hand doing it. I held them up in the sunshine and remembered how she did the same. And then I picked up my clippers and began clipping again ... watching my mothers hands do the work.

My real mother has been gone for thirteen years now and I miss her terribly, but I can still see her gentle, loving hands as I work throughout my day. And when I travel to Cherry Mountain, I see another mother sweetly step into her place ... Nancy ... who tenderly prunes her rose garden much like my own mother did. I've noticed her hands, too, a lot lately ... the softness, the gentleness, and the way she lays them in her lap. The way they tenderly embrace me and make me feel as if I've come home ... welcoming ... loving.

I wonder if someday my daughter will remember my hands as she looks down at her own. I wonder if she'll realize that the older her hands get, the more beautiful they become.

Winter Moon Over the Chatuge

2008-11-19T17:20:00.005-05:00

I wrote this one over on the Pictures, Poetry and Prose site a day or two ago. The site is wonderful and a delightful place to stretch your creative legs. Every day, you're given a unique writing prompt, then asked to write about it.

On that day, the prompt was this picture:

And we were asked to write about a cold, quiet night.

Naturally, my heart and mind went to Cherry Mountain.

--------------------
The moon at Parigee
slips up into the night,
slowly climbs,
stretches, and reaches
above the thin
blanket of clouds ...
it shines down
and illuminates ripples
that dance on icy water ...
teasing me with the notion
of pulling heavens blanket
up to my chin.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford
November 08'

-------------

Must Read Glenda Bealls "Purty Cows" Post!

2008-11-17T09:24:00.012-05:00

Today I was over at Glenda Bealls leaving a comment about her Cow Post (link here) last week, which, if you haven't read, you absolutely MUST! Also, on the same page, you've GOT read Janice Townley Moore's "Learning to Live with Cows" poem, which is adorable!

Let's face it. I'm a country girl and quite fascinated by these big old lugsome creatures. (Is lugsome a word? It should be.) Anyway ... as a young girl growing up in Hancock County Georgia, I was always amazed by cows and their, well, lack-of-brightness.

Case in point. On our way to my school, we passed this beautiful green field with a gigantic red barn in the center of it. It belonged to Mr. McCroskie, a friend of my fathers.

Now, in this field were these beautiful brown cows. Now I don't know the different types of cows, but these were big and brown and were always sort of standing around as if they were waiting for something to happen ... like a circus, or maybe for one of them to get up and dance on their hind legs or something. I don't know ... they just always seemed as if something were ABOUT to happen and they didn't want to miss it.

So one morning we drove to school and it was pouring rain. Sure enough, when we got to the pasture with the big red barn with the door flung open wide .... there were those cows, standing around the barn looking at it as if it were something marvelous. I was thinking all the while, "why don't they just go inside and get out of the rain"? But Dad said that cows are so polite they're letting the other ones go first.

By the way, when we came BACK by there after school, it was STILL raining and the cows were STILL being polite.

Anyway ... when I was about twelve or thirteen, my cousins Ramona, Dennis, Jan and I all decided to walk to the store for Coca Colas in the little bottles and a Go-Go Bar (a shingle of gingerbread with pink icing on top). While at the store, it began thundering and lightening. We decided to cut across Mr. McCroskies pasture since we didn't see any cows and assumed they were in another part of the field.

It was close to Christmas, and my cousin, Jan, had tied these little jingle bell things to her tennis shoes. Whenever she walked, they made this jingling sound that we all thought sounded pretty cool. We wanted jingle-bells on our shoes too. ANYWAY, so we were about half way across this field when we heard the thundering rumblings of many MANY large hooves. We turned around, and running straight towards us over the top of a little hill to our right was Mr. McCroskies cows .. all two hundred of them. It was like a galloping bovine rapture.

We took off running ... leaving our GoGo bars and Coca Colas flying all over the place. And the harder we ran, the louder Jan's shoes jingled and the faster those cows came at us. Finally, Dennis, realizing that it was Jan's shoes they were after, screamed over his shoulder for her to "kick them jingles off"!!! She ran right out of those shoes and we safely managed to make it through the fence on the other side.

Now here is the interesting thing .... when we turned around to see how far back we'd left the cows, we were surprised to see all two hundred heads or so, surrounding Jan's white tennis shoes with the little jingle bells on them. We surmised, since cows ALWAYS appear to be waiting for something to take place, that they were waiting for those shoes to get up and do something again.

I know for a fact that occasionally when we'd drive by the pasture, you could look across and see a cow or two still studying those shoes (which were never retrieved, by the way). I also know for a fact that later on we learned that Mr. McCroskie called his cows by using a big wooden stick with Jingle-bells nailed to it ... that's why they ran after us.

So anyway ... that's why I'm fascinated by cows. But only from a distance.

And no bells.

The Nightly Reading

2008-11-14T20:18:00.004-05:00

This little ditty was written by my daughter for her English class a while back. I thought it was really sort of genius!

---------------------------------

"THE NIGHTLY READING"

I cannot sit through yet another,

Nightly reading by my mother.

We read Frost and we read Keats,

We read until I fake asleep.

She says that I should love this stuff,

But really now, I've had enough.

No more rhymes and no more verse,

It's pretty bad and getting worse.

For yesterday at Books-A-Million,

She bought a book with poems a billion.

From Whitman to Holmes, she'll read them all,

And I'll lay there and take it all.

How much more can one kid take

Of Holmes and Howard, Frost and Blake?

How many times do I have to hear,

About that horse who thinks he's queer?

"Two roads diverged in the woods and I" ...

I NEVER get the one less traveled by.

My bed is crowded and no one knows it,

cause' I sleep in a bed with a thousand poets.

-Alli Rutherford .... 2006'

Right Before the Rain

2008-11-13T07:59:00.003-05:00

Clouds hang like wet blankets
above the mountain,
slowly descending,
ever darkening ...
making me long for
the warmth of my bed.

No bird scurries.
No leaf flutters.
All is quiet and still ...
awaiting the rain
that will eventually
come to the mountain.

The smell of the earth
is heavy now
as clouds begin to
breathe out puffs of mist ...
hiding the mountain
behind it's blue-gray veil.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford 08

A Vignette at the Spring

2008-11-12T09:04:00.019-05:00

Me and Jeff at the spring creek - Cherry Mountain

Summer of 1978

---------------------

I don't need a photograph to see him clearly in my mind,
but this is how I want to remember him;
there by the creek with a stick in his hand,
driving a salamander out from under a rock
so he can pick it up and show me
I have nothing to be afraid of.

He's a gentle soul ... tenderly cupping the salamander,
and holding it out for me to see how it's eyes
shine in the sunlight when you turn it
this way and that ...
then taking a closer look, he coyly announces,
"This is a boy ... better put him back."

I am captivated by his knowledge.
He knows every rock here and
what creatures might lurk beneath them.
His dark but gentle eyes gaze into mine
as he says, "Don't be afraid, Lynn ...
I won't let anything hurt you."

He lifts a tiny something up from under a rock,
then reaches for my hand
(his own hand, chilled from the brisk spring water).
Ever so carefully, he opens my fingers and places a
wriggling black water bug in my palm
so I can watch it crawl about in my hand.

I am mesmerized and enchanted
as the bug creeps across my hand, then up my thumb,
and lands with a "plop" back into the chilly spring ...
leaving a curvy wet trail of water
that glistens in the summer sunshine,
upon my trembling hand.

-Lynn Hamilton-Rutherford

"This is a boy ... better put him back."

--------------

Me and my galiant hero.
Summer 2007

My Cherry Mountain Summer ...

2008-11-11T12:02:00.008-05:00

I was eight or nine at the time, and Cherry Mountain was still a mystery for my young heart to solve. In this video you will see some of the people in my life who were of great influence ... although at the time, they were only my cousins and summertime playmates. You'd never know it to look at me at the time, but even then I was falling in love with a place that would someday ... decades later ... become my solace, my retreat, and my home away from home.

Here is the Cherry Mountain of my youth ...

(Pause the music in my "Smokey Mountain Playlist" in the left hand column of this page before playing)

Golden Footprints ...

2008-11-11T10:05:00.014-05:00

-for Libby

We walked in bare feet,
Libby and me …
down to the spring …
down to the rocks …
and let the chilly water work it’s
mountain magic.

Libby would laugh and exclaim,
“Oh, this water is cold!”
And she’d lift her feet
and shake off the icy droplets …
sprinkling my face and making me squeal
as well.

And when we were cool,
we’d pull our feet from the water
and marvel at the tiny golden
dots of fools gold that clinged to our toes …
“Oh look, we are rich,” we’d exclaim
marveling at our “jewels”.

Then mother would call to us
but we’d pretend we didn’t hear ...
not wanting to leave our watery palace.
So we’d wait until my father called …
And we'd scurry back up the path to the cabin …
leaving golden footprints where we stepped.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford -08’

She Tends to Her Garden ...

2008-11-11T07:42:00.007-05:00

The flowers greet her every morning
with little faces upturned
and petals smiling,
stems stretching up towards her
to say "good morning".

Like colorful little sheep,
grazing in her terraced pasture,
they pop to life when the shepherd comes
to guide them along the gentle slope.

The knock-out roses, the gloriosa daisys,
the flourishes of butterfly bushes
and hidden puddles of nasturshums
all know her easy steps.

Approvingly she pauses
at the top of the garden steps,
to gaze lovingly down on the
brilliant bursts of colors here and there ...
occasionally ripping a weed by the roots
and tossing it aside with a satisfied grin.
"No weeds in my garden," she demands.

Moving down the terraced path,
she stops to tenderly admire
the fruits of her labor ...
cupping a random bloom in her hand
and saying, "My, aren't we pretty today!"

How lucky it must be to be the one
that she selected from all the rest!

Sometimes she invites them into the house
to sit in a vase beside the window
and spend a few days inside.
But the day is sunny and warm
and she pads on down the path
through the dianthus and hydrangea,
breathing in the sweetness of her garden.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford 08'

My First Poem ...

2008-11-10T08:02:00.006-05:00

(The following poem was one I wrote the fall after I turned 12 years old.
I had to write a story about what I did over the summer for my
English teacher. I only received a "B" because
she said my story "lacked imagination". My father wrote the teacher
a note back and said, "You've obviously never BEEN to Cherry Mountain,
have you?" After thinking it over carefully, she graciously changed
my grade to a B+ ... but it was my very first attempt at verse ... )

----------------------------------------------------

"Cherry Mountain, Cherry Mountain,
Where are your cherries, dear?
I know they're not at the Mica Mine,
for all we saw were deer.

Could they be inside the scary cave
or over by the spring,
could they be behind the little house
where the crickets chirp and sing?

Are they up there on the sunny ridge,
or down where the old road turns?
Are they hiding on the sunny slopes,
where Autumn starts to burn?

Are they curled up with the fuzzy squirrels,
or running with the foxes,
across the ridge or down the slope,
that we slide down on boxes?

I cannot think of another place
that I haven't looked today ...
I checked the path, and I checked the spring,
where salamanders often play.

I'll bet you're in that old bears cave,
and I'm not too proud to admit,
that if you're there, I'll never know ...
so I may as well forget it!

-Lynn Hamilton 1972'
Glennville, Ga.

Coffee on the Porch

2008-11-10T07:45:00.006-05:00

On a cold Carolina morning
when your covers are warm,
you can't stand the thought
of peeling back your cocoon
and climbing out to see
that "so-called" new day.

But there is always that blessed
-almost holy- scent
that eventually comes and
makes the agony of the
first wisp of cold air on your legs
worth it.

"Thank heavens the floor is warm,"
I think to myself as I
reach the kitchen
and wrap my hand
around a simmering cup
that has already been placed
by the pot for me.

And then my cup and I
go out onto the porch ...
out into the frosty mountain air
and greet the morning together ...
my hands warm,
my stomach happy...
and my heart full.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford 08'

Surprised by Sunlight ...

2008-11-09T17:20:00.029-05:00

Unedited photograph ... this is what my eyes actually saw.

I paused at the bottom
of the terraced path to
breathe in the last of the knockout roses ...

And that was when he caught my eye ...
coming in a burst of sunlight
silently slipping down to say "hello".

It's so like Jeff to come this way
and surprise us when we least expect him.
I stood there in that warming glow
and basked a moment
in the wonder of the moment,
before heading down the hill
to the spring where his ashes are scattered .

"Hurry hurry," I thought to myself
as my feet carried me across
the cornerstones of the old house ...
down the slope and onto the path
... his path ...
and then up the knoll to the spring head.

And just as I entered the place where we played as kids ...
and where he now peacefully rested ...
... I was surprised once again
to feel warmth on my neck ...
and when I turned around I
realized I was once again
bathed in a shimmering sliver of sunlight
beaming down on the stones that marked
the spot.

It could not have been more
perfect.

"Do you think people we love can visit us
in sunlight that way," my daughter asked
as we began the long drive home that day.

And I smiled and said, "How many times
have you seen a sunbeam descend and
light softly on your path that way?"

Twenty minutes later as we happily
drove along Highway 19 ... through
the tall golden trees and across the
tousled mountain tops I knew so well ...

... a pull off I'd never seen before
(and could probably never find again)
caught my eye and we pulled off.
We looked down onto a beautifully
hidden stream ... water flowing over
rocks ... deep green moss carpeting
the way and I thought to myself
"this is a place that Jeff would have loved."

And then it caught my eye again ...
for the third time that day ...
beginning as a shimmer in the trees
and slowly descending to settle
upon the waterfall ...

It was that SAME sweet ray of light ...
pouring down from the heavens
and bathing my daughter and
I in a warmth I would have never
believed had anyone else described it.

And we stood there ...
surprised by the sunlight ...
tilting our head skywards ...
breathing in the air
and smiling because
we both knew that Jeff
had found his way home.

And while I tell this with a
comforting sigh,
my story does not stop there ...
for just as we turned to leave
that peaceful place,
a dove softly cooed from
somewhere high above that
waterfall ...

And as I turned to see if I
could see it
my eyes flew open wide,
for there in the dewy glow
of the sun, a blue and purple
rainbow hung there in that
lovely place ...
dancing in the brilliance ...
and sweetly thanking me
for stopping to simply say "hello"
once more.

- Photos are authentic ...no photo-shopping was used -
-Pictures and prose by Lynn Hamilton Rutherford

Smoky Mountain Breakfast ....

2008-11-09T10:14:00.008-05:00

Up here on the mountain
there is something about
the scent of coffee that doesn't
"tenderly" awaken you ...
it SHAKES you awake and
reminds you that your feet
are just a little bit colder
than your ears.

We begin to get our bearings,
Tim empties the ice trays
with a loud clattering that
sounds like horses running
through the kitchen.

Jeremy goes about the
morning in his quiet way ...
tidying up the plants in the
yard ... putting order
to Falls frenzied yard.

Mom scurries about ...
making her bed and
telling the stories of
our family while she
keeps the coffee coming.

Alli, drunk from a night
of deep mountain sleep,
slowly pulls herself to life
occasionally venturing out
onto the porch to say
"good morning" to the mountain.

And I cook breakfast in
my socked feet with dots
of pancake batter on my cheeks.

We all sit down and the
conversations begin to flit from
person to person like the
heaping plate of pancakes ...
occasionally giggling at
the lyrics to the folk music
of our ancestors ...
"Her lipstick was so red
it make me wish my wife was dead,"

The talk is merry and light ...
of Davey Mountain and
Moms knockout roses ... of
Uncle Clyde and how he ate
his biscuits ...

... and still, that ridiculous
music continues to play on,
interrupting us occasionally
so we can heartily laugh
with syrup on our chins.

Where My Heart Is ...

2008-11-08T10:41:00.004-05:00

My heart is where the
road rises up
into the trees ...

Where oak, elm and
cottonwood dance
together ...

Where the brilliance
of the sky forces
colors to pop ...
like Nutcrackers
at Christmas

My heart is where
you can smell cold
weather coming ...
and the crunch beneath
your feet is
nothing short of
melodious.

Where birds nestle
along the path
and yellow-jackets
crazily flitter
about the forest floor.

My heart is where
mica dots the trail
and sparkles like
stars on moonlit nights
upon the old road.

My heart dwells on
every slope I've
ever trod ...
and neath every tree
I've admired from
the porch ...

Standing transfixed
at the new day,
with a coffee cup
in my hand.

Cherry Mountain Summer

2008-10-30T10:12:00.005-04:00

Mistaken for Moonlight ...

2008-10-29T18:10:00.008-04:00

We'd walked this way a thousand times
up one hill and down the other side
through mountain laurel and beneath
softly swaying cottonwood trees.

Sounds of the night surrounded us ...
my cousin and I ... and he'd stop occasionally
and tell me what my ears were hearing ...
the crickets chirp, the doves soft evening coo.

The road was dark when we stepped onto it.
The way always led up ... across the drizzling spring,
up to the porch where hot coffee always waited
and the jolly sounds of his mothers laughter.

But that night we crossed that narrow road,
and climbed toward the line tree ...
his careful steps ever leading the way.
"I want to show you something," he said.

Over the top we climbed and then started
down the other side, darker still ... where no moon
ever came, Then he stopped
and put out his hand for me to stop as well.

His sharp eyes searched the forests floor as
if he knew just where to look ... towards the
fallen oak ... beneath the velvet canopy of the
tall majestic cottonwood against the blackened sky.

"Just there ... do you see it," he asked
as I squinted my eyes and he pointed the way.
There beneath the tree was a small glow, like
alien moonlight on the forest floor.

"What is it," I asked in a whisper, not
wanting to break the spell of the magical glow.

"It's called Foxfire," he said with a knowing tone
that made me feel safe there in those darkened woods,
"I saw it first on a night like this and mistook
it for moonlight, even though there was no moon."

"It must be wonderful to be a Foxfire," I said
as we started back towards the lights of home.
Jeff smiled at me as we stepped back onto the narrow
road and added, "... and be mistaken for moonlight?"

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford 08'

Reaching Down to Hang the Moon

2008-10-29T15:58:00.018-04:00

-for "Mom"

Jeff once said, "Someone didn't hang the moon tonight,
instead they stashed it behind the canopy of trees.
Someone dropped the ball."
And we'd laugh and crane our necks to look over
the rooftop to see if it perchance was there.

But Cherry Mountain has a way of hiding the moon
away for a while ... so we pulled on our walking shoes
and headed to the dam where the moon was
free to come and go as it pleased.

Our gate was easy as we shuffled along
atop the dam that night ... looking up at
the stars ... watching the horizon as the
mountains greedily gobbled up the sun.

We awaited the arrival of the coming moon ...
gazing across the Chatuge and watching
to see it peek up at us as if we were dinner
guests, awaiting Mother Earths last course of the day.

The four of us watched together ... three below and one
above ... trying hard not to blink so we
could be the one to see it first ... chattering away
about the evening and growing somewhat impatient.

And then, just as our thoughts began to drift back
towards Cherry Mountain ... the moon lazily drifted up
as if from a long sleep and took it's place
behind the deep blue of the silent Carolina mountains.

"There it is! It's here," we shouted at no one in particular ...
pointing towards the moon as if we had spotted
an old friend getting off a train ... someone we knew
well and had waited anxiously for their arrival.

Majestically it silently slipped up into the darkened milky blue sky,
and began it's nightly journey across the great wide
openness of heaven ... and we journeyed home to
Cherry Mountain, up through the trees and along the narrow road.

And sometime in the night, when no one would be looking,
Jeff would slyly reach down and hang the moon high
above the house ... and when we'd finally see it, we'd laugh
and once again say, "Oh look ... he's hung the moon again,
and didn't drop the ball!"

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford

Mom's Pound Cake ...

2008-08-16T14:50:00.006-04:00

Ingredients:

1 lb butter
2 cups sugar
6 eggs - room temperature
3 cups cake flour (well sifted three times)
1 tsp vanilla

Cream butter and sugar. Add eggs and flour alternately, then vanilla. Bake for one hour and 20 minutes by baking at 350 degrees for 25 minutes and the remaining time at 300 degrees.

(We enjoy the leftover cake buttered and toasted for breakfast in the morning.)

The Tree by the Road ...

2008-08-16T14:10:00.010-04:00

A tree stands by a dusty road,
For years its leaves have fallen brown,
To Georgia red clay soil below,
And rested there upon the ground.

And birds have lit upon this tree,
And bees have found its sap so sweet,
And lovers sat beneath its shade,
To talk of Frost and Plath and Keats.

It was in spring when the mark was made,
A promise carved in wood and life,
Of two who pledged their love that day,
With the silvery blade of a pocketknife.

Through time and weather tall she swayed,
Its limbs outstretched to heavens food,
Of sun and water, night and day,
With season's change, its life renewed.

The promise sealed within it soul,
The tree would grow a human heart,
For there inside the mark of promise,
Two souls connected - two lives apart.

-Lynn Hamilton-Rutherford