Why are the Bears So Hungry?

This morning, I enjoyed a great time with some bright young women, trying to teach me some more about this amazing world of blogging. I learned a few new things, but just forgot one of the basics: always SAVE your composition before you start previewing it or anything else, so, now I am having to write this all over again.
I was telling Nancy Simpson about the bear visitation here in Wesley Mountain Retirement Village, where I live. She told me about one causing a stir in Andrews, too. Now, tonight, I received an email from Nancy telling me that a young bear came right up onto her patio, which is off her dining room. Nancy said bears have been on her property before, but never come right up to her house before. All these incidents invariably involve bears tring to rob bird feeders. My next door neighbor saw the bear crossing the road in front of his house, and there in the road was his bird feeder, or the top of it, at least. The pole was bent over in his front yard.
Have we had a bumper crop of young bears this year? Or, are they just hungrier? It's still too early for the blueberries and blackberries to be ripe, so I suppose the deep woods' wild berries are not ready either. Anyone else know why the bears are so hungry and bold this year?

Armed Forces Day, Norm's Story

Today, I especially proud of my husband, and grateful for the years he gave from those given to him by his creator in the service of his country. It was only a small reward, but I made him his favorite breakfast, waffles with sweetened strawberries and whipped cream. I suppose I should have added a few blueberries for a patriotic touch, but he knew what I was thinking.

I asked him how he felt about those years (29) he spent at the beck and call of The Commander -in-Chief, the Secretary of Defense and the Chiefs of Staff of the Air Force. In his own words:

"I was a volunteer for the US Air Force in July, 1950. I had passed the pilot entrance exams, but had to spend 18 months at Lackland AFB in San Antonio training recruits before I went to Aviation Cadets at Hondo AFB, TX. Carole and I met before Cadets thru a mutual friend in Shreveport, where she was born. We were married during my second half of Cadet training, which, I suppose was breaking the rules, but the distance between us was too great, and we were in love. It was tough til graduation in January 1953, and we looked forward to living together like normal couples, but after only six months, I was sent to Korea for a year, a lowly 2nd Lt, but I did have my pilot's wings. In Korea, I flew B-26's, completed my missions and bided my time til I could get home to Carole and our baby, Paul.
The years that followed meant many moves, a 3 year tour in Japan, and lots of time s when I was away learning to fly more advanced aircraft,, Our squadron went to McDill AFB, Fl and sat alert for three months in our B-66's during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Eventually I got to fly the plane I loved the most, the RF4C-Phantom Jet. I flew 153 missions in VietNam, got some holes in my plane a few times and spent another year away from Carole and the two sons and two daughters we had by then. I spent most of the remaining years of my AF career training new pilots in the RF4C-jets, and logged over 4,000 hrs in that plane, in addition to the the many hours teaching guys to fly the B-26, B-57, and B-66. When the kids were about all out of highschool and some in college, and I felt I had enough years for a decent pension, I retired. I love my country, my family, and my God, who took care of me, and my family, during the scary times. I would serve my country again, but fortunately I am too old now. The best years of my life have been the past 18, here in the mountains of North Georgia, and not having to leave my sweetheart, Carole."

MAN (or WOMAN) MUST GO FORTH AND PLANT TOMATOES

Our home sits among the trees on a hillside lot. It is difficult to walk, much less grow veggies here. The flower beds put in by the former owners are filled with hostas, azaleas and lovely rhododendrons, for which I am so grateful, but I do miss a little plot of ground to grow (or attempt to grow) some things to eat. When I go to Home Depot and see the variety of flowers and blooming shrubs,, I can't resist a few annuals for the color and beauty they add. However, I still find myself wandering by the vegetables sitting in their little peat moss pots, and I want to grab a basket full. I haven't the flat area of soil, I haven't enough sun, and I've reached the age when I can't get down there on my knees and dig those planting holes. I am frustrated.

We swore we wouldn't fool with those upside down hanging tomato baskets again. But, you know, hope springs eternal, so there they are. One year they were pretty successful, but last year, a nuisance and very few tomatoes. I still feel like I have to turn my head upside down to check on them. Wrens always build a nest in the top, even though I have to pour water on them. They fly out mad as can be, but go right back in again. Ms. Wren had better luck raising her babies than I had growing those tomatoes. Not enough sun, you see.

All last week I watched for places that got some sun for a few hours each day, and I think I have found me a spot about the size of a bathtub that might work. In addition, there's about 10 feet x one foot of space in front of the iris bed. Today I bought okra, sweet bell peppers, eggplant, two bush tomatoes and a pkg of bush beans. No corn, squash, or pumpkin, for obvious reasons. If I have to crawl to plant them, I will.

More About Nancy's Class at JC Campbell Folk School

Sometimes I think I have a condition called, in pilot's jargon: "Having My Head Up and Locked", because I failed to mention one of the highlights of the week with Karen, Robyn, Ruth, Barbara and, of course, Nancy Simpson. We had special visitors on Wednesday who came to tell us about their journeys from classes with Nancy to publication of chapbooks. Brenda Kay Ledford and Glenda Barrett joined us at Orchard House for great one on one discussions about their ups and downs and all arounds in this wonderful world of writing. Happily, they read us some of their best "stuff". It is a real thrill to hear a poet read their own writing,; that is when you really know where their voice lives. Many thanks to both these lovely people for coming to inspire our class, and an extra thanks to our instructor, Nancy, for this nice surprise.

Exploring Poetry With Nancy Simpson

Last week, I had the privilege of attending a Poetry class at the John C. Campbell Folk School with Nancy Simpson as instructor. Three of us were day students, Karen Holmes, Barbara Groce, and myself. Barbara and I carpooled, and it made the long drive on winding narrow roads much more pleasant.
Mornings were spent discussing examples of lyrical, meditative and narrative poetry, and even an ancient style of poetry, the Pantoum. We read together Theodore Roethke's Journey into the interior and a selection from Mary Oliver's book Why I wake Early, called "Bone". I found Billy Collin's exerpt from his book, Picnic Lightning, called The Death of the Hat to be a fascinating example of Meditative poetry. When we began reading examples of Narrative poems, which tell a story, the two examples we studied were Bettie Sellers' , Liza's Monday and Robert Morgan's Mountain Bride. Both brought on great discussions, since their themes were mysterious and a bit scary.
After lunch, the five of us gathered in the computer lab and did our best to write examples of the type of poem we had discussed in the morning. If we managed to come up with something, Nancy led a critique session. We read our work, then passed it around for the others to make comments about. Some days we bloomed with creativity. Other days, nothing seemed to come out of my head but garble. Eventually, we all had something to read on Thursday evening to an audience that came to the Keith House to hear us. Nancy feels we were well received. No one worked harder than she did to bring out our best work.
The last day, Friday, I had to miss as I had to take Norman for a kidney stone procedure. Barbara Groce called and told me the class spent their last day talking about getting published, and Nancy gave me the materials she handed out, so that I wouldn't miss too much. It was such a worthwhile week, and meeting new friends was one of the best things about it.
I hope I have another opportunity to attend writing classes at the folk school. It's a wonderful place to be. Thanks so much to you, Nancy

Delightful Dorothea

This morning, "Coffee With the Poets" at Phillips and Lloyd featured Dorothea Spiegel. We who came were treated to a variety of poems from Dorothea's chapbook, "From my Desk". As Dorothea reads, you can hear the twinkle in her eye, telling you she doesn't take much in life too seriously. Her witty, insightful poems often have a little "twist" at the end, which always brings a smile, a sort of "Yes, that's so true!" moment for the listeners. One poem, however, caught me by surprise, because it revealed a passionate understanding of a man. Her man. Enjoy:

A MAN

I said to myself, "How great a man!"

People listen to him, and his word is law",

and I watched you and glowed with pride,

but I carefully kept my feelings inside.

Then I saw you were a mortal man:

concerned, confused, guilt-ridden, shy,

kind-hearted, angry, hurt and proud,

and my feelings almost spoke aloud!

I asked myself, "What is a man?"

And now, my feelings all unleashed

here in your arms, at last I can

answer myself, "This is a man."

Dorothea Spiegel

A Moment of Reflection

Is there any season as welcome as Spring? So far, this has been as close to a traditional Spring as we have had here in the mountains in a long time. Two Springs ago, we were robbed of Georgia's famous sweet peaches, blueberries and all manner of fruit delicacies by an early false Spring, followed by a hard freeze that lasted five days. Even the lovely dogwood blossoms sagged on their branches, and beautiful hostas changed overnight to something resembling boiled cabbage. Spring last year was skimpy, so much being damaged the year before, and the drought took its toll, also. But this year, we've had these wonderful rains to bring the daffodils into glorious bloom while it was still quite cold. The rains have brought wonderful blessings of new growth, but a little sadness from time to time. Hence, my little poem:

A Small Daffodil

On my stroll back from the mailbox,
I see the much needed rain has beaten
my daffodils' faces down into the mud.

It seems unfair that a bulb waits
so many months, and dares at last
to risk all, in fickle Spring.

Yesterday, this one turned ruffled cheeks
toward Sun for warmth, and hoped
for a kiss, but gray clouds moved by.

Today, I shake off the rain, or tears, from
damaged petals, but see the broken stem.
One day to live, one heartbreak to die.


So, I tried to honor my special small daffodil.