7:10 pm

Night is here now, and Possum Cough is very quiet. After a week of unseasonably warm temperatures, the wracking wind returned last night, blowing hard enough to make the windows in the family room bow in and groan. This morning, there was some sun at first light. But by the time we left for church, the clouds were back, like steel wool in the high air. And the temperatures are cold. Deliciously cold, the sort of cold that makes the house cozy and nappable. The sort of cold that makes husbands and wives snuggle closer on the couch while reading. The sort of cold that makes food taste better and music sound clearer. No droning of insects. No sheen of sweat. No noisy activity outside. Just pure, rain-driven, holy cold.

Yesterday, MeeMaw had to work until 1 pm, so I used the time to finish up my Sunday School lesson plan. I also worked on preparing to lead worship this morning, the first time I've done this since we left Texas. Our pastor and his family are traveling to visit his father in St.Louis, and he asked if I would lead the service for the visiting preacher (who used to be the pastor at our church many years ago).

Saturday's mild temperatures and cloudy skies were perfect for my customary long walk. I enjoyed seeing how alive everything looked. Our Japanese maple is budding and leafing out already. The past two years, we've had a killing frost the first week of May, a happening that has (along with the two years of severe drought) played havoc with the local flora. We're praying that the rain will continue through the spring to help repair the drought. And we're prepared with sheets and tarps to shield tender vegetation in case of a (quite likely) frost.

Everything in the region has drunk deeply of the warm, moist air. The Clinch Mountain region looks very much like the ancient homeland of our people in the British Isles - "as green as dreams and deep as death."

MeeMaw's big pine tree in the front of the house looks very fit and strong. We'll likely have to prune it a bit this year by the end of summer.

When I came down out of the woods, I was stepping over the barbed wire and looking down when I noticed a very pretty clutch of mushrooms growing at the base of the fence pole. They are probably deadly, but they look lovely in a regimented sort of way.

Some new "tenants" have moved into the Texas birdhouse. They're Carolina Wrens (too early for bluebirds), and we enjoy watching their antics on the back deck. Ounce for ounce, they're one of the loudest species of birds around. Almost as loud as the bluejays, who have been stealing cat food from the barn cats every day.

When I removed the back of the birdhouse to clean it, I found that the nest inside was compacted down into a neat little square. There were tufts of local plants inside, along with pieces of dryer lint from the Possum Cough laundry department.

Speaking of nests...there's been a lot of bird activity on and around our gas grill, too. We noticed tons of bird poop on the thing, and couldn't figure out why in the world the birds would be interested in the grill. Well, yesterday, I noticed a starling flying away from the grill. On instinct, I opened the lid, and here's what I saw:

The picture doesn't do it justice. The nest is as big as a turkey platter. When I showed it to MeeMaw, she stood and gaped. "Is that what I think it is?" she whispered. We're going to clean it out before the starlings can lay eggs in it. I hate to undo all their labor, but they are parasitical birds, and I won't have our grill being used as some avian incubator. If they were bluebirds, now...that would be a different matter.

The pinestraw is piled pretty deep at the front rockwall steps. It'll make good mulch in a few weeks elsewhere.

And the Possum Cough farmhouse looms against the sky...

MeeMaw bought me a gift yesterday. I have been thinking of buying a cheap (possibly paperback) English Standard Version bible just to tote to church, since I seem to be the only person there who uses a different version. I was really thinking seriously about the purchase since I knew I'd be leading worship today, and would need to read from one of the pew bibles, or borrow MeeMaw's, or something. Anyway, she bought me a very nice ESV with that nifty soft buttery leather feel. It's the color of saddle leather, and is nicely masculine.

We went to the library yesterday afternoon to drop off some things and pick up a few things. While we were browsing in the stacks, an entirely unprovoked avalanche struck. I was standing there, looking at a cookbook, when MeeMaw said, "Oh, look out!" Next thing I knew, thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk! several volumes from the top danged shelf came a-tumblin' down, landing on my noggin. I wasn't hurt, but it startled me pretty good. Later, in the car, MeeMaw kept asking me if I was okay. She questioned me about several things, trying to ascertain whether or not I had sustained some sort of injury. Finally, she asked a question like none other I have ever been asked. I believe she was trying to ask me if I was experiencing any double vision. But what she actually said, in her beautiful Texas accent, was, "Are you seein' twyct?"

Shorty and Domino continue to amuse us every day. This afternoon, they got into a scrap and had us rolling with laughter. Shorty kicked Domino with his rear legs. Then Domino reared up on his hind legs and scared the donkey-crap out of his buddy. They both went racing around and around in the pasture. We're going to miss them when Gabriel moves them to their regular pasture.

Last night, our relaxation included watching an enjoyable production of King Lear. It starred Sir Ian McKellan (who is probably best known as Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings triology, a fact that probably irritates the famous homosexual to no end). Good show. It clocked in at three hours, but was interesting all the way through. It was a cast production from The Royal Shakespeare Company at the Old Vic. I think McKellan is artistic director or something at that hoary old theatre.

There's a pentecostal church down in Gate City, right near where we turn off the road to take the highway up into the mountains to come home. We've noticed a foot bridge across the Clinch River there, and have long intended to stop and explore it. Yesterday afternoon, we did so.

The water is only about three feet deep at this place, but is very swift. The recent strong rains have helped swell it to the banks.

A nice place to go a-courtin' and a-sparkin', too.

The mountains rising up from the fields next to the footbridge look as Irish as St.Patrick.

And very soon all the hills will be awakening with color. Apple and cherry blossoms are all around, as are the various ornamental pears that the yuppies plant down in Kingsport. The redbuds on the mountain slopes are starting to glow, very faintly. The dogwoods will follow close behind.

Let me assure y'all that there are all kinds of natural beauty in this world.

This evening, I noticed again how short Domino and Shorty have cropped the grass in the pasture. That field will be in stellar shape in a few weeks. They've trimmed it, fertilized it, aerated it, and watched over it. They're invested in Possum Cough. We keep having a mental fantasy that Gabriel will offer to sell Shorty to us for fifty bucks. It probably ain't gonna happen, though.
Tonight's supper, courtesy of the finest cook in the known world: pan-seared steak with hot Chinese mustard, and fried 'taters. No one eats better than PeePaw. And I have the gut to prove my assertion.

Please pray tonight for the folks who were victims, in one way or the other, of the shooting at the North Carolina nursing home earlier today. This is the sort of thing that hurts my very heart.

Rest well, loved ones.

6:45 pm

It's almost suppertime, and the sun is yet high in the sky. I'm back inside now after an afternoon in the birdsonged air and the life-giving sunshine. My mind and heart feel as clean as a stone.


Something interesting happened today.


Some of you may remember Paul ("Mr. Paul," as we call him). He's the sixty-somethingish deacon who walks with a cane. He had a brain aneurism some years ago, and it affected his speech and his motor skills. He's still a very vital member of our congregation, but has had multiple health issues in the past couple of years. Mr. Paul is childlike and Christlike in a very tender combination.


Just before the start of worship this morning, Mr. Paul stood at the front of the auditorium. John (our pastor) said, "Paul wants to speak to us before we get started."


Mr. Paul spoke in his hesitant, halting, self-deprecating way. In essence, he mentioned that he has been feeling poorly of late, particularly at this past Wednesday night bible study. He said that he feels that he may die soon. He assured us that he is not afraid to die, because he has a home with the Lord. "But," he explained, "I don't like to leave y'all." He talked about the many blessings God has given him, and he spoke of his love for the Savior. He went on to say, "I might not get another chance, but I wanted to tell all of y'all that I love you. Y'all see me goin' up and down this aisle, and you hear me say all kinds of jokings and such, but I love you all. I need for y'all to know that. I love you all." As he went to sit in his pew, several of us said, "We love you, too."


What I appreciated about this little incident is that it is extremely biblical. The New Testament model is not a heavily-organized "service" as we have now. The church in the days of the apostles met in homes, and we can infer from the Scriptures that there was active participation by the members of the congregation, utilizing their gifts, offering a word of encouragement, or a psalm, or a greeting, etc. What Mr. Paul did this morning was in keeping with what we read of in the book of Acts. It served to edify his brothers and sisters in Christ; it served to draw attention and glory to God's name; it served to stir up a feeling of genuine love and affection among us all. It was quiet and simple and brief. It was magnificent.


When we arrived back home, we scrounged up a little dinner (beef baloney sandwich with Duke's Mayonnaise, along with chips for me; mini cheese pizza for MeeMaw) and then went to the back deck. It was a bit chilly at first because of the breeze, but the sun soon warmed us. In between chapters, I even sneaked a nap for about five minutes.

When we came inside, MeeMaw piddled with framing a print, and I went up into the woodlot. I sat on a log and watched a plump little rabbit scurrying around (he is now named Hazel II, since the first Hazel disappeared last year, probably at the talons of one of the enormous red-tailed hawks who frequent Possum Cough). I saw and heard many, many birds, including quail and bobwhite. I also saw the first robin of the year.


The woodlot is still winterish looking, but the birds and small creatures are hurrying it along towards the burst of life that accompanies spring. And it is Spring, isn't it? It seems to have come early this year, and I hope the blooming and growing things are safe. We've had a killing frost in early May for the past two years. That and the two years of drought have put a damper on the local flora. Perhaps this year, everything will thrive.


Speaking of thriving, we're ready to thrive on some vegetables. Our seed order finally arrived from Heirloom Acres Seeds, a Christian-owned company out of Missouri. With the economic mess, more people are planning a garden this year than at any time in the past generation. The seed companies are way behind in their orders, and I'm glad we ordered back when we did. They weren't out of stock on anything we requested.


After receiving the seeds on Friday night, we used yesterday morning to go get some other things. We went down into town to try and find some lumber for our raised beds, but there was none to be found in our town. We did, however, run into a couple of geese who were standing on the street corner and gossipping about someone.
We headed on down to Johnson City so that MeeMaw could get some new scrubs for work. Then we stopped by the used bookstore there and browsed for a short while. And I mean VERY short for us - we're so well-stocked with books, we really didn't have much that we were looking for. MeeMaw browsed through some cookbooks, and I was searching for an old Strong's Concordance (before they started leaving out some of the words) or a copy of Josephus' Antiquities. No dice.


We headed back towards home by way of K-Port. We ended up at Home Depot (Joshi-O, orange IS your color) and bought a couple of 2X10X12s. We had decided that we'd build just one raised bed initially and then go from there. So we got our lumber and came on back home.

I broke out the circular saw and cut the boards to size, then screwed them together (which is not quite the same as screwing them up, but give me time; I'll do that, too). Got the bed built and placed in a primo place in the sun near the fenceline.


I'm planning to stop by Ralph's house (friend from church) tomorrow night and pick up my first truckload of free fill dirt. I'll dump it in the raised bed, add some sand and some vermiculite and some Domino & Shorty brand compost, and it should make some good friable loam. MeeMaw is going to start our seeds in some trays so they'll be ready to transplant to the beds by the time the weather makes its final turn into the warm season.

After I finished the carpentering, I drove Purps the Pickup down to the end of the driveway and began harvesting our current crop of fallen limbs. Within fifteen minutes, the entire truck bed was piled high. Possum Cough is renowned as being the most productive rock and limb farm in the county.
Once the harvest was complete, I backed all the way down to the firepit and unloaded. I started a fire and let the fun begin while MeeMaw provided supervision. By eventide, the entire truckload of wood had been reduced to a few bucketfuls of ashes. Those ashes will go to the compost pile, too.
I had intended to write more, but the time has slipped away. Perhaps I'll write a bit more before bedtime. If not, it'll keep until next time.


Rest well, loved ones.

9:00 pm

On the Ides, I marched into the woods
To poke around and look at their condition
Past the blackberry vines, purple as veins
And pushing up to leaf and then fruition



Wolfberries and their sage-like leaves budding
Against the inevitable greening of the holler




The equines' gift, waiting to be scooped
And wedded to red clay in beds we'll build,
Will boost the soil that cradles living food



A post that might have stood in Cymru or
In Eire, but instead supports the sky
In the southerness of this southern South

This comforter of living moss upon
A log was never knot by hands like ours

The horse and donkey, in their less-than-patient
Hours, crib the bark from sapling trees,
Forgetting that their master never fails
To bring them better fare than what they've stripped

The first unnamed wildflowers, sneaking
Past the forest's carpeting of mast

A souvenier from Angus, as he sought
Relief from itching hide along the barbs

A grapevine traps a tulip poplar in
A love-knot more secure than man can tie

An Irish tangle of rooted green wood
And supple conduit feeding in damp earth

Waiting on the eastern hill, a choir
Of baritones and basses lifts a dirge

The mystery of whorls of paper, chewed
And formed as walls by mouths of deadly livestock

And near my place of prayer hangs a rack of
Cruel thorns, fit for royal apparel

Like whispered memory, a cherry blossom
Lifts from tree-joint to the warming air

Fungi on a long-ago felled log
Troop in scalloped grandeur to the ground

Moss-draped rocks, hunched like monks beneath
The branches where they chant their canticles

And finally, God's gift of bookends at Five
Pines, beside some ramps, upon the straw.

Rest well, loved ones.