Rocky and me with Diana and Paul Conco

 

Best Friends

Last Saturday night, Rocky and I went out! Usually, it's just to dinner, but this was to a storytelling performance, one of our favorite activities. You can read more about it at our local storytellers blog http://beavercreekstorytellers.blogspot.com.

But on the way there, Paul Conco who, along with his sweetie wife and our sweetie friend Diana drove us to the event in Johnson City, snapped this picture of us in the backseat of the car.

Hey--remember the days, waaaaaay back, long ago, when we did things in the backseat of a car other than fix scarves?!!!

Coltsfoot Rock

Remember when I wrote about coltsfoot a few days ago? It's the plant that looks like a short dandelion, sort of.  Wikipedia says that the coltsfoot leaves were dried, then smoked, as a treatment for athsma. They also said that in England the extract is made into a candy-like confection that is a cough suppresant called Coltsfoot Rock.

Well, thanks to Google, I found the company, Stockley's, that makes it in Oswaldtwistle, United Kingdom, which is near Lancashire, and I sent for some. They evidently sent it Express because it arrived only a few days after I placed the order. I'm posting a picture of its packaging.

Of course, we had to taste it! The listed ingredients are sugar, liquorice, gelatin, paragoric, capsicum, Oil of Aniseed, Coltsfoot (Extract) .0012%, no artificial coloring. (Capsicum is "a tropical American pepper plant.") The box contained four 6-inch sticks that looked like 6-inch cigar-colored pieces of chalk. It tasted pretty good, but we are saving it for an athsma attack. 

There is a drawing on the back of the box of three coltsfoot flowers in front of a hoof-shaped leaf for illustrative purposes only since the flowers and leaves do not appear at the same time.

It was fun sending for something from "the old country."

Ambivalent Spring--Chilly and Misty

Witch-hazel (Hamamelis Virginiana) I'm posting a picture I took yesterday of one of our witch-hazel shrubs opening its blooms now. This is an unusually well-shaped tree when most that are here are shrubby with branches here, there, and everywhere. They are often lop-sided and leaning sometimes just a straggly bunch of branches. They are plentiful along our little spring-fed creek. I mistook them for willow for a long time, then learned their true name and nature. 

According to Wikipedia, the Witch-hazel (spelled there with the hyphen) has its flowers, fruit, and next year's leaf buds present simultaneously, which is a rarity among trees. Their name comes from the old English "wich" meaning "bendable" and "hazel" which was the name of the twigs used as divining rods. 

The bark and leaves of the witch-hazel are astringent, and their extract is used commercially in lotion for aftershave and treating bruises and insect bites. It also makes up a high percentage of the cream used to treat hemorrhoids. The seeds which ripen about 8 months after its spring bloom contain a large quantity of oil and are edible. When fully ripe, they pop open with such force they jump a few inches away, therefore earning them the common name of "Snapping Hazel." They are also called "Winterbloom."

I'm wondering if the area locals know them as anything else? So many plants have colorful, metaphorical names, I've been wondering about Witch-hazel. Does anyone know? I've also been wondering if this is the bendable wood that is used for making twig furniture. I have a small toy twig chair--maybe I'll have to experiment. Could the branches be used for making baskets? Where is a craftsperson when I need to ask some questions. Let me know if you've got the answers.

Allegheny Serviceberry

 

Allegheny Serviceberry

More signs of Spring come along each day! The Allegheny Serviceberry (Amelanchier laevis) that we can see from our Master bedroom deck is in bloom, right on time, the last week of March. We've watched this tree bloom annually since the mid-1980's when it was a little 5 foot sapling. It is now about 20 feet, I would guess, and according to the tree book will max out at 40 feet. This is its annual "15 minutes of fame," as it blends into the rest of the trees the rest of the year.

Rapunzel

Granny Sue inspired me to go looking at trees a week or so ago when she wrote about the Greenman and posted some photos she had taken. She had been inspired by a friend's blog that she follows. See how this internet communication works? Sharing interests are so much more entertaining than the dull letters we used to write, like, "We are fine here...how are you?"

Here at Castle Yonder, we are fine because we are surrounded by trees since we live in the middle of 84 acres of up-and-down mountain "knobs." I have long appreciated my arbor friends, and grieved over the loss of about 60 of them, mostly huge oaks growing on hillsides, during the Great Ice Storm of 2003. (We lost a beautiful elm, also, that looked over and guarded our home.) However, I had never looked for faces in them even though I've loved fairytales where the trees take on human characteristics. 

I'm not able to go hiking through the woods now, so I have lost many opportunities to find tree faces. But I am consoled to know they are out there, friendly and protective. Now I have to stick to the road, often just driving the car then getting out and walking a short distance. We even had our road paved because we couldn't stand being jostled and bumped by all the potholes that developed, and asphalt is not friendly to lots of flora. It's amazing what survives on the edges, and even grows through sometimes, but I am sorry that we are leaving a sizable footprint.

I didn't find any Greenman faces, but I did find the fallen and deceased, youthful buds, and mossy feet. I also found this shagbark hickory that made me think about the Rapunzel fairytale. I copied the photo, then cropped the "face" and falling tresses, but I'm not sure if she is Rapunzel or the witch. What do you think?

 

The Big Read

Last Saturday afternoon, I attended a group that was sponsored by the "Big Read" program in Abingdon, VA. "The Big Read" is a community project, usually sponsored by a local library, to encourage reading and literacy. Each community chooses a book which is read over a certain time period and community events such as movies, plays, book discussions related to it are scheduled.

The book that Abingdon selected was The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers, published in 1940 when McCullers was only 23; it was her first novel.

I have to admit that I had never read the book. In fact, the only thing I had ever enjoyed by McCullers was a television production of her play, Member Of The Wedding. I had very much identified with the adolescent girl in that play who idolized her older brother and fiancee. So, I proceeded to read The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter and in popular idiom, was "blown away." Where was this book when I graduated high school in 1952? Or at the very least, I think it should have been assigned reading for American Literature 101 instead of Hemingway; ...Lonely Hunter is far more relevant than the Spanish civil war.

I couldn't believe that I was reading about race relations and the U.S. economic system in a book published a year prior to the start of World War II. I kept returning to the publication date to make sure I had read right because the sentiments were those of the mid-1960's cultural upheaval. Besides, it was difficult believing that a 20-year-old white Southern girl could have had the perception of the characters that she revealed.

In short, I was, and am, impressed!

Admittedly, the book is depressing and I had to put it down for a week at one point. I burst into tears at other points

I wasn't able to attend everything that was scheduled during "The Big Read," not even the kick-off, but I did attend two events during March. The first was a play at the Barter Theatre, Adjoining Trances, which consisted of an intriguing dialogue. The characters are Carson McCullers and Tennessee Williams, and the setting is a summer home in Cape Cod where the two of them, platonic friends,

worked side by side on their projects.

The second event was the discussion I attended last Saturday. It was meant to be a meeting for those who had memories of the "Great Depression" of the 1930's.

There were a dozen people present at the Abingdon Seniors Center besides the library director who facilitated, and a young female reporter from The Bristol Herald-Courier, with her toddler on her hip. 

The oldest storyteller there was an 89-year-old M.D. who had been a teenager when the banks failed in 1929. The next oldest was another gentleman from Greeneville, TN who had been born in 1930; then me, born in northern Indiana in 1934; and another gentleman from southern Ohio born in 1935. Several women sat in the circle, but did not participate in the discussion. 

We talked about the hardships of that time and how people conquered their obstacles and survived. There was an overriding tone of pessimism about today's events, and that old-age attitude that the current younger generation doesn't have what it takes and have been spoiled. I wouldn't let the meeting close with those words, so I commented that I was more optimistic, that if our young people today could figure out all the gadgets they have, they'll be able to figure out how to solve their problems. I must have resonated with the young reporter because I was quoted in the newspaper the next day!

Tussilago farfara "Coltsfoot"

I did a little research in Wikipedia on Coltsfoot, Tussilago farfara, our harbinger of spring around here along with the forsythia and daffy daffodils.

Tussilago means cough supressant and evidently its qualities as a soothing relief of sore throats and chest coughs were well known when European immigrants settled in the Appalachian mountains two centuries ago.

Today, we notice the coltsfoot flowers because they are similar in looks to dandelions, but without leaves. The "hoof-shaped" leaves, thus the plant's name, do not appear until after the plant has bloomed and set seeds. Early peoples dried the leaves, then smoked them for relief primarily from athsma-like conditions. The flowers were also crushed and were thought to be a cure for skin conditions. In addition, the plant is edible.

A confectionary business in Oswaldtwistle, United Kingdom, Stockley's Sweets, maintains it is the only business in the world that makes a confection from coltsfoot, known as Coltsfoot Rock.

It is located near Lancastershire. Since Rocky suffers from COPD which includes athsma, I sent for some, so I'll let you know what it tastes like if I can find the right words, and whether it helps us suppress coughs or tastes medicinal (or yummy).

The plant likes sunny locations along roadsides, although it is not as common as dandelions.

We first noticed coltsfoot a decade or more in the past growing down the middle and on the edges of our gravel road. Our road is paved now with asphalt and the colonies of coltsfoot are decidedly fewer.  But it survives at the edges of the asphalt in little groups. I noticed the ones the other day where Rocky feeds his pet grouse millet. 

Neither one of us was acquainted with the plant and had to look it up in a wildflower book to verify what it was. However, as happens so often when you become aware of something, we started to find references to it in local and regional media.

The Coltsfoot Is Here!

How apropos! The calendar turns to the Vernal Equinox, and the coltsfoot shows its yellow curls. I so look forward to this little plant, that I used to mistake for dandelion, and its announcement that, yes, it is officially Spring! Granny Sue has a lot of information about coltsfoot so I'll refer you to her blog: http://grannysu.blogspot.com/ She knows way more about it than I do, and has done a lot of research. I'm still curious about how it got its name. I'm posting a picture.

A Good Day For A Nap

It was overcast but fair when I went out after lunch to run errands. I should have known it would be a day out of the norm when I picked up a surge protector to buy at Office Depot and got a shock! Instead of hanging it up, I guess because it was on sale, the clerk had lain it flat on a metal shelf, just waiting for a human touch! Voila!

I was looking for a purse-sized digital photo displayer. Since my cell phone is the Jitterbug, invented for the elderly and simple-minded, it is not a camera. Now that most of my photos are digital, I would like something like the small photo albums we used to carry to pull out of my purse and say, "Wanna see the latest picture of our Grandaugnter's chihuahua?" 

I had seen one in Target a few days ago, but hadn't read the details. I need something compatible with Mac and hadn't read that it was or wasn't. But the more I thought about it, the better an idea I thought it was, meaning "I want one." Office Depot had one at $19.99 which I thought was $10 too high, and the LCD display was only 1 1/2 in. square, hardly the old 3x5's we used to show off. It even doubled as a keychain, but I was underwhelmed--I don't need another keychain.

So, off to Target I went. I should have known better. Target has way too many things I think I need to stock up on. I didn't like the photo digital display they had any better than Office Depot's. Also, the same price and the same size but it did say it had software imbedded in it and did not mention Mac, so I decided it wasn't compatible. So I bought a bunch of other stuff, all on sale, that I know will come in handy in the future

 In the store, however, I did hear a funny exchange. While I was perusing the items on the shelves, I heard a four-year-old voice (a girl's, somehow I could tell) begging her Mama for something. Mama told her "No," and to hush now. No such luck. I heard Mama say to the child she should settle down and behave now, and maybe something else, a little threat, maybe? And then the count "One...(5 second pause)...Twoooooo....(5 second pause)... and then a very calm 4-year old voice asking perky and powerful, "Are you gonna spank me?" I know who has the power in that family. And sure enough, I finally looked over my shoulder and saw what I presumed to be a family turn the corner of the store, a man, a woman, a teenage girl, and the owner of the 4 year old's voice. The man and the woman each held a hand of the little child's and were swinging her up and over some obstacle in the way. My assessment? Love conquers all, and the four-year-olds know it!

When I came out of Target, a cold mist hit me in the face--a cold front must have gone through. I hurried to get on over to Food City before it got icy, if it were going to. I had a list and stuck to it pretty well, so it didn't take long, and it was a cold slushy rain, not ice, that accompanied me on the way home.

I'd love to lie down right now and take a nap. Our gas log is blazing, my toes are cold inside of slightly wet shoes and sox, and I've got books to read and words coming out my fingers. Our English Springer Spaniel, Abe, can take a nap, but I can't since I have to leave for our Java J's storytelling show at 7:30 p.m.  So I am posting a photo of Abe who is smart enough to be a dog. 

Terry Benz and Leon Overbay are the storytellers tonight. Maybe I'll tell one, too.  

Proud Posies (And Designers)

On March 1, our son-in-law Armas Koehler, along with his two partner-colleagues at Moda Botanica, a floral design service in Philadelphia won Best In Show for Garden Floral Design. I am posting a few photos that my son, Alan Spooner, took. The Philadelphia Flower and Garden Show is an 8-day event drawing crowds of 250,000 people. I had fantasized about going thinking it was at the end of the month, and had even discussed it with my good friend, Molly. However, because of Rocky's recent trips to the ER decided it was not good timing. I was really excited when Alan called me to tell me the news, and really, really proud. Moda Botanica started up only last year, and this is the first they had ever shown. It surely will bring lots of good business their way.

Alan and Armas have been together for 12 years now and are very committed to their relationship. They moved to Philadelphia three years ago out of a desire to buy a house. Alan is not in the floral business. He was trained as a Pastry Chef, but was forced to end that career due to vascular problems. He now works as a Fund Raiser for a bio-medical research organization closely connected to the University of Pennsylvania. 

His career as a chef, and Armas' career as a floral designer, do mesh at times and they have done Special Event shows together. Armas is a quiet, reserved, and obviously very creative young man and we are proud of him for his labors, and of Alan for the support he gives. Alan is much more gregarious and a very good photographer!

Enjoy the slideshow! You can see more of the Moda Botanica display at http://modabotanica.blogspot.com/

The Corner Bank at Castle Yonder

 

My Creative Corner at Castle Yonder

 

My Reading Corner At Castle Yonder

 

The Corners Of My Heart(h)

Yesterday, I had a flash of memory triggered, I think, by sitting at my computer and writing, writing, writing. I suddenly realized I was feeling an emotion I had felt many, many years ago. Around 70, I would guess, 70 years ago.

I received a child-size wooden desk and chair as a gift, perhaps for my birthday which is the first of April, and now that I think of it, perhaps that is one of the reasons the memory was hanging right there, ripe and sweet for the taking with my birthday only two weeks away. 

Rocky was sitting in his wing chair in front of the fireplace where I also sat in my wingchair, computer in front of me, to write. So I had an audience, and as my fingers ran over the keyboard, my mouth started to run too, and I shared my memory, then made connections to my life today. Here is what I told him:

I had this little wooden desk and chair. The desk had, perhaps, three drawers in it and I kept crayons, erasers, blunt scissors,and  stubby pencils that my Dad sharpened with his pocket knife in there. And, most importantly, the sooty pads of ruled paper that my Dad brought me from his caboose. 

My Dad was a Conductor for the B&O Railroad and our town, Garrett, Indiana, was the headquarters for the Chicago Division, in spite of its small size of only 4000 people. Perhaps it was because the "shops" were there, shops being where the engines and cars were cleaned and repaired. Dad had started working in the shops when he was only 14 years old, but had climbed out of the shops onto the rails to actually have a job that involved riding on the trains. 

When Dad was assigned to passenger trains, he wore a dark navy blue uniform with brass buttons, and he punched people's tickets and generally managed what went on in the passenger cars.

But when he was assigned to the freight trains, he wore striped overalls with blue or red bandanas and rode on the caboose. He was in charge of everything that went on with the freight cars, which meant seeing to it they suffered no damage, that they were dropped off at the proper destination, that no one hitched a ride, and to take care of whatever else might come up concerning them.

Of course, the railroad provided other men to help my Dad, switchmen who checked the tracks, car inspectors who checked the freight cars, brakemen who manually handled the brakes in an emergency, and trainmen who were his assistants and ready to take over if he became incapacitated. But he was the boss of the train. Conductors and engineers were always arguing over who was the most important, and Dad's argument was that the engineer was only in charge of the engine and coal car; the conductor was in charge of all the rest of it!

The caboose at the rear of the train provided the most fun for me. It was a combination office and motel room--on wheels.  I loved it when Dad took me "up to the caboose" with him when he was off duty (or as he would say, hadn't been "called out.")  He would restock the icebox, put away canned goods, and hang up clean clothes to wear "on the other end." That meant Chicago--Chicago was "the other end."

I will never, never, never forget the smell of the caboose. The smell of soot and ashes and cinders and the steel of the wheels, iron of the tracks, and hot steam fueled by coal, and, most importantly, the smell of working men who are living together. The sooty smell permeated everything, and Dad's work clothes were hung in the old closet under our stairwell away from the good clothes. He even had his own caboose blanket, a quilt my mother had made for him from 4-inch squares of dark corduroy. That blanket was so coveted, in spite of or maybe because of, the odor that clung to it, that all three of us sisters asked for it when he retired.

Sitting in the cupola when I was a five year old was the most exciting part of the visit to Dad's caboose. The cupola was the single-man loft, one on each side of the caboose, which looked out the upper side windows. It was where the men could watch the tracks ahead, or where they slept or where they would just ride between cities. Dad would give me a boost up the ladder and I would sit up there and watch him putting things away below. I would imagine what it would be like for the train to be moving, for me to be grown up, for me to be a grown-up man where I could have a job like a freight train conductor and travel to an exciting city away from home.

The train was my Dad's home away from home. This was my Dad's other life, an  adventure condoned by society mixed with his parental responsibilities to support his family. He might not have the best of both possible worlds, but he had a foot in each one; loving family on one end; Chicago and all it offered on the other.

I have only a little knowledge about his Chicago adventures, and that is another story to explore but not here. This is a blog where I am remembering the desk I had as a child and the sooty discontinued pads of forms that my Dad brought me to write and draw on. 

In the lower portion of the caboose next to the iron coalstove for cooking was a wooden booth where Dad and his trainmen could sit and fill out their forms--how many freight cars had been put off at a certain town, how many had they taken on, how many oil tanks there were, how many refrigerated cars, were there any emergencies, any problems? There were forms for many situations, and as bureaucracy will do, the forms kept changing. That's when Dad would bring the old ones home for me, in all their sootiness.

I didn't care! This was the end of the Depression years. We didn't have money to buy crisp new white tablets for me to scribble on or ring bindered journals that we have today. We were the original recyclers, and I loved my ashes-stained forms. The forms were laid out in some kind of a grid, and I filled in lines and boxes with the numbers and letters I had learned in school. I made them look very official, organized them and filed them away in some of the drawers. As I grew older, my lists grew more relevant to my life. I made schedules I would never follow, set goals, made plans, experimented with creative writing, and filed thoughts away in my logical mind just as I filed things away in my desk.

Of course, my desk usually stood in a corner--a corner of our front room (living room to you youngsters) when I was five. At age 75, I remember the organizational activity that became one of my strengths and the pleasure I got from the tools of writing. At age 5 it was stubby pencils and sooty tablets; today, it's a computer keyboard and applicable software.

Later, when I outgrew my little desk, I used an old Mission style Sears Roebuck oak library table pushed into a corner of my bedroom. It doubled as a night stand. As I raised my children in the 1960's, I had a refinished office desk shared with my ex-husband in a nook in our master bedroom since I was a part-time student at the University of Houston. My reading corner then was piled up pillows against the headboard of the bed.

Since then, I've replicated the special corner for myself many times. I post photos here of three corners I have now, a reading corner, a creative corner, and a banking corner.  I may not have had "A Room Of My Own," but I've always been able to sit, not for punishment but for pleasure, in my very own corner.

A Bounty of Daffodils

The daffodils bloomed early this year--unfortunately. There are big clumps of daffodils lining the road coming up the hill leading into our parking area behind the house. Two weeks ago they started to bloom; daffodils can withstand temperatures to 28 degrees F> Last week, the temps got down into the teens. Frostbitten daffies do not stiffen or blacken, but their stems grow weak, kink in the middle, and the bloom on top leans over and lies down for a hibernation, promising to come again next year. 

Most of my daffodils looked like that when the warm springlike temps occurred last week and are lasting yet today. Monday, I walked among them and picked the blooms that just couldn't hold up their heads any longer. They don't last very long with their weakened stems immersed in water, but they do last a day or maybe two. 

In the past I've picked "bushels" of daffodil flowers because the weather forecasts were predicting a severe frost that night. What a sight in the house--every table is covered with vases of daffodils. Othertimes, I've left them alone blooming along the driveway when the predictions were below 32 but above 28.

There weren't as many to pick this year. Either the clumps are diminishing, or there are more to bloom yet. The last week of March is the usual blooming time for daffies here.  I've posted some photos of my indoor daffodil garden this spring.

Has Spring Sprung?

Spring has sprung,

The grass has riz,

I wonder where those boidies iz?

Sorry, I don't remember the name of the author of this poem. I heard it (and it stayed with me as a solid meme) in a Poetry class of a continuing ed course for adults at University of Delaware in the mid-1970's. 

Well, the "boidies" have been with us all winter; the grass hasn't "riz" yet here in the mountains, but with the 70 degrees of yesterday, Spring has indeed sprung! See pictures of crocus and daffodils in my rock garden as proof. That temp remains with us today, so now I must leave and go outside!

Web Site Success

Whew! I finally was succesful in uploading a website for the Beaver Creek Storytellers. And while I was at it, I created a Blog for our group that I will be managing. 

The website is at http://www.bristolstorytellers.org

The blog is http://beavercreekstorytellers.blogspot.com

Check us out. I will likely be confining storytelling comments to the new blog instead of this one.

Only makes sense, doesn't it?

I thank Google for making blogs so easy to create and manage. And I thank Mac for making websites so easy to design using iWeb. Also DirectNic.com deserves my gratitude for making their Help trouble ticket system providing prompt and effective replies.  

Birthday Presents

March 4, last Wednesday, was Rocky's 79th birthday. I told him last week I wanted to give him a "stressless" chair, and after describing it to him, he got pretty enthused. I had read about them as the anti-gravity chair/beds that were designed for the astronauts aboard a spacecraft. Then I saw them at a store in Jonesborough, Mauk's, right across from the International Storytelling Center. 

Last Friday we drove down since the store has many different sizes and styles and wants the person who is going to use it pick out the chair that is most comfortable for them. After sitting in a dozen or more chairs, we both chose the same one that was in a beautiful wine-red color and would not have to be ordered.

As Rocky was getting out his credit card, I reminded him that I have a birthday coming up in exactly 28 days from his, and I would enjoy having a chair like that, too. Long story short, we ordered two chairs and they were delivered on March 3. 

They are wonderful--I have found it difficult to leave mine. But I managed to get up and click this picture so you can admire them, too!  

A Good Day

I snapped this photo of a mourning dove last week.  Connie Reagan-Blake, a North Carolina storyteller reported once that her friend, Rosa Hicks (widow of Ray Hicks) always said that when you hear a mourning dove, you know "it's going to be a good day."

Well, hopefully our good days began again this week when Rocky visited the pulmonologist who had turned him over to a Nurse Practitioner. I'm telling you, that NP and her nurses gave Rocky the best COPD exam he's ever had in that office. What is it with doctors these days? This is not the first time we've found the NP to be more knowledgeable and thorough than the MD.

Anyway, Rocky got some clarity about his meds and which ones are safe to take together. They also wrote him a prescription for a portable oxygen concentrator and a wheelchair. Neither one of these are necessary if he stays home, but if we want to travel even for one overnight, they are necessary. 

However, we've talked it over and Rocky thinks that a wheelchair may be premature, and he could be o.k. with one of the walkers that has a seat so he could sit down if he needed to. I think all of this will make his (and my) quality of life waaaay better.

So, thank you, mourning dove!