Copyright

All content is provided for your reading enjoyment. Please do not copy/use anything from this site for publication, contests, or personal gain. I am delighted to share my pages with you; if you use something, please give me credit and refer to my blog. Thanks. Dianne

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

The Spirit Needs a Forrest

"The Spirit needs places where Nature has not been rearranged by the hand of man."
Recently, I chanced upon this quote. I do not know who wrote it, but it spoke to me and set me to thinking.

When I was growing up, I had the good forture to live next to a forrest - Lee's Woods - and a Daddy and Aunts who were at home in the woods.  We thought nothing of tromping through those woods for hours at a time. I never saw them as dark or forbidding or scary, but rather I felt at home among the towering trees,  sunlight filtering through the leaves.  With my active imagination, I found that place  to be magnificent and magical, full of surprises and treasures.

When I was no more than 10 or 11, I discovered the poem, "Thanatopsis" by William Cullen Bryant and, while I did not comprehend the poem was about death, I did understand the opening lines...
     "To him, who in the love of Nature holds communion with her visible forms, she speaks a various lauguage." I had heard that voice of gladness and felt the 'smile and eloquence of beauty.'  I had experienced the mild and healing sympathy of Nature.  I "felt" Nature. I understood her language.

Mu soul - my spirit - needs the quiet, soothing communing with Nature.  There have been many times throughout my lifetime that I have felt God's presence in a church.  I have never failed to find Him in Nature - especially those 'places where Nature has not been rearranged by the hand of man.'  I can't help but think how much better this world would be if folks just spent a little more time communing with Nature.

I am reminded of that old Dial soap commercial... it could be .....
"Aren't you glad you love Nature?  Don't you wish everybody did?"


Thursday, July 23, 2015

This Little Piggy Stayed Home

Back in the mountains when your Grandparents were young, life on the farm was hard.  There was no electricity, no running water or indoor plumbing, and no nearby grocery store.  Farms had to be self-sufficient. Farm folk raised their food, made their clothes, repaired what was broken and made do with what they had. 
Crops of cotton and corn were grown to support the farm. Most farmers kept a few cows for milk and a mule or two for plowing.  Hogs, and chickens were allowed to range free and forage in the woods for food.  They, along with wild game provided meat for the family.  The farm wife kept a vegetable garden and canned, or put by, fruits and vegetables to feed the family throughout the year. 
Fannie Lee had lived her whole life on a farm.  She accepted the hard work without question and gained pleasure from little things. The flash of a hummingbird or song of  a red bird, the satisfied hum of the chickens as they pecked about the yard, the soft fur of the kittens rubbing against her ankles.  She would pause while sweeping off the porch to watch fluffy white clouds drift across the blue sky. She admired the muted colors of the hens and chicks growing in rusting pails on the front porch, the only plant she had time to tend.  She had a soft spot in her heart for all young, growing things, for all God’s creatures.
While she could pluck a hen and fry it up to golden, delicious crispness, she could not bring herself to kill it.  On a day she planned to have chicken for dinner, she let Wheeler know before he headed to the fields.  He was the one to capture the unfortunate fowl, chop its head off and hang it on the clothesline. Fannie Lee took it from there and proudly piled the crisply fried breasts and legs on her Blue Willow platter and set it on the table.
Each fall, Wheeler would take one or two hogs and pen them up. For the next month or two these hogs would be fed on corn. The corn diet fattened them up quickly and made the meat tender and tasty. The butchered hogs would provide bacon, sausage, hams, chops, ribs and lard enough to feed the family for the coming year.
Fannie Lee knew this. She knew they needed the meat.  Still, just as she could not bring herself to kill a chicken for Sunday dinner, she couldn’t stand the thought that the pigs penned up down at the barn would soon be hanging in the smokehouse.
One sleepless night, as she wrestled with her thoughts, a plan began to form.  Quietly she slipped from the bed and in her nightdress, crept through the darkness to the barn.
The hogs, hearing her soft footsteps, inched to the fence to eye her suspiciously.  Fannie Lee hesitated only briefly, then stepped forward and lifted the heavy bar that secured the  gate. The hogs, sensing freedom, rushed through the opening and disappeared into the night.
Fannie Lee smiled. She knew Wheeler would round them up again tomorrow and soon enough they would be reduced to bacon and hams. Tonight though – tonight they were free.
Lesson 4 - Find Your Voice

Saturday, October 5, 2013

MSWC: Perfect Dinner Party

Mama Scout Wellness Challenge: Write Every Day
October 5, 2013
{prompt}

Who would you invite to your perfect dinner party?
You can reach back in time, include literary and film characters .... Anyone you want!

If you like cooking -what would you serve?

My Answer:

Invitations would be sent to
Our best friends, Sam and Jim
DH’s boss and his wife
Both sons and their spouses 
Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy
Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart
Former President Bush & Barbara
Former President Bush & Laura
Rhett and Scarlett Butler
Stephanie Plum and Joe Morelle
Peter Jennings and his wife
Regis and Joy Philbin 

I wanted to invite people I thought would be compatible and adept at interesting conversation. I feel this group will make a lively mix.
When you said ‘dinner party,’ right away I thought of a formal dinner. I began making my menu, then decided to just have a good ol’ fashioned Southern dinner. In that case – dinner will be:

Southern fried chicken
Mashed potatoes with gravy
Fried creamed corn
Fresh green beans with new potatoes
Squash casserole
Collard greens
Pan fried okra
Macaroni and cheese
Cornbread muffins and biscuits
Sweet tea

And for dessert – apple pie, pecan pie and chocolate cake with white icing
Anybody for seconds? 


Monday, September 9, 2013

Welcome to My Blog

      Welcome to Gertie's Simple Things, a simple little blog primarily for my enjoyment but it is always nice to have company.    
      When I began this blog, it was simply to make it easier  to present my "homework" for the Find Your Voice workshop.  Kristin Tweedale (from Find Your Voice Summer Storytelling Workshop - rukristin papercrafts) offered a free writing workshop for the summer. That sounded exactly like what I was looking for and I signed up.  As a child, I had a vivid imagination, often made up stories, wrote poetry and created my own fantasy land. Then I grew up and somewhere along the way, I lost my imagination and my creative self.  Last year I set out to find and reclaim both!
     Find Your Voice was fun, informative and pressed me out of my comfort zone to places I never considered - like starting my own blog!  The first 8 blogs or so from that workshop. There are three that 'might' be considered worthwhile: Watermelon Time, When The Time Comes and Handle With Care.
     When that workshop ended, I immediately signed up for another one - Debbie Hodges' Story Coach. The later stories are from that workshop. The concept for writing stories is different but certainly effective. I am learning.  It is not my intent to become a famous author; I want to write a decent story to share with my children and grandchildren about their ancestors.
     Again, I welcome you. Please feel free to browse around; I would appreciate your comments - especially if you are a writer and have some constructive suggestions.


Saturday, August 31, 2013

Story Coach #3A It Started With Greyhound

It Started With Greyhound

The tall boy in the crowd stares at me, recognition dawning; I turn my head, pretending I don’t see him.  It is Mother’s Day afternoon and I am at the Greyhound Bus Station in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Half a dozen outsized gray and blue buses are parked - their signature greyhound racing down the sides. I am waiting for the one that will take me home to Atlanta where I am in nursing school. The small crowd of people raise their voices to compete with the noisy idle of the buses lined up beneath the blue overhang. Ignoring people and buses alike, pigeons strut about pecking at bits of invisible crumbs on the dirty sidewalk.

Suddenly Daddy waves his arm, saying, “There’s Reese Dorsey! I bet he’s going back to GA Techl Hey, Reese!”
Me, tugging on his arm, “Daddy, shh! Don’t call him over here!”
The tall boy turns and walks toward us.
Daddy: “Hey Reese, what are you doing here? Are you taking the bus back to Atlanta?”
Me: “Oh, good grief!”

Reese Dorsey is a senior at Georgia Tech. We both come from a small town where everyone knows everyone else. Reese and I went to school together but he is two years older than I am. It isn’t that I don’t like him, I just prefer traveling alone. Reese is one of the smart ones, and too busy to have ever noticed me. He talks easily with my parents; I ignore him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

I can’t help but see that Daddy and Reese are the same height. Not many people are as tall as my Daddy.  Reese is what people call clean-cut, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He looks relaxed wearing a light blue button-down oxford shirt and tan corduroys. He looks like he is comfortable in his own skin. In high school he played basketball, was President of the Senior Class and in the Honor Society.. Like I said, smart. They are talking about school. He is majoring in textiles, a lucrative industry.

A bus pulls in, “Chattanooga” displayed in the destination window.  My bus. It will change to “Atlanta Express” when we pull out. I grab my overnight bag and turn to hug Mama and Daddy. Reese shakes hands with Daddy; I turn and climb the steps. 

I choose my favorite seat by the window.  Reese slips into the seat beside me. As we pull out of the station, I wave to Mama and Daddy. The bus doesn’t lurch or make awkward movements, just smoothly glides over the highway to Tunnel Hill, twin tunnels burrowed through Lookout Mountain.  It is a 2 ½ hour trip – I usually read or nap. Tonight I am listening to the tall lanky boy beside me. I am not pleased.

I pull out my book. “I usually read on the bus going back,” I inform him tersely, hoping he will take the hint. He doesn’t.
“What are you reading? I don’t get much chance to read unless it is a textbook,” he smiles at me somewhat apologetically. He does have a nice smile.
I show him the book. “I don’t really know much about it yet; I just started it.”
“Have you ever read ….” and he is off talking a mile a minute. I have never known a boy who talked as much as he does. Usually I have trouble getting them to talk at all!

We are back in Georgia now and the hilly, northwest terrain. We will travel through small towns - Brainard,  Dalton, Calhoun and Cartersville without stopping. This is the route of the Great Locomotive Chase of 1862. They say the roads here follow old Indian trails through the valleys and around ridges. Our road, Highway 41, is a two-lane blacktop. We rock along smoothly.

This is a pretty area, largely untouched by urbanization. I gaze out the window paying little attention to the noise around me. We travel through gently undulating green hills. It is spring and red bud and wild dogwood trees are in bloom, sprinkled haphazardly over the landscape. Patches of jonquils are dotted in yards of long forgotten farmhouses.  Farms cover large areas of the countryside; cows graze in fields behind wooden fences. We pass long stretches of forest, the occasional lake. Do I really prefer the city to this tranquil panorama?
             
I love Atlanta but whenever I have a weekend off I head home for a few days of Mama’s home cooking and sleeping in my own bed. I have made the trip often enough to know the driver and how not to get left behind. Cal is the driver, a short, slim man, very neat in his blue-grey uniform. He routinely drives the Detroit Express north and the Miami Express south.  His driving is incredibly smooth, an easy rocking that could lull you to sleep. I plan my trips to get on his bus. This weekend was special. It was Mother’s Day and I was fortunate to have the weekend off.  Of course I went home.

Beside me, Reese is talking about his job in a body shop. I remember him and an old boyfriend working on cars when we were in high school. He has worked with NASCAR building cars. “That was a lot of long nights, long hours, a lot of traveling,” he explains. It is obvious he likes working on cars.

He talks about school and the textile business; he is concerned that he doesn’t have a job lined up when he graduates in December. He has co-oped through college, working at the textile mill in our home town. Still he has gotten through school in record time. I had never thought about textiles before and how much is involved in making the cloth that becomes our clothes, curtains, dish towels. Clearly he enjoys his chosen career. He is actually pretty interesting.

He talks about his room-mate who is a motorcycle mechanic. He is from our hometown too, but I don’t know him. He talks about his family – his Dad is a tool and die maker (I didn’t even know what that was,) and his Mother stays at home and keeps house and sews. He has one brother who is 10.  He speaks of his family with obvious caring.  I suppose something good must be said for a college boy to go see his Mother on Mother’s Day.

Reese talks about his car. It is a rattletrap he says – a way to get around. It breaks down routinely but he is a mechanic; he patches it up and it keeps going. He says he doesn’t drive his car home because it is cheaper to ride the bus. He left his car at the bus station; maybe he will give me a ride back to the dorm. 


As day turns to dusk, lights shine from the occasional house.   In Marietta, home of the Big Chicken, the two lane turns into a 4 lane highway that takes us into Atlanta. It is now dark, the lights here only a hint of the dazzling display we will see in Atlanta. As we enter the city, the skyline is a welcoming display of lights. It is beautiful and I am glad to be home.

The bus turns off on Spring Street and continues to the bus station.  As we pull into the allotted slot, we gather our belongings.  Reese takes my overnight bag from me.
“Can I take you home?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply. I don’t have to think about it.

His car is a black ‘54 four-door Ford. He was telling the truth – it is pretty ragged looking and noisy but it starts without any problem. He is a careful driver. At the dorm he opens the door for me and walks me to the door, carrying my overnight bag. He is such a gentleman. It seems natural that we hold hands.

“I guess you have to go in?” he asks; he knows I have a curfew. I nod.
He shuffles his feet. He clears his throat.
“Would you like to go out with me sometime?”
He is a very interesting young man; gentlemanly, handsome, well-spoken, smart. I enjoyed the trip with him. I tell him, “Yes. Yes, I would.” and I mean it.

Of all the trips I have made home, that is one journey I am very glad I made – and that Reese made the trip at the same time. He called me the next day and asked me to go to a picnic with him the coming Saturday. It sounded like fun and I wanted to see him again. I said yes.

Five months later we were married. Forty-eight years, two sons and two grandchildren later we are still married, he is still talking. I finished school and worked as a nurse for 47 years. After graduation,he accepted a job as plant chemist at a finishing plant in South Carolina; years later when the textile industry waned, he became an electrician. We live in a quiet suburb in a two story Cape Cod style house with our two cats – oh, and Candy and Lucy, our two retired racing greyhounds.

Written by Dianne Housch Conley
31 August 2013



Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Story Coach #1A “Survivor” to Scrabble

Survivor” to Scrabble
(or How My Play Has Changed)

Last night I beat the computer at Scrabble 3 out of 4 times!  Before that, I worked the daily jigsaw puzzle on line, watched a video tutorial on scrapbooking and browsed Pinterest boards.   I used to watch tv; now I play on the computer  - playing games,  browsing websites,  learning new things.  This is my new favorite entertainment.

My introduction to computer entertainment was quite by accident.  Several years ago, our younger son wanted one thing for Christmas – The Legend of Zelda for his Nintendo gaming system. We had purchased it, but when Ray, our older son, looked at it, he thought it might be too complicated for JE to navigate.  He suggested we try it out first so we could see what it involved and be able to help him with it.  We played. The first time I planted a bomb and opened a hole in the wall, I was captivated!  After that, Ray and I could hardly wait for JE to go to bed at night so we could play Zelda!

After that, I played a variety of Nintendo games with JE, mastering Mario and Donkey Kong. As he grew and his interests changed, so did mine.  I switched to computer games – first Solitaire in its many forms, then Scrabble and Mahjong.   One Christmas Ray gave me a Nancy Drew game.  The Nancy Drew mysteries were my favorite books as a teen-ager; now in this new, grown-up version, I had a new favorite pastime. I was hooked!

Computer games have slowly taken the place of television for me. I did not suddenly stop watching tv, but over the years, I found that it had less and less appeal.   

I was a child when television first made its appearance in homes across the country.  I grew up on The Honeymooners, I Love Lucy, and Ed Sullivan.  That was back in the day when there were three stations, channels were changed by turning a knob on the set and the Star Spangled Banner played at midnight before the stations went off the air.  Back then too, programs were memorable for their familiar settings and traditional values.  Ozzie and Harriet could have been next door neighbors. Dave Garroway delivered the news as if he were sitting in our living room discussing it. One could go off to school after his trademark, “Peace” sign-off, knowing that all was right in the world. 

Over the years, TV has changed and so have I.  It seems that now programs are promoted more for their shock value than for entertainment.  I don’t like what it has become.

Manners and morals have been replaced with in-your-face shouting matches and anything-goes language, violence and sex.  Reality has been replaced with outrageously improbable “reality shows.” As television has raced to its frenetic height, I have grown mellow and peace-seeking.  I neither need nor want what tv has to offer.  Technology has brought us new forms of entertainment. I have discovered websites with every type of game imaginable and tutorials for just about anything you might want to learn.  There is so much available on the internet these days.

Every night after dinner, I have a set of games I play on my laptop: pic-a-pix, a  jigsaw puzzle, the Daily Snoop, and Word Roundup Frenzy. A new game is posted each day for those.  There is a group that has multiple levels: Phinx, Word Bubbles, Jolly Jong, Mahjong and Jewel Quest.  They take a little longer to play; I will play one of those or one of these rather mindless but fun games - Mind the Blox and Blocky 3.  I play Scrabble against the computer. Other favorites are Suduko and crossword puzzles. My favorite games though are the Hidden Objects games and Nancy Drew.  Those I can play for hours on end.  There are countless games available; once in a while, I browse different websites trying out new games.

Technology is a marvelous thing.  There are so many opportunities to keep the mind active!  I can take my games with me on a tablet, my Kindle or iphone - all items that were unheard of 10 years ago!  And, these are more than games – they are exercises to keep my brain functioning.  The human brain is a spectacular computer, able to adapt and rewire itself.  It has been determined that some memory loss is simply due to inactivity. Games or exercises keep the brain productive and full of zip!

Sometimes I contemplate spending my time playing games on the computer.  I am not a child, rather I am a “new-middle-age” (elderly) woman with grandchildren.  Perhaps I should be spending my time knitting or crocheting or putting food by like my Grandmothers did. And then I reason – if those ladies lived today, one would be playing games on the computer and the other would be reading books on her Kindle!  Technology has come a long way in my lifetime, why not take advantage of it and learn something new?  And, there is something comforting about sitting across from my husband, each of us involved in our separate activities, yet together.   

Right now I am puzzling over how to get the treasure chests on their respective spots on deck, and I am stuck!  I know when I figure it out, I will be surprised that I didn’t solve it sooner. This is a challenge I am enjoying.  I will work on it again tomorrow; right now the Braves are on tv – I think they need me.



Saturday, August 24, 2013

Story Coach #3: The Road Leads Back to Georgia

Story Coach Lesson 3:  In Transit

The Road Leads Back To Georgia

Snow swirled around me, huge flakes sticking to my inadequate cap and gloves as I pumped gas into the Blazer.  We were taking our son and daughter-in-law home, back to Georgia. He had just graduated University of Michigan and they were moving back to where it was warm.  I stamped my feet to get the blood moving; here in Ypsilanti at 6:30 AM, it was bitterly cold and it was May 3!

“Just think,” I had said to Dan a mere month ago, “a month from now you all will be packing to move back to Georgia!”
“A month from now, I will be back in Georgia,” he replied emphatically.

He wasn’t kidding!  May 1 - he graduated, May 2 - we packed the truck, in the snow, and now May 3 -  we were headed south.  Olivia’s cousin Helen, my husband, older son and I had come a few days earlier to help them pack up, attend the graduation and help with the move.

Olivia, 5 months pregnant with their first baby, and Helen, a college student in South Carolina, had started out earlier to give them plenty of travel time without rushing. The car was packed full with first necessities – clothes, coolers of food, and Julia, the lovable four year old part lab, part wayfaring stranger.

            Dan waited patiently by the large over-the-cab U-Haul that he would drive the 700 miles ahead.  Reese, my husband, and David, our older son, were inside stocking up on coffee and snacks for the trip.  Finally we were ready. Dan and David led the way in the U-Haul; Reese and I followed in our Blazer, also packed to the roof with, among other things two ferrets, and a tiny white mouse that I laid claim to and named Ypsilanti, Ypsi for short.  We were on our way! Head ‘em up, move ‘em out!

Reese and I had made the trip each fall and spring since Dan and Olivia had been there.  Each time I was amazed anew at the vast expanse of sky that formed a blue bowl over farmland that stretched for miles to the horizon. I was used to farmland with a backdrop of mountains that always seemed nearer than they were. Sky in my neck of the woods was ‘up’ – not all around!

Our trip was a straight shot, from Georgia through the mountains of Tennessee, up through Kentucky where horses grazed behind white fences and where we left the mountains behind. Into Ohio with its flat farms that stretched limitless to the far horizon and finally into Michigan. The trips were long, taking around 10 - 11 hours with our stops along the way, but always, thankfully, uneventful. Little did we know this trip would be anything but!

When Dan was three years old, he announced that he was going to Georgia Tech and be an architect. He never wavered from his decision and at 18, he entered the “North Avenue Trade School” as the students fondly call it. Four years later, he had married his high school sweet heart and they were heading north to the University of Michigan to get his Masters degree.

Dan and Olivia had been in Michigan two years. As appealing as the little town was, as pleasant as the spring and fall months, summer was almost non-existent and winters were bitterly cold with feet – not inches – of snow.  Southern born and bred, neither of them came to embrace Michigan as home. I was delighted to learn he had a job with an architect firm in Atlanta; they were coming home!

Reese, David and I took time off from our respective jobs and drove up to help them pack up their two years of accumulated worldly goods. They lived in a two story 19th century house with large, airy rooms, and they had managed to fill it with treasured belongings.  We were fortunate to have Helen and David!  Both are very organized and together they sorted through, tossed out, categorized, arranged and generally coordinated the packing. The rest of us followed directions; boxes multiplied near the front door. 

Dan graduated with honors. The day dawned bright and sunny, a beautiful spring day!  The University of Michigan, School of Architecture, had its own impressive graduation ceremony; the  rest of the afternoon we wandered about the campus, awed at the buildings at this ages-old institution of higher learning.

                 The next day, we loaded the truck. It snowed.  The morning was another spring-like day, but as the day wore on it cooled off and we were looking for sweaters and jackets. I was giving the kitchen cabinets one last check when I heard David holler. I went to the door and looked out.
“What is it,?” I called to him.
 “It’s snowing! Look! It’s snowing!” he exclaimed.
Barely perceptible, tiny snowflakes were softly falling. It was snowing!  While I watched, the flakes  got bigger and fell faster until it was a regular snowfall.  It was May 2 and it was snowing!

            Olivia had rented a large over-the-cab truck from U-Haul to haul their worldly goods back to the land of warmth and sun.  It was massive, the tires looked good, the gas gauge showed full and it was packed.  We left Ypsilanti behind and headed south.

The snow had stopped but we were still in Michigan when the walkie-talkie sputtered and David’s voiced boomed into the Blazer.
“We seem to be having a problem here,” he announced.
“What’s wrong?” my husband inquired.
“Engine overheated and it’s blowing steam everywhere,” was the undesired response.
“Pull off on a side road and we’ll call U-Haul,” Reese told him.
We were in Milam; we had traveled 12 miles!

As we caught up to them and pulled up alongside, Reese sighed, “Yeah, it’s the water hose.” He called U-Haul, and after much discussion including, “No, we can’t unload it!” he reported that they were sending someone out to replace the errant water hose. They neglected to mention that that “someone” was coming from Detroit.

Two hours and a second phone call later (when they thought to mention Detroit) brought a too cheerful character with the new water hose, which he quickly and efficiently attached. Thirty minutes later, we were on our way – again.

            We made it to Dayton, Ohio before we heard from the U-Haul again. This time, son Dan reported, “We’re out of gas.” He had stopped on the entrance to an overpass.
“What?” my husband exclaimed! “I thought you had a full tank of gas!”
“That’s what the gauge showed,” Dan answered, “It’s still showing almost full, but we are not going anywhere!”

We soon discovered that construction detoured us several miles to the nearest gas station. We could see it – we just couldn’t get to it!  We purchased the gas (and a gas can) and headed back to the bridge where the U-Haul waited.  A little over three hours since we left Ypsilanti and we had traveled less than 130 miles!

                 On to Cincinnati, home of the dancing pig!  At last we were zipping along, again admiring the far-reaching farmlands, the expanse of blue sky.  Entering Cincinnati, traffic slowed, then stopped. Surely traffic could not be this heavy, Reese and I mused. News came from David and Dan, ahead of us…a wreck involving several cars had both lanes blocked. We were surrounded by 18 wheelers; for the next hour we entertained ourselves by reading their logos and advertisements and making up new names and slogans for them.
I could have written that song by Weird Al Yankovic,  “Traffic Jam” -
“Now we're all goin' nowhere fast - Well, I guess that's perfectly clear
I left home five hours ago, And I can still see my house from here.”

Finally the line ahead started moving and we inched along with our fellow travelers, through Cincinnati, over the Ohio River and into Kentucky!  We almost cheered!

      It was always a pleasure traveling through Kentucky. It is such a pretty state with horses grazing in green fields, the mountains, gentle undulations of soft greens and blues.  Closer to hand, alongside the road, bare cliffs rose straight up, large boulders hanging precariously to the side. Sometimes they turn loose, causing an avalanche of rocks. In the mountains past Lexington, that is exactly what we ran into!

The road ahead was closed; we could see emergency workers swarming over the area like so many ants, working to clear the roadway. It was clear that it would not be open for many hours. We followed the long snaking line of cars down a dirt road to our next detour.  Darkness was settling around us on the mountaintop, the moon providing the only light. Another adventure!

     This detour took us several miles from our expected route, and added another hour or so to our already extended trip. All was not lost; headlights picked up deer and raccoons in the brush alongside the road.  A canopy of stars shone brightly in the black night. It was incredibly beautiful!

            And so we wound down and around and into Tennessee. Almost home!  We had been on the road 16 hours. We were fatigued, weary and drained but excited to be so close to home. We did not know that one more unexpected incident lay ahead.

            Just south of Knoxville, we rounded a curve and saw the most unwelcome sight: “Bridge out – Detour.”  Oh no!  Another diversion – another ‘short-cut to go the long way ‘round.’ Wasn’t there a song titled “Detour”? If I had known the words, I would have started singing.

             Once again, we followed the few cars ahead, and found ourselves on a back, two lane country road. At least we were in Tennessee and getting closer to our destination!  The farther we drove, the more familiar the surroundings and finally there ahead was the beautiful ‘Welcome to Georgia’ sign!

                    Georgia was home to all of us; we were all born in and had lived in Georgia all our lives. Georgia is a beautiful state, with mountains and beaches, it is home of Coca-Cola, “Gone With the Wind” and Ray Charles. The winters are mild, the summers hot – even spring and fall have their own season. “Georgia On My Mind” is more than a song to us; it is an anthem. It was no wonder that Dan and Olivia wanted to move back to Georgia!

I feel that, for some, a place becomes a part of you, and no matter where you are, your heart, your home is always there. Like the song says,
Other arms reach out to me, Other eyes smile tenderly
Still in peaceful dreams I see - The road leads back to you.”

And so, Dan and Olivia wanted to come home. Home to the South, to Georgia - where the pace is slow, the people friendly, the tea sweet.  I understand. It is in their blood; it is in mine.
     For us, no trip has ever had more calamity, more mishaps, more detours. I marveled that despite each new difficulty we encountered, it was met with good grace and a spirit of adventure. Even after fatigue set in, no one complained, no one lost his temper. Was it because, no matter the obstacle, our road was leading us back to Georgia? “Still in peaceful dreams I see - The road leads back to you.”  I do believe so.
           
It was 2:00 AM, 19 ½ hours since we left Ypsilanti, when we pulled into the gated community in Atlanta where Dan and Olivia’s new home was located. We had made it!

Inside we found Olivia sitting on an air mattress that friends had brought over. Despite the late hour, they were wide awake, catching up on happenings of the last two years. We had stories of our own to tell and over Cokes and cold pizza, we entertained them with tales of our long  journey and each state’s adventure.

Sitting there on the floor, surrounded by my family and friends, I unconsciously hummed the tune “Georgia” and thought of the words - “Georgia, Georgia - A song of you
Comes as sweet and clear As moonlight through the pines.”  My heart filled with joy and contentment  to be right here, my children back where they belonged, where we all belonged. The long journey was over; the road really had led us back to Georgia!


Note: This is a true story, told just as it happened in 2005.
"Georgia on My Mind", the official Georgia state song,  was written by Hoagy Carmichael and Stuart Gorrell, 1930.
“Traffic Jam”  was written and recorded by Weird Al Yankovic.