There and back again, again.

I went here, to the place where I grew up, for a week. It was not the trip I had planned, but they rarely are.
Here are some portraits.

Trap Pond State Park

 Free bike rentals.    Free! How awesome is that?

I slammed on the brakes dozens of times, because there was so much to stop and look at. Like this:

 Indian Pipes. My favorite fungi.

 

Red Ploypore

Don't know what these are, but we called them sunbursts.

 My 2nd favorite fungus, turkey tail.

I forgot how much I missed sandy soil, pine and cypress forests, and this scenery.

Visited my dad's memorial Red Bud tree at the Labrynth, created by a dear family friend.

Sis and I got weepy when we saw his plaque. It was my first time.

I got less weepy and felt a lot more lucky wandering around the church yard.

This poor child, orphaned and adopted died between 5-6 years of age.

Or this one, gone at 15.

There were sad monuments like this scattered all over the cemetery.
I suddenly felt very lucky to be alive in my 50's, and not so sad to have lost my Dad in his 70's.


Old Christ Church, built in 1772, with services every Sunday and a new clam shell walkway.
Just down the road from Mom's house.

Trussum's Pond

Bald Cypress. My favorite tree.

Played with and petted my sister's rescues, tiny horses. Ash and Trigger.

Made best friends with this big former stray dog, Smokey.

Played with Callie.

Was honored to pet shy Spooky,  who showed up one Halloween.

Leaves at my sister's house - Sassafras, my 2nd favorite tree.

Past and future White Oak.

These from my Mom's house - Beauty Berry.

 Pyracantha

 Eastern Wahoo or burning bush

And more mushrooms. 

On my road trip back to the airport, a sobering reminder to drive safely spoke my name.

  I crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge,

4.3 miles long, almost 200 feet above the water.

It was easier for me to drive it at night when I arrived, because I couldn't see down. 

I got a little acrophobic driving across on this nice sunny day. But I lived to tell the tale.

Amie, by Pure Prairie League came on the radio, so I cranked it up and sang real loud.

As I was coming down off the west end of the bridge, Neil Young started singing Old Man, 

just as a white gull flew past my windshield. It made me cry, it was so beautiful.

The cousin I came home to see had taken a spontaneous trip to Florida and decided to stay a while.

She was able to forget for the first time in a year that she has Alzheimer's, so I wasn't so sad that I missed her. I guess I learned not to make plans with the memory impaired, and to make the best of things. Except for the part where I got into a political fight with my brother, the birther Republican Obama hater, and totally lost my shit and screamed at him because his insistence on falsehoods made me crazy. I tried and mostly succeeded not to lose my shit with my mom,  in declining health and unable to competently manage her affairs while bitterly clinging to her independence, sadly living in the past and frustratingly resenting any attempts to help.  My sister lost her shit with me because I am completely unable to stop talking about these things, especially Mom, when she needs desperately not to talk or think about them, and I'm a Mom magnet when I visit, which is the last thing my sister who lives there needs, more Mom time. Things are pretty strained between them anyway, so I think we need to start meeting in the middle or settle for skype visits or self medicate or drink less or something different. There's nothing not stressful about an aging parent and the shifting sands in the parent child relationship, and I only see tiny glimpses.

I drank too much, ate too much, spent a lot of time soaking up the scenery and taking pictures, and vacillated between happy, frustrated, sad and numb. A typical visit to see family I guess.

It's good to be home in the middle. I missed my little family and my dog. And they missed me.

Fall colors popped while I was away, so you know what that means:

Leaf portraits. Oh yes, my camera and I have been very busy with seasonal photo ocd.

Fodder for future posts.

It's nice to be back blogging and reading and commenting. I missed it here.

Farewell Summer

I've been reading Ray Bradbury's last book, Farewell Summer, the sequel to one of my all time  favorites, Dandelion Wine.
Mr. Bradbury sure knew how to capture the fleeting moment.

I learned from his book title and story that Farewell Summer is another name for what I call Goldenrod, one of my favorite fall flowers. I never thought of them as a goodbye to summer, but they will forever be that for me now, just like the pink of the sedums is Hello, Fall.

I walked a lovely trail this week through a field filled Gold.

Everywhere I looked there was something marvelous.

The lighting was perfect for photos, but I only had my phone.

There's something about the blue of September skies.

Maybe it's the contrast with the golden flowers.

 

I saw this dead pine and was sad, especially because I have this same variety of dead pine in my yard this year.
I'm not sure what did them in, the sap suckers or the drought, but they're done.

There was a controlled burn to kill the weeds, and I noticed dozens, then hundreds of baby pine trees, and I smiled. 

The big tree wasn't gone at all, just transformed into something new.

Something hopeful.

This is my favorite time of year, when the sun is warm, but not too hot. 

The leaves are just thinking about turning.

It's when the leaves are gone that the idea of winter settles in, that I get anxious.

For what, I'm not sure. Maybe to live somewhere temperate.

Maybe for time to slow down.

For now, I'll indulge in some guilty pleasures, like my book on the sunny porch.

Tucker naps while I read, and I'm jealous, because I'm not a person who can take a nap.

But I'm glad for the company.

That boy loves a pillow.

I'll be flying east in a few days, to visit family for a week, in the land of mostly dial up.

Going to spend some time with Cousin Lee, while she's still Lee.

I'll be scarce, but I'll be back.

With lots of pictures.

Farewell, until then.

Post Script:

September 11 2012 marks the eleventh anniversary of our loss of innocence as a nation, on a golden sunny day like this one. I wasn't going to write about it, as I have no words, but it's very much on my mind. I wish we could bid farewell to the wounds opened on that day.

Gather Ye Rosebuds

248. To the Virgins, to make much of Time Robert Herrick. 1591–1674

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,	5
The higher he 's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he 's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;	10
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,	15
You may for ever tarry.

I love the dainty little fairy shrub roses (love the name too!) in my side yard. They've survived ten midwest winters so far, and although I thought this summer's drought did them in, they surprised me with a late flurry of blooms. That seems to be the theme in a severe summer, every plant, shrub  or tree in my yard put their production into berries, seeds, nuts, acorns - baby making rather than foliage or branch making. It's been interesting and heartening to watch. You practically need a hardhat to stand under the oak or hickory or walnut trees. Mother Nature knows what she's doing.

Every year at season's end I pick a little sprig of fairy roses. I put them in this chipped little vase I've had forever and let them sit into the window sill until they dry out. I leave them there, much to the chagrin of my tidy husband, but those dry roses are the remembrance of the summer past and the hope of the one to come next. Each year I put the dry little reminder back in the garden when the new buds are ready to open. I guess that makes me both odd and sentimental, but it's what I do, the tradition I keep for myself. And every year, I say the first few lines of that poem in my head. I gather my rosebuds while I may. Yes, I do. And today's mental soundtrack doesn't go with the pictures or the poem at all, but it fits my state of mind perfectly. And takes me back to some of my favorite, carefree years in the late 1970's.

 
Aerosmith - Back in the Saddle Again (1)

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Today, I woke up after a worthless, fitful, miserable night of not sleeping, despite the many pharmaceuticals I take to the contrary, aching, feeling decrepit and pissed as hell about politics and the world in general. But for some reason, I decided to ignore all that. To grab my camera, to walk out into the world with the happiest dog I know on a beautiful day and take pictures until I was happy too. I was happy noticing every little thing, the seasons changing, the birds chirping, the slant of sun through the trees, how the pictures change with the sun's angle - my version of art therapy. I had to work to tune out the sounds of the road nearby, but you can't have everything. I had enough. I gathered me some rosebuds and I hummed this song and I tried to be as happy to be alive as my dog. Can't ask much more of myself or a late summer day.


Here's that happy dog.