tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-207091012024-02-19T16:09:34.925-09:00Tales From Boyland JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.comBlogger301125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-59288966955926806392019-10-01T06:15:00.002-08:002019-10-01T07:57:55.842-08:00Moving ForwardOne thing that's always true about life, I've found, is that even when it feels we're at a standstill or <a href="http://jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2017/08/in-between.html" target="_blank">living in the "in-between"</a>, things are always changing. We're moving forward. The same is true with Boyland. It's growing at unimaginable pace and in ways I could never have fathomed. And so, it's time to move forward into a new blog stage as well.<br />
<br />
We've moved to <a href="http://www.plantedbytheriver.water.blog/">www.plantedbytheriver.water.blog</a>. I hope you'll join us there and somehow be encouraged as you move forward into your own seasons and times and places.JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-72182031995035269412017-08-04T07:05:00.002-08:002017-08-04T07:05:38.719-08:00In-BetweenFour boys and one mom headed up the driveway, heat dissipating from the gravel and wildfire haze in the air. We dug through dusty totes, and as we found the ones we were looking for, we brandished them back down to the house. Smacking one a few times to relieve it of dust, I unzipped the large canvas duffle and began dispersing its contents upon a shady place on the ground. <br />
<br />
"I miss the RV", 15-year-old man-child remarked, in his witty, deadpan, tongue-in-cheek way that we all love. A few chuckles erupted from our small crowd and we set to work, setting up the family tent for the first time since that man-child was a wee boy.<br />
<br />
Unfurling the tent, something sprayed out which literally made my heart skip a beat. I became immediately aware of the familiar, hollow space in my gut, which has lessened from time to time but definitely has not dissipated like the heat from the gravel on this sultry 95 degree day.<br />
<br />
Sand from the Little Susitna riverbed.<br />
<br />
It had remained for all these years, tucked away in crawl space and moving vans and garages…and when those tiny fragments of my beloved homeland met my eyes, so did the tears. It's amazing the love God can give for a place. So deep-seeded that no matter where we find ourselves, it is carried along with us, like His presence. But then again, His name is Love.<br />
<br />
So often we find ourselves in the in-between. That space from which we can still so easily look back with love and longing, and yet we can also strain to see ahead that place in life we are hoping for yet seems so out of reach. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdgVRA_fwJa3lpIgoU82vmTWVNMrxewpv6zNsrVgsQDPVBE9BE8EInGkHXke0sB6-Y2JD43jvtxG-V25qEhpt1uuOhUk2e0cu5aFIXwf1DAQFNvdQfJnVeDM0JtK8xdkmHBcstew/s1600/IMG_4065.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdgVRA_fwJa3lpIgoU82vmTWVNMrxewpv6zNsrVgsQDPVBE9BE8EInGkHXke0sB6-Y2JD43jvtxG-V25qEhpt1uuOhUk2e0cu5aFIXwf1DAQFNvdQfJnVeDM0JtK8xdkmHBcstew/s320/IMG_4065.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
We miss what was, and we want what will be. We know we must move forward, so we pray and we hope and we muster up all our strength and then realize it's not enough…so we go to the Wellspring and ask Him for more. And then we wonder why things just don't seem to be working out. Why our surroundings aren't right. Why the relationships don't seem to be falling into place. Why we are plagued with so many annoyances. Why the job won't come. <br />
Why He isn't relieving the physical symptoms which have surfaced due to<br />
<br />
so. much. stress. for. so. long. <br />
<br />
Why we just aren't settled. We wonder these things, and wonder if they ever will be. And it's so hard to be in this in-between, and to seek Him continually, and to continually hear, "You'll see. Be still, and know that I am God."<br />
<br />
<i>"Be still and know that I am God"</i><br />
<br />
Be still…when there seems to be no forward movement. Be still…when it all seems to be falling into place for everyone but you. Be still…as the number of jobs applied for over seven months continue to mount. Be still…while your kids grow like wildfire and you feel desperate to be settled while they're all still home with you. Be still…in your two-bedroom house. Be still…while housing market skyrockets. Be still…when panic attacks well up and you can't quell them. Be still. Be still.<br />
<br />
That is the answer. We know this, and yet to put it into practice? Not so easy. Yet perhaps when we find ourselves "in-between", that is the most fertile ground for this lesson to grow. It's easy to trust when things are going easily and smoothly. Easy to "be still" during the honeymoon of a big exciting life change. But when time goes on and on and on and we hit the real grit, will we "be still" then? Will we trust He has our best good in mind…even when it doesn't match our dreams. When the forward motion seems to have lost momentum. When nothing makes sense. When the ground seems fallow.<br />
<br />
Our present home was in dire need of landscaping. Of any sort of green. The elderly couple who lived here previously had embraced low-maintenance, and rocks are low-maintenance. So after the snow said farewell this past spring, we chose one small section of yard and began hauling rocks out, load by load. We dug out dead shrubs, made space for things to grow. Placed landscape edging to provide the boundaries of the new green growth we hoped for. Had a load of soil delivered. Spread it by hand. When the soil was prepared, we seeded. And watered. And hoped. For two days, that is, until a massive, freak storm moved in and we watched all our hard work careen down into the driveway in torrents of rain.<br />
<br />
We reseeded, and began watering, 6-8 times per day to keep up with the sweltering heat made even more swelteringly by all the ROCK around here. <br />
<br />
Nothing grew.<br />
<br />
Our 16-year-old stared at the ground one day, then broke the silence with, "I'm really beginning to resent this yard project. It just won't grow….just like anything here…it's just so hard." Do you ever experience someone putting into words, exactly what is in your heart? Yeah, me too.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisYNsqJZe7gSxcxMWUAgcLnp4Z0-IXx9FI__EFkiZ-6aZYMmjoF8RgfiVzdvRCkYscRHevQHYX-yUByjgX2opgzReILzgohyphenhypheneyraQ_ETeK71whG8TtivYs6WImdVgWZcA5DF1MAQ/s1600/IMG_4066.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisYNsqJZe7gSxcxMWUAgcLnp4Z0-IXx9FI__EFkiZ-6aZYMmjoF8RgfiVzdvRCkYscRHevQHYX-yUByjgX2opgzReILzgohyphenhypheneyraQ_ETeK71whG8TtivYs6WImdVgWZcA5DF1MAQ/s320/IMG_4066.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
So we went through and tediously pulled out all the weeds that had sprung up. Hoed up the compacted soil that the hard rain had beat down. Mixed in new peet moss to replace that which the torrents had washed away. Reseeded. Applied new seedling fertilizer. With hope, began watering again, during the very hottest part of the summer. And you know what? It has taken much time, diligent watering and weeding, and subsequent seeding.<br />
<br />
But it's growing.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgKa5ZkkdMOqEwax1XCqVeX_VvmDrJqzpQ8HWhRKl_O7y1jSQNs6sRk-Wh0D8M-0jRMKTucjXTdQDwipPQhqrgxKKwSmVjHhUEkHHMsdvOlUzKcurci6ybbS8zxgZYLUtmFJq59Q/s1600/IMG_4067.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgKa5ZkkdMOqEwax1XCqVeX_VvmDrJqzpQ8HWhRKl_O7y1jSQNs6sRk-Wh0D8M-0jRMKTucjXTdQDwipPQhqrgxKKwSmVjHhUEkHHMsdvOlUzKcurci6ybbS8zxgZYLUtmFJq59Q/s320/IMG_4067.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Finally we can see the momentum building. And it is beautiful.<br />
<br />
We're being tended like this, and so much more diligently and tenderly, by the Gardener. He knows the boundaries we need for this present time. He is breaking up our hard places. He is sowing and nurturing. When the storms come and the lack of our strength is revealed, He is patiently reseeding. We're in His good care, and though at this time of in-between we aren't readily seeing the growth, it is there, if only hidden in tiny seeds beneath the surface of fertile soil. The fertile soil of the "in-between". <br />
<br />
This is God's will for us right now. Evidenced by the fact that this is what is. It won't always be like this, but right now it is. And it's my choice, my responsibility, to live fully in this time. To spurn the temptation to put life on hold until things fall into place. Grow a garden, if even a small one. Get the chickens I've been dreaming of having for ten years. Possess the land He's given us now. Be thankful for what was. Look forward to what will be. But live fully now.<br />
<br />
Be still and know.JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-70908003350641047132016-05-23T21:39:00.000-08:002016-05-24T07:00:59.475-08:00ForwardThese are the days which good and hard weave in and out of. There are so many things and moments that are easy to give thanks for.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6GhsbF8HCXeyL9CNakHAJ-tz_ChxEQZs6TLACEzk4JnY8r9h-q8BiF1dzUXpeJbOlYozoUnwq6xLdiajMg6dNN536N4pS3ZuMeHFk8OVCmJMni7-6aXuJUHt-oMIQQipcLEIbyg/s1600/IMG_0744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6GhsbF8HCXeyL9CNakHAJ-tz_ChxEQZs6TLACEzk4JnY8r9h-q8BiF1dzUXpeJbOlYozoUnwq6xLdiajMg6dNN536N4pS3ZuMeHFk8OVCmJMni7-6aXuJUHt-oMIQQipcLEIbyg/s320/IMG_0744.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Such as first glimpses of Baby...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjJV8rYiEiEODvmi-rbYNrEoM5ju6MIhzAXpNzbL__0Zz-WrfmaaqPWcMES0gLUvr73edkvNZ3ZWkwPUhW66XlYbt4yZsbKza7tbIhyphenhyphen-TTU2QqNo5O5Jx4lvbL3A3SHDovDJ2phg/s1600/IMG_0779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjJV8rYiEiEODvmi-rbYNrEoM5ju6MIhzAXpNzbL__0Zz-WrfmaaqPWcMES0gLUvr73edkvNZ3ZWkwPUhW66XlYbt4yZsbKza7tbIhyphenhyphen-TTU2QqNo5O5Jx4lvbL3A3SHDovDJ2phg/s320/IMG_0779.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">…and fresh spring babies in the sunshine.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And there are things and moments that hurt and are hard and it's pure sacrifice to murmur our thanks for <i>those</i> things. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2sFSeBMgyS0nIcwxmCxazhdFe2fznHmBaMGw_6F7oiwbYQXuYBa86T1EGDsJFy0NpPEXakq88hTwG-6LuWMTfu0IPYqDY1nrYuDBKidBIUIRw1pZDIFXTL46Sr7mIW5qPLEamkw/s1600/IMG_0785.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2sFSeBMgyS0nIcwxmCxazhdFe2fznHmBaMGw_6F7oiwbYQXuYBa86T1EGDsJFy0NpPEXakq88hTwG-6LuWMTfu0IPYqDY1nrYuDBKidBIUIRw1pZDIFXTL46Sr7mIW5qPLEamkw/s320/IMG_0785.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Such as a returned dossier from Addis Ababa...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-7RkIgfonKdKMn7i_3-vVio8WJmpM6vapGdmW-p0Ttn5Cx40FH52MzTO3WUsWtdNrGwSGoPUb2i7Ig7jfXprvaX_vicn8tNAhQK3yVQ3TxH6uwLKYEuKOWK1D4vAaJIl1dwjbw/s1600/IMG_0797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-7RkIgfonKdKMn7i_3-vVio8WJmpM6vapGdmW-p0Ttn5Cx40FH52MzTO3WUsWtdNrGwSGoPUb2i7Ig7jfXprvaX_vicn8tNAhQK3yVQ3TxH6uwLKYEuKOWK1D4vAaJIl1dwjbw/s320/IMG_0797.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">…and painful consequences</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We hold on to the hope that He's making something unexpectedly, extra-beautiful on this tapestry, even though we may not see it yet.<br />
<br />
We're (still) in a season of change and unrest, and have been for quite some time now. Our family is not the same as we were two years ago. There's a new heartbeat among us. Boys are taller and have made even bigger leaps in their heart-growth. Along with those victories, they also face new challenges. We parents have changed too, both outwardly and inwardly. The pressures of moving and job change and unsettledness have produced both good fruit, and also caused the ugly to rise to the top. <br />
<br />
Sometimes recently I've remarked, "I think I like the girl from a few years back better. I'm not the same person now that I was then. In fact, I'm not sure I can remember her." And so gently, like the murmurings of this Western wind through quaking Aspen leaves, I have heard Him whisper, "You're not the same. How can I make you more like Me if you stay the same?" A glimpse of hope has filled my heart, and yet still this hurt. This fatigue. This wanting of the hard to be over. <br />
<br />
It's been a particularly difficult week. I don't share this to be negative, but to be real. Maybe you relate? <br />
<br />
Morning sickness, nasty colds, bee stings, a boy nearly slicing off the tip of his thumb, wisdom teeth removal…these sort of things have filled our days recently. All the while, there is regular life and work and lessons and housekeeping for our family of eight, the all-consuming rhythm-keeping of days. Then there are the deeper, pressing matters, such as finding that permanent landing place. Where is the time or energy for that sort of thing?<br />
<br />
One particular day found us scraping grotesque remains off the garage floor, over and over again, as baby birds plunged to their deaths to the concrete. We had heard them the previous two weeks or so, faint little cheep-a-cheeping at first. Their little cries gradually became louder and we smiled each time we stepped into the garage and heard the evidence of their growth. What a sad end to the mama's laboring of caring for those little birds. Over the course of two days, the cheeping lessened and lessened some more until all we heard was one. It, too, fell as we watched, only this one landed on the workbench.<br />
<br />
The boy-version-of-animal-lover-me, ran to scoop up the fragile little frame before it toppled from workbench to concrete. <br />
<br />
"I'll name him Bright Hope," he said. All day he played the role of papa to that little bird. Tenderly he fed him bits of suet and provided a soft place to rest. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMW1l3a5NtzXzE7vfkImrgSSw0o3jfbqJm281lm4XZsLcj2PasddEjLmJL4g-NmYdmCD1yBjYLzW3PsDC9DCOBwj5ON7lthgw0pd-S-cTEjsBs1wmVcjOlRrqCKstAljZ7mf5lNQ/s1600/IMG_0793.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMW1l3a5NtzXzE7vfkImrgSSw0o3jfbqJm281lm4XZsLcj2PasddEjLmJL4g-NmYdmCD1yBjYLzW3PsDC9DCOBwj5ON7lthgw0pd-S-cTEjsBs1wmVcjOlRrqCKstAljZ7mf5lNQ/s320/IMG_0793.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
The bird still died later that day, but it has a name and a place marked by an upright stone adorned with transplanted Forget-Me-Nots and scattered rose petals. <br />
<br />
I feel sort of like I'm falling lately. "Slipping", I call it. And so in some sad, strange way I took it personal as I watched, one-by-one, those little birds fall. Thankfully though, I have more in common with the last little one, which instead of meeting concrete, met a buffered landing place and warm hands to nurture it along. It had a name. It was known. And loved. And I am, too. You are too, by the way.<br />
<br />
I'm loved even when my ugly rises to the top with all this pressure. I'm known by name, a name written on His hand. So when He speaks to me, "Forward", I'll keep trudging forward. Because I believe through all this hard stuff something beautiful is being woven together. <br />
<br />JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-35030742804488329902015-10-29T20:59:00.000-08:002015-10-31T19:27:02.991-08:00Missing the Littler and SimplerSo this week we find ourselves with a new teenager, which brings the total to two teenagers in the house, whom I'm pretty sure I just birthed last week. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmW4JIqnETpl43w9gzz5gyKGE8qelwf1TT62EmuNX3hiu0vulVZ3PHjKSbk98pTTNOAG-HaC0j-jL8_7Loq7I9XQsQUYlu20Aa2e00MnnTxD2qBrbCDXRGpeXP57EOnCLyeak0A/s1600/1026151953a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmW4JIqnETpl43w9gzz5gyKGE8qelwf1TT62EmuNX3hiu0vulVZ3PHjKSbk98pTTNOAG-HaC0j-jL8_7Loq7I9XQsQUYlu20Aa2e00MnnTxD2qBrbCDXRGpeXP57EOnCLyeak0A/s320/1026151953a.jpg" width="180" /></a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK_LqNuIUvsVIPlGvQ4Jcr4Mhyu85n9_cqX92EJMh_W9wYrdjngejzAZTBtskCIhFk6SCHQJ11z1udjFN1EoZ8X3XFqNvaeW1saqiUeD5adStdi4ceHaCN_ycPPXg7ap4lt6ElFA/s1600/IMG_0904.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK_LqNuIUvsVIPlGvQ4Jcr4Mhyu85n9_cqX92EJMh_W9wYrdjngejzAZTBtskCIhFk6SCHQJ11z1udjFN1EoZ8X3XFqNvaeW1saqiUeD5adStdi4ceHaCN_ycPPXg7ap4lt6ElFA/s320/IMG_0904.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
I'm happy and sad. I'm so proud of our crew and so encouraged by how I see God working in their hearts and growing them into the men He has planned for them to be. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifViOicU3paOubd4WnhN62ZmwTN0eJcNvyIvGS7yCfT01yf7pV7XU-9xs2w60wmct5nt4HnKrOZkF4j8giBe1SQcq3KDaw4BaqbVamn6heMk1Ur8_VxDUQqURpmnCKWrEd3DSOkQ/s1600/1026150843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifViOicU3paOubd4WnhN62ZmwTN0eJcNvyIvGS7yCfT01yf7pV7XU-9xs2w60wmct5nt4HnKrOZkF4j8giBe1SQcq3KDaw4BaqbVamn6heMk1Ur8_VxDUQqURpmnCKWrEd3DSOkQ/s320/1026150843.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
But I'm sad, too, because though I love their big-ness, I surely miss their little-ness. It doesn't help that we no longer have a diaper-wearer in the house. This too is a big "Praise Jesus" intermingled with tears. There's no hiding it. Our family is evolving. Growing. Things in this life simply don't stay the same for long. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFCKuMSZ8bZuHMULkFVemRPVn-jayy0Qf826ij3Qxy8NTm39HJlijL0AbRc3qlCYJx_N196BWhCVzi3Zi9B7Dju6ewYYRnjIcwhwYLnPX268LLtusEvUNX_7rFbJC2tAH0I-BdQ/s1600/IMG_1087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFCKuMSZ8bZuHMULkFVemRPVn-jayy0Qf826ij3Qxy8NTm39HJlijL0AbRc3qlCYJx_N196BWhCVzi3Zi9B7Dju6ewYYRnjIcwhwYLnPX268LLtusEvUNX_7rFbJC2tAH0I-BdQ/s320/IMG_1087.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
I remember so clearly that evening ten years ago, sitting with a small group of women listening to a dear and wise mentor share words of encouragement. Lynda looked us square in the eyes (how did she look at every. one. of us at the same time?) and she said in essence, "You girls think life is always gonna be like this. You married the guy. You had the babies. You're living that dream. It's hard and all-consuming, but I'm telling you: it's not always going to be like this. In no time, it will be over. This is only the smallest snippet of time." Her point, was to live it fully. To appreciate all the details. To know that it is a gift. To know that it will soon change. To know we can't get it back.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIOjxNTgZP61gniUjI0ZYcAUnENHvxIFOgK4VoMMccFXh0z1X0TK8ocsog3mmCLUU60ZD8WQwgGexcSRY65h1gh0nJuZDDicVH06j2APNUrtSaNX7_hkRuS_3ZDZ3j2jbJw2w_UA/s1600/IMG_0713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIOjxNTgZP61gniUjI0ZYcAUnENHvxIFOgK4VoMMccFXh0z1X0TK8ocsog3mmCLUU60ZD8WQwgGexcSRY65h1gh0nJuZDDicVH06j2APNUrtSaNX7_hkRuS_3ZDZ3j2jbJw2w_UA/s320/IMG_0713.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklXdo4WUEexzppCdjkOj2fkLklfTMy6wuIbdpJxBdbRIajyq5e02KcY0P2vC21nwBYWFBlRBvaTzgjHQIUM4yxAVsVgl61A_f6mz5HVtIOi9bbtknI-W2WEFRdcMW8lm4oUApzg/s1600/IMG_0940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklXdo4WUEexzppCdjkOj2fkLklfTMy6wuIbdpJxBdbRIajyq5e02KcY0P2vC21nwBYWFBlRBvaTzgjHQIUM4yxAVsVgl61A_f6mz5HVtIOi9bbtknI-W2WEFRdcMW8lm4oUApzg/s320/IMG_0940.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
How wise and true her words were. I knew it on that evening, and I know it now. Only now I'm seeing it happen with my own eyes. Time slipping through my fingers, hour after day after week after month after year. Measured in five small sons who aren't so small anymore.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixMyjCZg_VuxHmqv6A6V_aYVhW2GfBLZtbsP8enk5DWTcud2axRQKOnu38we2pYTGBuBRDOOglC7gEkDmb_8qf2l_sB2S99RD1cp4ZPX-ukhysTj6iLF5Z9UgU1uun1tWgrGx8-Q/s1600/IMG_3938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixMyjCZg_VuxHmqv6A6V_aYVhW2GfBLZtbsP8enk5DWTcud2axRQKOnu38we2pYTGBuBRDOOglC7gEkDmb_8qf2l_sB2S99RD1cp4ZPX-ukhysTj6iLF5Z9UgU1uun1tWgrGx8-Q/s320/IMG_3938.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRusUdhbEo7WpeY3GutDs6fc9SGumdw5ZPMdAmfW1Qw5nrRIVih-UvVKByYno6PuyD0_smbVDKbIkvYi22rprG7AKav9Wqkl1w5cXHoWZ0baJP3aZg3LlUvfi1rCeQu1OBDVMsTg/s1600/IMG_4590.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRusUdhbEo7WpeY3GutDs6fc9SGumdw5ZPMdAmfW1Qw5nrRIVih-UvVKByYno6PuyD0_smbVDKbIkvYi22rprG7AKav9Wqkl1w5cXHoWZ0baJP3aZg3LlUvfi1rCeQu1OBDVMsTg/s320/IMG_4590.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
With Monday's celebration of thirteen years of dearly-loved Noah, I find myself thinking back to the "little years." The years when they all basically enjoyed the same things. I could be a super-hero simply by carving out a few extra minutes to drop by the playground on the way home from running errands with them. They would actually all still enjoy that now, too, but it's…different. <br />
<br />
It's different in the same way they will all lay on the floor building a matchbox car track with their four-year-old brother…and though they're all having fun, they are having different sorts of fun. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2KSPabExUIBJdIwc_iOpa5b3dqvnSBHa0Ez_yt2WI3A6KYoeSQzto3QMjoxrlJTEzX29f-wEXaaOVgr4j2OS94CtYypelK0gzgeVIHybBnmdrj0vsV4J2fXwsoxjl9r2iXk2gg/s1600/1025152114a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2KSPabExUIBJdIwc_iOpa5b3dqvnSBHa0Ez_yt2WI3A6KYoeSQzto3QMjoxrlJTEzX29f-wEXaaOVgr4j2OS94CtYypelK0gzgeVIHybBnmdrj0vsV4J2fXwsoxjl9r2iXk2gg/s320/1025152114a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="text-align: center;">The same way I can still feed them good foods and fill them, but it takes A LOT more food, which means the foods need to be simple and must be bought in BULK. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxJKCpsdTzbogZUS2zQXU5HayOQImWo961v8W7jH4sxAMkBi9s26VSOb55J8Do9fbmgNcloDZisVZH7uyDFc3bzqnRRjzBOqhYWZcogfxBw-4xhCk-okgogvwqeLzRBmIMBa8EA/s1600/IMG_4295.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxJKCpsdTzbogZUS2zQXU5HayOQImWo961v8W7jH4sxAMkBi9s26VSOb55J8Do9fbmgNcloDZisVZH7uyDFc3bzqnRRjzBOqhYWZcogfxBw-4xhCk-okgogvwqeLzRBmIMBa8EA/s320/IMG_4295.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
Different, in that we can all read the <u>Jesus Bible Storybook</u> at breakfast together and enjoy it, but I still need to be sure my older ones are being fed spiritually in deeper ways. <br />
<br />
Different. Deeper. Fuller. Yes.<br />
<br />
<i>but sometimes I miss the littler. simpler.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
There's no stopping it. So what's this mama to do when it makes me happy and sad and desperate and proud all at once? Lift my chin to the sky and whisper "thanks" continually. Pray unceasingly for these little men to grow in grace and wisdom and love of truth. Enjoy each and every moment. Let some not-so-important stuff slide. Let lots of stuff go, in order to look deeply into bright blue eyes as they tell me <strike>for the six-hundredth time </strike> about what's happening in the latest Axis & Allies board game, realizing that this is holy work being done. It's telling an eternal soul that they are loved and important. That they can come to me later with the bigger things, because I bothered to care about the small things. <br />
<br />
So I guess, there still is <i>littler. simpler. </i>stuff going on here. It's just that those things take a different form than five small bodies eagerly gathered around a Thomas the Train track. This <i>smaller </i>stuff is giving way to the deeper, fuller, big stuff. The stuff that will continue to come in bulk amounts (along with food orders) as we blessedly walk through the coming count-down of summers left before we must begin to let them fly.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFq3TibW70jFnPn4eLV48eysQtvOl8QZ3WcOTIVA4m9hOvmS1_20OjbtDu3RXx5w0xVfP7o1e3G9AtwbsuUjIEWf83oWeCEWM7Tn2pIZhUa9gGG0o06ZxhMHyqi4krnEN_-YO25g/s1600/1026151433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFq3TibW70jFnPn4eLV48eysQtvOl8QZ3WcOTIVA4m9hOvmS1_20OjbtDu3RXx5w0xVfP7o1e3G9AtwbsuUjIEWf83oWeCEWM7Tn2pIZhUa9gGG0o06ZxhMHyqi4krnEN_-YO25g/s320/1026151433.jpg" width="225" /></a>JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0Elk, WA 99009, USA48.016286099999988 -117.2766032000000122.494251599999988 -158.5851972 73.538320599999992 -75.968009200000012tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-18363629180768626722015-09-23T22:29:00.001-08:002015-09-23T22:29:10.418-08:00It Was Not What I ExpectedNothing about the wedding day was as I had dreamed it. I had daydreamed, starry-eyed, during those years of tanned-skin, wild-haired, bare-footed girlhood, swinging on a farmyard swing. I had dreamed and planned away, but this was not the day I had pictured. Those dreams included a flowing, white gown and little flowers tucked in my unruly, romantic hair. They included a tuxedo for my Handsome, along with flowers and more flowers beside a lake…with dappled sunshine giving way to a candlelight evening. I pictured a medium-sized gathering of faces of loved-ones, and they all wore smiles. The dream day was crowned with pure joy and well-wishes, and topped off with a humble honeymoon escape to somewhere lovely and simple and adventurous.<br />
<br />
But as I stood awkwardly at the back of the decor-less, mostly-unfamiliar, silent church, none of those dreams had come to pass. I wore a cheap dress, off the rack. I straightened the tie of my Handsome for the outfit we had pieced together. We walked up to the altar, us and my beloved childhood pastor, and three witnesses. And we promised our lives away to each other before God.<br />
<br />
We had no idea what we were doing.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu4M9qYf5Dpl4HGG3U3Xum3uzVONqHdmkGPKpTGnzJ8pI-ijRomu907URqwwOEWoF-rjdls9w4WirckDC47qy8U_QZljAEZ5NNVFfuA7qCOFYQEDwp7qoRDmsk3Wvhi4qoWupe8A/s1600/0923151009%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu4M9qYf5Dpl4HGG3U3Xum3uzVONqHdmkGPKpTGnzJ8pI-ijRomu907URqwwOEWoF-rjdls9w4WirckDC47qy8U_QZljAEZ5NNVFfuA7qCOFYQEDwp7qoRDmsk3Wvhi4qoWupe8A/s320/0923151009%257E2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="text-align: center;">On that day, the things that were absent…the things of my dreams…were just that. They were things. And on that day, they mostly didn't matter to me. I had decided they didn't matter. Because the bottom line was that those things were not attainable at that time, and all I really wanted to do was to marry the man standing there with me. And I wanted to marry him right then.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOeOsUr18th9ShARZy7qxSYFLTdjeXDdr7Y1R4dcMIpIRxJ7DnVXUrEf53-OHzR_IyDNuQVi0oxvpzLsg40yqWVBRviAnHwkgKPL8vLtUcnIKTOrKl26Ecv1Ab5QN4tDkv0r73qQ/s1600/0923150930%257E3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOeOsUr18th9ShARZy7qxSYFLTdjeXDdr7Y1R4dcMIpIRxJ7DnVXUrEf53-OHzR_IyDNuQVi0oxvpzLsg40yqWVBRviAnHwkgKPL8vLtUcnIKTOrKl26Ecv1Ab5QN4tDkv0r73qQ/s320/0923150930%257E3.jpg" width="318" /></a></div>
<span style="text-align: center;">Looking back, even amidst some regrets of moving forward with such understated plans…because there </span><i style="text-align: center;">are</i><span style="text-align: center;"> regrets over not safe-keeping our future memories with more than a couple "snapshots" of a day that comes 'round one time and one time only…but looking back, even though I have mourned the loss of that girlhood dream, I realize that perhaps the way it unfolded was a more fitting beginning for us.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTWSaCIjbmqlIqX9np0uBAumyeqJijyRK3_MSiJELJ86MwdGIcMJ3VDxY5zqRiYPZtVGu4PrtdxWOJFHDu6CCmidh1euFHT98e-694niUnshBfzbK8Ur6gi7ABsDh6NgMrkFCzg/s1600/0923150937.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTWSaCIjbmqlIqX9np0uBAumyeqJijyRK3_MSiJELJ86MwdGIcMJ3VDxY5zqRiYPZtVGu4PrtdxWOJFHDu6CCmidh1euFHT98e-694niUnshBfzbK8Ur6gi7ABsDh6NgMrkFCzg/s320/0923150937.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
This marriage adventure. The thing you have no idea about until you're in the beauty and blood and guts of it. Because, really, marriage is never what you dream it will be like either. At least that's my experience, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one. For sure there is at least one other person (and I happen to live with him) who would agree! Still there are all these things that nobody ever tells you to expect about married life. Or, maybe they do tell you, whether by words or living example, but it all just passes over your heads like a series of swift arrows shot by Cupid.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHXYzjSoH69gl9Hm3T-Twe9I09ip5FrNuxd6QqWV5dmArMUiUsO7hdIrIfmnXXrD4nEkpjCRVCp7_H3bY-j6oyZ2zV-kqWNawAF-tyyuib53sUj7tyv1RNyxnpMpgl2gofOM4gKg/s1600/0923150946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHXYzjSoH69gl9Hm3T-Twe9I09ip5FrNuxd6QqWV5dmArMUiUsO7hdIrIfmnXXrD4nEkpjCRVCp7_H3bY-j6oyZ2zV-kqWNawAF-tyyuib53sUj7tyv1RNyxnpMpgl2gofOM4gKg/s320/0923150946.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Nobody tells you how hard it is to try and live unselfishly. You don't know that after the euphoria wears off in those early days, you may have a personal identity crisis as you change all your ID cards. Furthermore, living for two really doesn't seem less expensive than living for one, and it really stinks to pay your bills and have fifteen dollars left for groceries for the next two weeks. It puts a real hammer down on the romance, if you will. You do not realize at the time, that you're marrying a sinner. And you <i>certainly</i>, do not realize at the time, that <i>he</i> is marrying the worst sinner of all. But time tells. Time shows. And when you think you're plugging along fairly well, you'll get whacked upside both your heads and have to learn it all over again at a deeper level.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5oXWxYfBYpVb-J_piB0_86g7gxInZFQTRy2VsSFM4EHN8GxJE1OYRy9_8VRFQ-EYqldK1HAwg-J1dKZgRjji-DvgwCg48XW7UU0E6sXC9ACioY5qcFYdJSE-tpc0Mgw48YGdMmA/s1600/0923150938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5oXWxYfBYpVb-J_piB0_86g7gxInZFQTRy2VsSFM4EHN8GxJE1OYRy9_8VRFQ-EYqldK1HAwg-J1dKZgRjji-DvgwCg48XW7UU0E6sXC9ACioY5qcFYdJSE-tpc0Mgw48YGdMmA/s320/0923150938.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
In the painful moments, in the impossible and hopeless moments, whether caused by you or him or some other outside force…nobody tells you that you may feel a fleeting desire to run away. Maybe <i>they</i> didn't tell you,<br />
<br />
but <i>HE</i> has told us,<br />
<br />
that if you stop ranting about why you and your way is right and take the time listen carefully, sometimes even needing to strain to hear it, the One who is holding it all together anyway is whispering a way He's provided out, "so that you can stand up under it." The way out is not out of your marriage. The way out is to step out of your selfish self. The way out is to stop placing impossible expectations upon your marriage and life and spouse and self, and to instead gaze up into the only One who fulfills every dream and longing of our hearts. And this painful, hard, yet beautiful thing needs to be done over and over and over again. Refining thing, this marriage adventure.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODIL0_DdEVhKEvcqV9sb2wX_hX4uujeHKdeC8ifHxDCMGQyI_GABazWcSMUwJTUx5XgxOwubhY8GAPg9j4eRRXBich0_1iMQDTmwVED1hACU5NXU-NM9Ugu3cKprIvl44dPInYw/s1600/0923152123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODIL0_DdEVhKEvcqV9sb2wX_hX4uujeHKdeC8ifHxDCMGQyI_GABazWcSMUwJTUx5XgxOwubhY8GAPg9j4eRRXBich0_1iMQDTmwVED1hACU5NXU-NM9Ugu3cKprIvl44dPInYw/s320/0923152123.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
There are other things nobody tells you, such as how incredible it is to have someone by our side whom you know will stick by you no matter what, because he has done so for 21 years. Furthermore, that you will do the same for him, because you, too, have a 21-year track record. You will choose to do this, even when you don't like each other. Because that, too, happens sometimes, and I'm sure nobody told us that either! Or if they did, we didn't believe them. Still the truth remains--nothing compares to the comfort of something constant in a constantly-changing world. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04RnROXyvH7U6IVYNHoSqT5bjhzO6CBRoUV7sLq7SMHy9fYbTvhPQDmRy1gQh8GuukxY6aZayoSY29BLdZnw8VX6AxUKjyX2QYJ5Pt5UyKMsgt7wzJHOdTkSzQ54MNusV9d1U_w/s1600/534669_10151919990700635_926901248_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04RnROXyvH7U6IVYNHoSqT5bjhzO6CBRoUV7sLq7SMHy9fYbTvhPQDmRy1gQh8GuukxY6aZayoSY29BLdZnw8VX6AxUKjyX2QYJ5Pt5UyKMsgt7wzJHOdTkSzQ54MNusV9d1U_w/s320/534669_10151919990700635_926901248_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Finally, they don't tell you that at some point, you will understand you don't have to see everything eye-to-eye with this person in order to truly love-as-an-action love him and cherish him and the life you've built together. How simple it would be if we saw everything <strike>the way I see it</strike> the same. But, tell me. Where's the challenge in that?<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHlrLOTFWdQ9AWskX_hOk6n-qHm8wICjRhyphenhyphenj7-TMNCIfXqe9xKglO8fRvB9zRoRgCzCQIQqQbsLb5THDP43qrXQTiTHU-cFPNoRPjOIDVUu1pFUQ6XMYw3pLsW0nv6FDGh_b8vg/s1600/0923150955a%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHlrLOTFWdQ9AWskX_hOk6n-qHm8wICjRhyphenhyphenj7-TMNCIfXqe9xKglO8fRvB9zRoRgCzCQIQqQbsLb5THDP43qrXQTiTHU-cFPNoRPjOIDVUu1pFUQ6XMYw3pLsW0nv6FDGh_b8vg/s320/0923150955a%257E2.jpg" width="272" /></a><br />
So maybe beginning this marriage adventure with less than the dream wedding really was a more realistic beginning anyway. To begin with a fairytale would have created quite a catastrophe perhaps, when we realized marriage was much harder and much more wonderful in unexpected ways than I ever could have imagined as I swung my skinny, tan legs high up on that farmyard swing so many years ago. Perhaps it really was best to fly by our seats with good intentions and hopes for a bright future, with just a couple of special touches and a handful of people who truly loved us standing by. Or perhaps, it has just been…pure….grace.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FW4jiWtn5i5ov9ZZsZBwdANyaBIf0f1U0xWMUtyBcJfmwSP5F9wgNPuDtJfkBtsi1rgkUXom6fQx5_KEdR5tbxSSQ0DrQ_gmdthzMufYSuomxZZwI16zWSUJxpzd275U3ssrOA/s1600/IMG_0599.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FW4jiWtn5i5ov9ZZsZBwdANyaBIf0f1U0xWMUtyBcJfmwSP5F9wgNPuDtJfkBtsi1rgkUXom6fQx5_KEdR5tbxSSQ0DrQ_gmdthzMufYSuomxZZwI16zWSUJxpzd275U3ssrOA/s320/IMG_0599.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<i>Whatever the case, thank you for this incredible, adventurous ride, Mr. Dassow.</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVl7jzSAATxgQi3vs_E7jFo6MSA-tAkjpp2LeqUh9RHNUnvb9Zj3Ws3X8zenA-gVmYOHEhbkF_rU_BPj-vOJ3EziAFnyn3t_JFIyPpVCazRH9DqBJjIe7zaB_isQQebFt0Z2gxLA/s1600/IMG_0671.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVl7jzSAATxgQi3vs_E7jFo6MSA-tAkjpp2LeqUh9RHNUnvb9Zj3Ws3X8zenA-gVmYOHEhbkF_rU_BPj-vOJ3EziAFnyn3t_JFIyPpVCazRH9DqBJjIe7zaB_isQQebFt0Z2gxLA/s320/IMG_0671.JPG" width="263" /></a><br />
For all those things that we missed in the beginning, we did get one thing right--to choose to stand by each other no matter what. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYSPZnpzKnCfAcH1eiCejBP1YTebVykxzFea_3yvSBu80a39H1h4M5bzE_AndGi95vX8rhIV6Tj0wy3oY_8yWaMTRYiZEIhD5hWpU-mqYabdmB_SawtPj5hqD1M8-A_M-QsE5IA/s1600/IMG_0076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYSPZnpzKnCfAcH1eiCejBP1YTebVykxzFea_3yvSBu80a39H1h4M5bzE_AndGi95vX8rhIV6Tj0wy3oY_8yWaMTRYiZEIhD5hWpU-mqYabdmB_SawtPj5hqD1M8-A_M-QsE5IA/s320/IMG_0076.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
With five states, five sons, adoption hopes, dreams both realized and dashed, and so many challenges and hardships and so much grace and goodness under our belts, I just can't imagine doing it all with anyone else. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikH0yOb7H5fwT4wDKa8bP0V2aiDePw_oCEHpQ6aH2RO2A2v2korgNSA9NeqT8XTsyDG4yk9sSjC8dbESN0e6EydtgvWL7oOazGAhkyJyGuGKOy_2EJKbGJ4PjwL7rCQs5Dic0Llw/s1600/IMG_2942.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikH0yOb7H5fwT4wDKa8bP0V2aiDePw_oCEHpQ6aH2RO2A2v2korgNSA9NeqT8XTsyDG4yk9sSjC8dbESN0e6EydtgvWL7oOazGAhkyJyGuGKOy_2EJKbGJ4PjwL7rCQs5Dic0Llw/s320/IMG_2942.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
I cherish you…and nobody could have told me that I'd feel like I do after twenty-one years. It really is so much better than I imagined, just in a completely different way.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2J1QuEQosMYHOHoKM1cFOcxuMfZAKijsAVVaVrKEqiGTsAf7a_VaC85ZV6F17HSZwh8idsaONr6IH5-2ugek0WKNiFjZQzLrnQbY19agZ7QiWaYELdO-XnYHyHOblc1gVCBNCQ/s1600/IMG_4371.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2J1QuEQosMYHOHoKM1cFOcxuMfZAKijsAVVaVrKEqiGTsAf7a_VaC85ZV6F17HSZwh8idsaONr6IH5-2ugek0WKNiFjZQzLrnQbY19agZ7QiWaYELdO-XnYHyHOblc1gVCBNCQ/s320/IMG_4371.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-77670220630921089572015-09-21T16:46:00.000-08:002015-09-21T16:46:03.043-08:00One Choice Has Created White Space {Striving to Unplug, Part 2}So as <a href="http://jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2015/09/i-cried-when-he-bought-me-iphone.html">I eluded to in my last post</a>, some additional boundaries are going into place with regard to my smart phone use. I am choosing to make this one choice now, in order to save myself the energy of making a hundred little choices throughout each day, to decide what is better for that moment. To make this one choice now will add some peace and some white space to my days. Just the thought of that is a breath of fresh air to my soul.<br />
<br />
For me, the boundaries look this simple:<br />
<br />
1) Plug my phone into the charger each evening. <br />
<br />
2) Unplug phone and move it onto the kitchen counter with my old-fashioned, hand-held phone receiver plugged into it. It will be used only to answer or make real phone calls.<br />
<br />
3) At 3:00 or so, I will check and answer messages, read blog posts, research on-line, check social media for up to 1/2 hour.<br />
<br />
4) After boys are tucked into bed at night, I will do the above for up to 15 minutes before plugging it back into the charger and then doing something more worthwhile.<br />
<br />
After doing this for just a few days, I am amazed at the time this has freed up for me. I don't have to decide umpteen times per day whether or not I should check this-or-that, because if it's not during my designated phone times, the answer is automatically "no". There has been a certain peace in my mind at having so much less distraction. It frees me up to be more creative. I feel more compelled to do things I love more often. Such as write! and read!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Bf6aVKM1_SDKhnS8i1x2igJFsBYFb40FaP3ZE3iEuPPlXM2iiucS0x2cejXCdDDrDEp0kSV9xu71rNwjO9EvkUcHW4hvTpfU6p7aOcF2snhyneh1keHmvEIgKv7hEus0Bxsqbw/s1600/0915151410_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Bf6aVKM1_SDKhnS8i1x2igJFsBYFb40FaP3ZE3iEuPPlXM2iiucS0x2cejXCdDDrDEp0kSV9xu71rNwjO9EvkUcHW4hvTpfU6p7aOcF2snhyneh1keHmvEIgKv7hEus0Bxsqbw/s320/0915151410_HDR.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
I find that I'm actually much more productive too, now that I leave my phone-use for particular time slots. On any given day, there may be things I've thought of that I want to research on-line, for example. I'm making it a habit to just jot those things down on a slip of paper throughout the day. When phone time arrives, I can look those items up quickly, all in a full swoop.<br />
<br />
I'm a very social and relational person. I love people. My relationships are precious to me, so I love to correspond and connect with others. With my phone-use boundaries finding a welcomed place in my life, I am freed up to do so in ways that feel more special and meaningful. Rather than spending too much time mindlessly scrolling through a social media feed clicking "like", I feel more inclined toward sitting down and writing out a hand-written notecard or letter to a loved one. Even typing a letter on my computer feels more intentional. I love walking out to the mailbox row to send these little tokens of affection on their way. I love to use that short time to breathe deep, enjoy the beauty outside, and to pray for the recipients. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhTkIoRQSgc3E7m01wJMqCC0UDLUs5j1KPeTHtTaf2UT0OKnhz7zutCisxh6Pj42PyqhiQezC-w0I-m0wlSsC9P8E7teK05n1QBO8JGuJmeZlfvcNy8W_sJOpxyQqaS6S7zk-tlQ/s1600/0920151701b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhTkIoRQSgc3E7m01wJMqCC0UDLUs5j1KPeTHtTaf2UT0OKnhz7zutCisxh6Pj42PyqhiQezC-w0I-m0wlSsC9P8E7teK05n1QBO8JGuJmeZlfvcNy8W_sJOpxyQqaS6S7zk-tlQ/s320/0920151701b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkxDOZ9hg5Bofv5hyphenhyphenLqLytHOBgEUFC7c4mj9TGeFy1I8xNZxnv946Pr8m4bPO4HCYupRolOx9mLWwwAc3jHKvtCQHEqmTXL1KbafI4nMJWSIt9krF6rP9LXLViu0QnC92uSAe02g/s1600/0920151701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkxDOZ9hg5Bofv5hyphenhyphenLqLytHOBgEUFC7c4mj9TGeFy1I8xNZxnv946Pr8m4bPO4HCYupRolOx9mLWwwAc3jHKvtCQHEqmTXL1KbafI4nMJWSIt9krF6rP9LXLViu0QnC92uSAe02g/s320/0920151701.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Sometimes I use my shorter phone time to text a friend to arrange a time for a phone catch-up. We can cover a lot more meaningful ground on the phone than on short blips on social media or texting.<br />
<br />
I also find that I feel more energy for creativity when it comes to relationships. It doesn't take but a few minutes to write a quick note and pop it into a mailer with an inexpensive gift for a friend. From time to time, I see or find something small that just makes me think of a certain person. It's so fun to act on these impulses rather than to just say to myself, "If I had the time, I'd send that for a surprise." It makes me smile for days to think of that person opening up the mailbox to find some "fun mail." Fun mail is in a serious shortage these days.<br />
<br />
Now don't get me wrong. I'm not anti-smart phone, nor anti-social media, nor anti-text messaging. These things have their place, and you'll still see me "liking" and commenting, posting my own things, and texting with friends. What I'm sharing with you, however, is that for me, those things are finding again the <i>proper place</i> in my life. And with that comes<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
blessed</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
white</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
space</div>
<br />
in my days. Space and time that is blank and ready to be colored with magic markers, watercolors, or whatever best-opportunities of the moment. It's incredible the difference in mental clarity I experience with these simple boundaries in place. It's too good not to share with you, in hopes it will inspire you to create or renew your own techno boundaries.JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-11833307530390977702015-09-20T17:23:00.001-08:002015-09-20T17:44:00.418-08:00I Cried When He Bought Me an iPhone, {Striving to Unplug, Part One} Yeah, seriously….I did. <br />
<br />
For years I carried around my trusty flip-phone. Remember those? Mine was little and gray, and it fit perfectly in my palm. When I opened it up, the screen was clear and simple, with digital numbers and letters. No color, no bells or whistles, just pure function. I liked how I could smooth over the tiny screen with my finger and it was instantly tidy. <br />
<br />
But the best part about it? <i>The best part</i> about my little flip-phone, was that I hardly ever used it. It fit neatly in my purse, and that was where it always was, unless I was using it for a short, pointed phone call, or it was plugged into the car charger. In it's later days, the charger was where it stayed actually, because it would no longer hold a charge for long. And then suddenly, it wouldn't hold a charge at all. That day came, unfortunately, while I was running errands in Anchorage, in bad weather, with all five boys and we had car trouble.<br />
<br />
My wonderful husband had been asking me for several months if I wanted a smart phone. He thought it would be nice for me to have a more reliable phone. He thought I'd appreciate the ability to text, and that I'd like to look things up on-line from time to time. After brief consideration...ok, after barely finishing listening to him speak, I told him I didn't want one. He was convinced that I was just being polite, so he sweetly announced one day he would like to buy me a smart phone. I thanked him, but asserted that I really didn't want one. I assured him that despite what the ladies at the office thought, I wasn't being polite, and that I'd prefer to put that additional amount per month into our adoption fund. At that, he realized I really didn't want one, and that was the end of the conversation. That is, until the afore-mentioned day my little flip-phone gave up the ghost and there was no resurrecting her…not even after searching for parts through a four-foot tall, cardboard box full of old discards at the telecom office.<br />
<br />
That day, my concerned husband came home with my new iPhone. He handed it to me and said, "I bought you this, and I want you to use it." And I cried, but said, "ok…thanks."<br />
<br />
Why didn't I want this clever little piece of technology? Well, I think mostly because inside I knew that it could become problematic for me. I had been content with my outdated flip-phone, and I suspected this little gadget could complicate my life more than it helped. I felt annoyed when I saw so much attention being paid to smart phones. Though I hadn't given it much detailed thought, I had a notion that it would become just as big of a distraction for me as I witnessed it being for others. And really, all things considered, I was right.<br />
<br />
Now, let me just say, that my phone really has been a handy tool. <br />
<br />
It enables me to have a camera handy almost all the time. <br />
<br />
It enables me to keep in close contact with Tony, even if he's out in his office working.<br />
<br />
With it, I can look up things online at any whim.<br />
<br />
It has allowed me to stay closely up-to-date with far-away friends and family through messaging and social media.<br />
<br />
All these things have been steadily possible throughout my days with my smart phone, because you see, at first though it sat neatly in my purse like my old flip-phone, it soon found a place in my jeans pocket. On my person. Most of the time. Talk about a distraction! <br />
<br />
There are times that I cringe at my response to my littles, "Just a minute…Mommy's working on the phone." This makes me cringe even though during those times, I really am accomplishing necessary work. All in all, I feel like I've done a good job of remaining fully-present with my people, and not forsaking face-to-face time for screen time. However, I also find that lately I am constantly dealing with the pull or temptation to check this message or that voice mail, to email so-and-so, or to check the price of such-and-such online. I'm often inclined to check the weather here or where my family and friends live, or the wildfire update, or to research prospective new chiropractic clinics. You see? In essence, it has created a complicated distraction in my life, and quite frankly, I have enough complication and distraction in my life without my phone vying for my attention. I don't want to put the constant effort into choosing to ignore this distraction in order to choose what is better. So some additional boundaries are going into place. In short, this mama needs some room to breathe. Just as I continually need wide-open spaces physically, I also need it for my mind and soul.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdB2U4xTYKD5kQZsRYHvSIZzovQQ9N2UUvxhgjxGtUUJW_5IrSXTGMCUaXlUxg8JV6qoXjpvV5mhI4VnVmFhTVUgMj6SVuHjQFygh3ynDZ7NPr_FMphcSl5QPCmOLmBuZu7fDYQ/s1600/0917151846b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdB2U4xTYKD5kQZsRYHvSIZzovQQ9N2UUvxhgjxGtUUJW_5IrSXTGMCUaXlUxg8JV6qoXjpvV5mhI4VnVmFhTVUgMj6SVuHjQFygh3ynDZ7NPr_FMphcSl5QPCmOLmBuZu7fDYQ/s320/0917151846b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-63014726095200779182015-03-26T19:22:00.001-08:002015-03-26T19:48:21.299-08:00Good-Bye, FriendThe first rays of sunlight filtered through sheer curtains into our room, and I opened my eyes. Immediately feeling the hollow inside, I remembered today I must make the call. This impending task to do made it so difficult to rise. I'd been up with him in the night...he had stood panting, panicked, in pain. His eyes had that wild "help me" look which all pet owners who have seen their beloveds to the end would recognize. Nothing I could do would bring comfort any longer; it was just....time.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWSWa_7CWWdRH8cR3abo1M-cWMWSBQPr-BTH807brDwoX1SevuLRHiMvnyrbHsdnEI0Fiq17eMS20RZS3lNS6J4eg45w8bDi8PyFLe1-WdrhbMK3RSY9xLUOmKb-7GelzcuI3T2w/s1600/IMG_3020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWSWa_7CWWdRH8cR3abo1M-cWMWSBQPr-BTH807brDwoX1SevuLRHiMvnyrbHsdnEI0Fiq17eMS20RZS3lNS6J4eg45w8bDi8PyFLe1-WdrhbMK3RSY9xLUOmKb-7GelzcuI3T2w/s1600/IMG_3020.jpg" height="320" width="264" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Still feeling somewhat foreign in this Southern town, I wondered who to call. This isn't the type of veterinary appointment in which you want to "try out" a new place. It's the type of heart-wrenching appointment that you don't want to make at all, but if it needs to be made, you want it to be with friends. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAz5OlbvufZ8C03yO6IuXCCYsMpF80LYGs2Dj_KXUPVhPc8gvQdhbZwQtUTaV19uiLrCZpxiwwt6h-Yr1x-R5J7WitNGJP3z5qXIOJvoPBq8mDFb46Xdc7P98CrZCcVubVfvC0w/s1600/IMG_3029.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAz5OlbvufZ8C03yO6IuXCCYsMpF80LYGs2Dj_KXUPVhPc8gvQdhbZwQtUTaV19uiLrCZpxiwwt6h-Yr1x-R5J7WitNGJP3z5qXIOJvoPBq8mDFb46Xdc7P98CrZCcVubVfvC0w/s1600/IMG_3029.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
Hoping for the best, I called one of two nearest places. It had seemed quaint and simple as I drove by on other days. However, my experience on the phone with them was anything but what I was hoping for, to put it kindly. Hanging up, I called the next-nearest place...a place I'd also seen numerous times. It had seemed a little too flashy from the outside, considering our needs at the moment, but I called anyway. The receptionist was kind, and they could see us at 2:30. Not much time to make last memories, but what would be enough?<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgHsWO4GvtSnVoHCDQ7BkpWszLPzHcyhkssy6YdYNxMEdeAtF5A_0Pyta2dl5sJ9mAYC1A5pDsbGnNzkZHzqKnwfcaXdOmOyFoDzlCu_K2xln40JdhAI200hghyphenhyphen_e-vEWeuAEjQ/s1600/IMG_3019.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgHsWO4GvtSnVoHCDQ7BkpWszLPzHcyhkssy6YdYNxMEdeAtF5A_0Pyta2dl5sJ9mAYC1A5pDsbGnNzkZHzqKnwfcaXdOmOyFoDzlCu_K2xln40JdhAI200hghyphenhyphen_e-vEWeuAEjQ/s1600/IMG_3019.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2jtXZkDfbsHwHv8Z2C36zWyE0mwscozLrC0Qppf3r3BmXYrJrS77ix2SmGlBLbRwSyVxYiiHT-MQUlhcHZcokGG21f-M7j55QzQoNYdSPf71Qjn9xIKoOcx3DNcujTtepMGBhA/s1600/IMG_3025.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2jtXZkDfbsHwHv8Z2C36zWyE0mwscozLrC0Qppf3r3BmXYrJrS77ix2SmGlBLbRwSyVxYiiHT-MQUlhcHZcokGG21f-M7j55QzQoNYdSPf71Qjn9xIKoOcx3DNcujTtepMGBhA/s1600/IMG_3025.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX_E4vL3VzLMiRgQfK1Kuhx_ON0FhIotUksXShojQHDKwutGOGwCtcFYITXK6X9pqjzSlch5Wohrs0__uweQkiDs8zdnCCFDJovrQN4LAHrUjpUSO1Vjom5d4FdwnnDu57tyKCgQ/s1600/IMG_3035.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX_E4vL3VzLMiRgQfK1Kuhx_ON0FhIotUksXShojQHDKwutGOGwCtcFYITXK6X9pqjzSlch5Wohrs0__uweQkiDs8zdnCCFDJovrQN4LAHrUjpUSO1Vjom5d4FdwnnDu57tyKCgQ/s1600/IMG_3035.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
As the appointed time approached, Tony's strong arms scooped up our Chuggie Chugiak, our "Sits With a Purpose", the dog who had been so present and faithful to us for the last nearly 17 years. He was a musher's cast-away, an unwanted pup, which I found along with his sister under rickety, wooden, rural post office steps, just a few weeks after moving to Alaska. We wanted him, and we moved across town in order to keep him. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDLEsb5gjXPyuJkVYRBKRLo0Vulocw2qvxlTM78tA3mzKCmpB5utDdP2cZu-phPThJq1pcYiLVdd-3mDJ1THQkraXWrcu7JAo1ZO0XUIRInrINse_fwXi6ZPcPAfivLIb7w6-yQ/s1600/IMG_3042.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDLEsb5gjXPyuJkVYRBKRLo0Vulocw2qvxlTM78tA3mzKCmpB5utDdP2cZu-phPThJq1pcYiLVdd-3mDJ1THQkraXWrcu7JAo1ZO0XUIRInrINse_fwXi6ZPcPAfivLIb7w6-yQ/s1600/IMG_3042.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDNThSyHNCmIuJKl7Kowxuy9KgUBT4VSsXCns3FQK2QuJf-35sILl7e63Jf7YkJyOSY6RORucp2j7kIzRTsNgZrCFJai_F8Ojs0qPA1KX7ooqaQpM8aYuTmyeT8MwjOuoIj0DcQ/s1600/IMG_3044.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDNThSyHNCmIuJKl7Kowxuy9KgUBT4VSsXCns3FQK2QuJf-35sILl7e63Jf7YkJyOSY6RORucp2j7kIzRTsNgZrCFJai_F8Ojs0qPA1KX7ooqaQpM8aYuTmyeT8MwjOuoIj0DcQ/s1600/IMG_3044.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKBqPPecmm7jjs648ZxFP69cS5TQWLl06Zl7Xyu0ERyWSl8EEGiXboW8zELxU4lnW6BF_B5D0sDXVJf6aDMS1NkS8WTMo_sVsZoL4j6o5GjDJ8C059xdSR2N4NlSFunyXcdheW7w/s1600/IMG_3045.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKBqPPecmm7jjs648ZxFP69cS5TQWLl06Zl7Xyu0ERyWSl8EEGiXboW8zELxU4lnW6BF_B5D0sDXVJf6aDMS1NkS8WTMo_sVsZoL4j6o5GjDJ8C059xdSR2N4NlSFunyXcdheW7w/s1600/IMG_3045.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Chuggie was an awkward, peaceful, and comical creature. He seemed to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and in the way. He would have the entire run of the house, yet step in the dirt pile I just swept up. He was the type of dog that brought a smile or even a chuckle on the worst of days. He taught us that we shouldn't take ourselves too seriously. Even now I smile as I think of how I could make it through feeding time during the muddiest day of break-up season, and just before I left the kennel, he would be the one out of five dogs to affectionately plop the muddiest paw directly on my clothes. He taught us that things don't have to be perfect, and it's pointless to try to make them that way. He taught us to live and love freely, even if it gets you a bit dirty. <br />
<br />
Chuggie lived for even a glimpse of us, all day long, every day. At any given time, he was pining away for us at his "post", staring at the house window, or down the driveway. In the dog yard, he tripped us up trying to be as close as possible to us at all times. If I were to stand still, he would immediately sit down, directly in front of me, staring up at me. The moment eye contact was made, he dramatically threw himself down, exposing his belly, waiting for a nice rub.<br />
<br />
One by one, all of his dog buddies passed away. He grieved every death by moping and barking incessantly, day and night, for days and nights on end. He would not eat nor sleep. With the passing of his litter mate sister a year and a half ago, Chuggie was the last remaining member of the pack. He has been a constant in our family life, and part of what makes home, "home", whether it be a house we own, or rent, or a camper driven across two countries. <br />
<br />
In Tony's arms, on this bright, warm, spring Tuesday, Chuggie did not struggle. Hind legs, which had once been so strong and pulled us miles and miles on dogsled and skis, hung limply down his master's side. He trusted those arms to hold him tight, to have his best interest at heart, to do what was best. Observing his trust, I realized that even on this day, there were lessons still to be learned from this dog. You see, there are Strong Arms that hold me also and have held me continuously for forty years, yet I still fight against them at times. For half my lifetime, I didn't realize those Arms were there, holding. For the other half of my lifetime, I have known it, received it, and rejoiced in it. Even still, I sometimes struggle and flail around, not always trusting.<br />
<br />
Our drive to the new and unknown veterinary clinic was a nearly silent one. It was also much too short of a drive.<br />
<br />
Outdoors in the sunshine, with the help of compassionate and skilled hands, we loved our dog the last way that we could. And at a time when we desperately needed a piece of home, we were unbelievably blessed with it.<br />
<br />
<i>Our vet was from Anchorage. </i><br />
<br />
Yeah, of all the clinics in Maryville, Tennessee, the one we chose was owned by an Alaskan. Upon arrival, we felt the ambiance of "home," that familiar, laid-back, pay-us-later, Pacific Northwest feel. Still, we never would have guessed that our vet would tell us she was from Anchorage. <br />
<br />
Let me tell you, friends: the One Whose Arms Hold Me? He cares about the things we care about about. As I looked upon the huge Alaska map displayed in the waiting area, I realized once again, that this God who placed the capacity to love in our hearts, even to crazy-love furry creatures, passionately loves us and cares about our details.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvsrswMHoHYq-nWKGR3KUxYy8R9SI0VlZ-GiQBAIQ9IY2y74_SnSSpDmc1ePeIfrzucrlH0hMF-9rW1ImsiI5If8dXOepvhJwF5PnFIuLF8nByMA0lI1Pgpy7irtT6s8JyrswWpA/s1600/IMG_3012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvsrswMHoHYq-nWKGR3KUxYy8R9SI0VlZ-GiQBAIQ9IY2y74_SnSSpDmc1ePeIfrzucrlH0hMF-9rW1ImsiI5If8dXOepvhJwF5PnFIuLF8nByMA0lI1Pgpy7irtT6s8JyrswWpA/s1600/IMG_3012.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-57948296708834802532015-02-14T08:47:00.000-09:002015-02-14T08:54:10.853-09:00Hope, Harbored in Quiet SpacesUnexpectedly, tears filled my eyes as I looked upon that old, weathered, presidential chair. Worn, stiff, faded, it was just an inanimate object, but as I stood in that 200-year-old study, window overlooking the Potomac, I could sense the life that once sat there.<br />
<br />
World on shoulders. Heavy weight. There were so many depending on him to fulfill his appointed task, and there was also <i>the</i> <i>One</i>, who watched to see if he would choose to say yes. It was the hard thing, but the <i>right</i> thing, and so he stepped forward and filled the space that had been carved out for him to fill before the foundation of the Earth. <br />
<br />
He did not walk on water, no, but he did trust in the One Who does. He was not perfect, but he stood for goodness and exemplified meekness...extreme power....controlled. Where are our General George Washingtons today?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQy6AvwJYgm-AeYxpIrDTREHM_rG-mdhf6D3dGLoqNleTP2P4GBpBOl6RgsiSiQsDX2q5_imVEyq_ijb3S0HT2TtV7M0Zt-09aQQJ6qXwrkshrj5uohp3ovc2VdtXMZ1ZlelCu_w/s1600/IMG_2506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQy6AvwJYgm-AeYxpIrDTREHM_rG-mdhf6D3dGLoqNleTP2P4GBpBOl6RgsiSiQsDX2q5_imVEyq_ijb3S0HT2TtV7M0Zt-09aQQJ6qXwrkshrj5uohp3ovc2VdtXMZ1ZlelCu_w/s1600/IMG_2506.jpg" height="246" width="320" /></a></div>
Where are those who aspire for greatness not for themselves, but for those who will come behind them? Where are those who would give up absolute power, should it be offered to them, even twice, choosing instead to live a quiet and peaceful life as a fellow servant?<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxOVfZz289u1HI3bUTodS2qAYDBuWuNlym_8z_0RdrGXogS7eYpLl2FsxEWK3rBnni3ELxZ59jy_0l_DYSJRdWRqn5A16RUUB5p-XRCimLnFkamsFmGLdAuLGHuPkzo0_6gRywg/s1600/IMG_2539.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxOVfZz289u1HI3bUTodS2qAYDBuWuNlym_8z_0RdrGXogS7eYpLl2FsxEWK3rBnni3ELxZ59jy_0l_DYSJRdWRqn5A16RUUB5p-XRCimLnFkamsFmGLdAuLGHuPkzo0_6gRywg/s1600/IMG_2539.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
When pondering such questions, in the face of current events and heartbreaking news around every bend, such modern-day leaders seem absent. They are here, though, but many times not where we expect them. We want to see them in prominent places, and depending upon times and seasons, they indeed may be. Other times, they are not the ones holding office and powerful positions. In such times, let us be encouraged and remember that leaders are born at home, and raised by regular mothers and fathers. Regular, except that the mothers and fathers are brave, and have vision, have hope to release the leaders they are raising when the proper time comes.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJxrw0NjutIa5mMQQu4qsWG_-RqgB-ruWGZnxd-FFgS2ngDMcFanLY_vNrCPQ7OHEjl_RDI0c1MJT7xnkANOljqpKLo6Evb8P_bx2GozHO4wpGySlPrOu59tj3wopHlc_-IAsang/s1600/IMG_2511.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJxrw0NjutIa5mMQQu4qsWG_-RqgB-ruWGZnxd-FFgS2ngDMcFanLY_vNrCPQ7OHEjl_RDI0c1MJT7xnkANOljqpKLo6Evb8P_bx2GozHO4wpGySlPrOu59tj3wopHlc_-IAsang/s1600/IMG_2511.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Regular people. Servants' hearts. Doing the extraordinary in quiet and private spaces. My heart wells up with thankfulness for you mothers and fathers who are doing just this, right now. JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-44173551937640698182015-01-07T09:01:00.000-09:002015-01-07T09:01:15.259-09:00Crazy LoveFew will read this post, and even fewer will understand it. It's ok, though, because this post really is just for me. A means to let my fingers fly and spell out the thoughts swirling within my mind and heart.<br />
<br />
There was a time, around five years ago, when He began to nudge our hearts. "There are so many, without," He said. "You could do something about that," He said. What began as a little spark, He fanned gently into a flame. That flame fanned into a fire, until we were left with a choice: to shrink back due to the enormity and impossibility of the task, or to walk forward in obedience into the impossible dream of becoming an adoptive family. We decided to leap. We didn't want anything left on the table...we didn't want to look back and say, "We should have...why didn't we."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXVg-w0cg7-G6CxbA1koeFfhCL9oXM__cuIKtnLbdmttGTLCDR8Ue28-X1HTX0Ji-YMH7X8oxmtffe93TJznnWiEFD0ZddN78GQQG2-qUZ0wamwR7dZgeIRvwxSqeVwFhiiF97_Q/s1600/IMG_0284.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXVg-w0cg7-G6CxbA1koeFfhCL9oXM__cuIKtnLbdmttGTLCDR8Ue28-X1HTX0Ji-YMH7X8oxmtffe93TJznnWiEFD0ZddN78GQQG2-qUZ0wamwR7dZgeIRvwxSqeVwFhiiF97_Q/s1600/IMG_0284.jpg" height="199" width="320" /></a></div>
So, with excitement and still a little trepidation in our hearts, we dove into all the research and paperwork and question marks. Paid fees, both monetary and emotional. Collected and filled our house with junk to be sold for treasure, to help bring our treasure home. Set up sales and sat outside for days in the hot sunshine and in the cold rain. Watched miracles happen in wads of bills, wet and clean, being pulled out of the washing machine from seemingly nowhere. Cash stuffed in glove compartment, the exact amount to make up for a disappointing payout from sold jewelry. My body racked with unknown illness, and unable to continue with fundraising, complete strangers came to us and handed us money. Friends showed up randomly on doorstep, with encouragement and checks for obscene amounts. Always, the fees were covered when they were due.<br />
<br />
All the while, while living and loving and growing our family at home, I chronicled the journey, wrote love notes to our unknown child whom we knew was out there....somewhere. Then suddenly, it all stopped. We waited and watched and waited some more. Waited for the direction. Waited to see how He would cover the next fee...but He never did...because the fee never came due. Everything became a standstill. We watched others realize the fruition of their call. We hung on to our shred of hope that things would work out for us the way we'd hoped, too.<br />
<br />
I remember the day she stopped by our home. She was picking up a box of junk to be turned into treasure to bring her own little treasures home. Our conversation turned from the mundane and polite, to the deeper things in life. I expressed my sadness and frustration over seemingly living in a stand still. Feeling a sense like we had life on-hold for something...but that something didn't appear to be anywhere in sight. Meanwhile, we felt tight...stifled...needing to grow in so many ways...so expectant. "You must find it hard to dream anymore," she said, as my eyes filled with tears at the realization of the truth of what she said. She was so correct. It was just so hard to dream anymore.<br />
<br />
Months turned into years, and He began to move in our hearts again, though not in a way we had expected. "Because everything is standing still," He said, it's time for you to move. This time, He was calling us to m-o-v-e. Once again faced with a choice: to walk forward in obedience, or to let fear paralyze us. Once again, we knew we didn't want anything left on the table. We didn't want to look back and say, "What if we would've...really, we should have."<br />
<br />
So here we sit, out of Ur, and away from our loved ones and places. Out of Ur, but not yet in our Promised Land, this is a difficult place to be.<br />
<br />
Today we take down our Christmas tree. Just a tree, but this particular year it's symbolic of so much more for us. A Christmas out of Ur, and yet it felt like home with our family here with us. Time spent cherishing and celebrating, it is now time to take down the tree. It's time to move forward in obedience and with grace and with courage, even though at times we don't feel like it. We're not home here, even though this is where He called us to go. Somewhere, there's home, but we do not yet know where that is. Again, He's calling us out. Why does He think we need so much practice with this obedience? It creates an uncertain and uncomfortable feeling, yet there's hopeful expectation at the knowing that all His ways are good.<br />
<br />
I've felt this way before, and indeed continue to feel this way with regard to our adoption process. We heard the call. We made the choice. We made the move. We experienced miracles. But we did not (yet?) reach the Promised Land. It's crazy. This crazy love which keeps us moving forward, pursuing what He has for us, believing in something we cannot see. JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-37386535627319689372014-11-23T14:02:00.004-09:002014-11-23T14:02:34.326-09:00When Irritation Leads to PeaceThe vibrant colors have given way to muted shades of gold, copper, and brown. It's still autumn, but winter is knocking gently on our door. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNIeDfPH2A0INZN9y9OsFdxdKgR3IaFpr-MAK-IBUsj_8JwnE2OEFoKmCFxi6TNIPTQs6xhI1WIVR8hrgACB8PkBV2QLHTAzEMHBvgcbvluU-CjJ1Puk2d4S9vNUHkOLbd9yEfxg/s1600/IMG_1529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNIeDfPH2A0INZN9y9OsFdxdKgR3IaFpr-MAK-IBUsj_8JwnE2OEFoKmCFxi6TNIPTQs6xhI1WIVR8hrgACB8PkBV2QLHTAzEMHBvgcbvluU-CjJ1Puk2d4S9vNUHkOLbd9yEfxg/s1600/IMG_1529.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
It's a completely new experience for us. For the last sixteen years, we saw golden leaves beginning in August, which waxed quickly before waning just as fast with a sucker-punch from winter. That is fall in Alaska, and we would have been "punched" several weeks ago. Instead, we're in the throes of fall in Tennessee. Both are so different; both are so beautiful. Seasons of change.<br />
<br />
We have seasons in life as well. Some come softly and linger, while some of them hit us with the full-force of a Northwest gale and refuse to quit. But unlike the cycle of seasons, life seasons are often not so easily predicted. <br />
<br />
It's nice when we can expect what to expect, but to have everything wrapped up so neatly doesn't leave much room for unexpected blessings, does it? I love such surprises, so living life unwrapped, so to speak, is appealing to me for that reason. However, what about the "unwrapped" seasons that go on with no apparent answers, with no obvious surprise? <br />
<br />
Our family has been through a season of tremendous change during this past year. It's been a crazy combination of exhilaration, heartbreak, joy, hope, and dashed expectations. And though we are settled, we remain in limbo. <br />
<br />
I feel time ticking, and I am full of questions. <i>Where do we go from here? Will these healings be complete? What about other journeys you've called us on? Adoption process at a stand-still...what about that? </i>God whispers to me in the midst of all my questions. He gives an answer which at first seems so irritating. "Be still and know that I am God." <br />
<br />
Be still? Are you serious? "Yes," he whispers again. And then I am reminded of all the knowns in the midst of the unknowns. The knowns are the things that have happened already. They are also the things that are true. So many of them are things to be thankful for. <br />
<br />
<i>Where do we go from here?</i> We continue to listen to His voice to lead us, and we thank Him for bringing us to where we are. We live well, and enjoy all the fullness and beauty that the days hold--right here.<br />
<br />
<i>Will the healings be complete?</i> We don't know, but we thank Him for taking the seizures away from a son, and for providing a diagnosis and plan that has evaded me for the last two years, and for giving us access to the best eye doctor in the U.S. for another son.<br />
<br />
<i>What about the adoption process we began in 2010 that has gone seemingly nowhere?</i> I have no answer for that either, whether it is meant to come to fruition or was a test of obedience. But we thank Him for increasing our faith and for the miracles He has worked along the way.<br />
<br />
<i>What additional questions would you add here?</i> What are the answers that evade you in this season you are in? I most likely wouldn't have your answers, but I can point you to the One that has them. I can almost guarantee that if you listen closely, you'll hear Him whispering, "Be still..." It's irritating at first, but that's ok. God is not threatened by our irritation. What's even more awesome than that, is that when we choose to be still even though we don't like it, suddenly, there is room for us to give thanks. We give thanks in the midst of our questions, for the knowns and you know what? An unexpected blessing occurs afterall. We realize it's ok to not have the answers. We are filled with joy as we focus on the giving thanks. There's so much to give thanks for, and we are filled with peace.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinXLDdvDhO3JjSIW0RgBYwUhRIJo4BoBq8ZgsWZ8AA9XmNibWbal1YMSSW1a6l4XWaTxwvJJfDD9brzjCB9zyMPYhiIQyf3qNMRU9EGNGDbcwb_FIYKe7WwTHGtkxw_ZlbIRpGXA/s1600/IMG_1523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinXLDdvDhO3JjSIW0RgBYwUhRIJo4BoBq8ZgsWZ8AA9XmNibWbal1YMSSW1a6l4XWaTxwvJJfDD9brzjCB9zyMPYhiIQyf3qNMRU9EGNGDbcwb_FIYKe7WwTHGtkxw_ZlbIRpGXA/s1600/IMG_1523.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
Thanks. Peace. Joy. Those are good things to be had in any season. <br />
<br />JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-29781968308381357762014-10-31T21:00:00.002-08:002014-10-31T21:00:15.431-08:00What I've Learned: day 31This post marks the end of this series. In reflection upon all the
hours spent thinking and writing and photographing and uploading, and
uploading and uploading, what have I learned? For one thing, I've
learned this is a pretty awesome place to live.<br />
<br />
There
are ample opportunities for adventure and travel. There is beauty, so
much beauty, in the form of rolling hills and mountain landscapes,
flowing rivers and wildflowers, giant, ancient trees and meandering
country roads and of land being worked by the plow. It is land teeming
with life in all forms. It is rich in history, and so much is
accessible in terms of bringing that history to life. We have access to
rich culture in cities, while peaceably living country life, and can
easily trek to the seashores.<br />
<br />
We are living this, and
we're so thankful, yet truth be told, I still desperately miss Alaska.
It is home to me, to my family, in all it's grandeur and quirkiness and
freezingness. Is that even a word? <br />
<br />
I chose the
subject for this 31 day blogging challenge, based on the homesickness I
am experiencing. Driving home one day from a swim at Maryville College,
I marveled at the fact it was mid-September, and I was driving home
while windows down and sunshine streaming in dried my hair. For me,
that was incredible, and I began to think about all the other things we
could experience because we are here. As thankfulness began to well up
in my heart, the homesickness lessened. It's difficult to feel wistful
or sad when you concentrate on just giving thanks for the now. It's
been good for me, as I truly have grown to better appreciate the now.
Still I find my mind wandering to the "what next?" and I do not know the
answer to that. You know what? It's ok that I don't know the answer
to that. I know the One who <i>does</i> know the answer to that. He
knows what brought us here. He knows what He's accomplishing in us
here. In short, He knows our path, and somehow that needs to be, and in
fact is, enough.<br />
<br />
Just knowing that He knows is enough.<br />
<br />
This
month of writing has been good for me, as it's caused me to dwell upon
this every day: there's so much to love here. As much richness as we
enjoy, however, nothing replaces the fact that the things dearest to us,
our family, our deep friendships, those things are thousands and
thousands of miles away. Familiarity. Friendships which have weathered
over a decade. The babies that were born and have been raised up
alongside our own babies. All so far away. It takes years and years to
put down those sort of roots, and we've felt the necessity of leaving
it all behind, for now anyway. How can I reconcile these truths?<br />
<br />
Sometimes
what you love is not what is good for you in a certain season.
Sometimes what we need is to be uncomfortable. Sometimes, God calls us
out of the familiarity of Ur, so to speak, and we are called to venture
out of our comfort zones.<br />
<br />
<i>"Now the LORD said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.</i><span class="p"><i>" Genesis 12:1</i></span><br />
<br />
To ignore the call would be torment to our hearts. There would always be the wondering. "What if?"<br />
<br />
So
we chose to answer by stepping out. We won't need to wonder "What
if?" and there is much peace in that. We'll continue to enjoy all that
is here, right now. We'll continue to grow, work on healing that needs
to take place, make new friendships, maintain old friendships, minister
to those He puts in our path, and chart this new course. And all the
while, we'll do our best to keep hearts focused on the Captain, and keep
ears open for His call for what's next. Who knows? Maybe I'll be
writing about that next October.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENwdARRdM7bvGIYbJux10sbVFqoYF_mqgOAL1NabdCcoF3Xw4WlzA7ITpbhYpLcNa-4D7zkzrHyBIDsaFSh14OaBZr1wEh6HjLzl_T7dMKdZaNrxD462r-jJiNak6IcOxdXKPfQ/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENwdARRdM7bvGIYbJux10sbVFqoYF_mqgOAL1NabdCcoF3Xw4WlzA7ITpbhYpLcNa-4D7zkzrHyBIDsaFSh14OaBZr1wEh6HjLzl_T7dMKdZaNrxD462r-jJiNak6IcOxdXKPfQ/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html"><i>For a complete listing of posts in this series, click here.</i></a></div>
JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-30584318190475235682014-10-30T20:14:00.002-08:002014-10-30T20:25:15.877-08:00Odds & Ends, aka The Longest, Most Rambling Post Ever: day 30Tonight, the 30th day of this series, I admit to be scraping the bottom of the barrel a bit. I've kept a tattered old notebook handy this past month, on which I scribble my ideas for posts and then strike off when I use them. Some things I thought were undeserving of their own post; other ideas lack the photos to go with, simply because I haven't had the time. So tonight, I'll highlight these humble things to love about the South.<br />
<br />
Southern Magnolia trees. To this northern girl, they look like fauna from another world, with their thick, leathery leaves. Check out the fruit they produce! This one is about the size of a softball, and it's soft and velvety to the touch. Sorry, to my knowledge you can't eat it. Just lately, the individual pods in this fruit burst open, revealing black bean-sized, crimson, rubbery seeds. Dazzling. I'm on the edge of my seat to see it bloom next spring. That will probably earn a post of its own.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwgfQRxcUoFKQkrRue7dvvynWtK_KMc142BtvPLPPqHsUAGpTfGoKpQyNGyw0rl8ZldluPd1KQ2HpfTtrVVZZPVGYVR7XSFmRUmZi4jhbm24Yf2dtwlQCPz0wL0EZckcxsTJeltg/s1600/IMG_0413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwgfQRxcUoFKQkrRue7dvvynWtK_KMc142BtvPLPPqHsUAGpTfGoKpQyNGyw0rl8ZldluPd1KQ2HpfTtrVVZZPVGYVR7XSFmRUmZi4jhbm24Yf2dtwlQCPz0wL0EZckcxsTJeltg/s1600/IMG_0413.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
Tropical-looking flowers. These beauties in our back yard remind me of Hawaii. All sorts of lovely associations there.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw3MRug8OwWh37jxd11pYEt0MyT-WS3vl887wBVafh7AfE_OuK8_omAw5akw-BzX0m2vuAPQ59_FypBGH15e32tVZl6S2UBoL3kZWy-bYOYUPivKb37hXwlb0x1Ym_9Oxq7qPB1Q/s1600/IMG_0025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw3MRug8OwWh37jxd11pYEt0MyT-WS3vl887wBVafh7AfE_OuK8_omAw5akw-BzX0m2vuAPQ59_FypBGH15e32tVZl6S2UBoL3kZWy-bYOYUPivKb37hXwlb0x1Ym_9Oxq7qPB1Q/s1600/IMG_0025.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Stunning wildflowers. Most are unfamiliar to me, blooming at their appointed times, but I smile each time I see one of my young men running across the field with a fistful and a smile on their face. I know I'm about to be introduced to more of the beauty growing around and about. I'm so familiar with the Dandelion-Bluebell-Wild Rose-Lupine-Fireweed cycle in Alaska. We know just what time of year it is, based upon when each of them are blooming. I expect it's the same for the locals here in East Tennessee, when they see these,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij3jL8efGk8yNFjzrZfqjqnWMcrsOKr7QI4JWlqt_2ZVIm0cBqMMiOn7DZysFBkngp2o0DHPV5ckDPxFdrtDRF922lbeqpymdsEYjG8yAtSj0hAXMVtDWOGA3XN9hrDCc6BiikZQ/s1600/IMG_0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij3jL8efGk8yNFjzrZfqjqnWMcrsOKr7QI4JWlqt_2ZVIm0cBqMMiOn7DZysFBkngp2o0DHPV5ckDPxFdrtDRF922lbeqpymdsEYjG8yAtSj0hAXMVtDWOGA3XN9hrDCc6BiikZQ/s1600/IMG_0003.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Or when these amazing, towering, royal purple lovelies enter the stage.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWSQPIVe2iOk34cqdKIyfj3cQqy9YeZjZL-jaf7d78AA9-6F5P_V9_3m1aG1CJocUehKG0pXl95VYgu2TXGpIlgcJkkkzDD1-9hamGEsiSvhyphenhyphenCIHoEX4GC0_H5doUTyyg7OSm8-g/s1600/IMG_0152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWSQPIVe2iOk34cqdKIyfj3cQqy9YeZjZL-jaf7d78AA9-6F5P_V9_3m1aG1CJocUehKG0pXl95VYgu2TXGpIlgcJkkkzDD1-9hamGEsiSvhyphenhyphenCIHoEX4GC0_H5doUTyyg7OSm8-g/s1600/IMG_0152.JPG" height="320" width="270" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And speaking of flowers, how about roses still blooming in October?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7gelCTaceJk9DK3R7x74AcpdSedKQnqlhE2sF5wT4FoM9AJxU6oLPn0Ge79wQcUSYuXOc411pUEQWVBv450uBm3oeZmRW9-xrJJkwKw0Du4IiTjo51_2x3Gm66Rd0aQ6oseOGQ/s1600/IMG_0166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7gelCTaceJk9DK3R7x74AcpdSedKQnqlhE2sF5wT4FoM9AJxU6oLPn0Ge79wQcUSYuXOc411pUEQWVBv450uBm3oeZmRW9-xrJJkwKw0Du4IiTjo51_2x3Gm66Rd0aQ6oseOGQ/s1600/IMG_0166.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
They're planted everywhere, it seems, and in the tenth month of the year, they're still showing off. If that isn't astounding enough to me, imagine my surprise when I noticed landscaping companies busily re-planting the flower beds around town with Pansies, <i>in October.</i><br />
<br />
Now let's talk food for a moment. I absolutely love being able to buy fresh peaches. Baskets of "South Carolina peaches" are sold in markets and on corners. They are absolutely delectable. Many still have fresh green leaves on. <i> </i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJHPgVMxc8tesB5zQXhIuttrthf0rQgV3fIyKt7c7ZNCeyXiAnUxuqFuIGi-a81VS2udHweqs_oAt6dcbyzcfjla0O5RnRzK_1jFfwscq4NPdCUGQPV5GybGBx8y5Wv-60OLiIQ/s1600/IMG_0398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJHPgVMxc8tesB5zQXhIuttrthf0rQgV3fIyKt7c7ZNCeyXiAnUxuqFuIGi-a81VS2udHweqs_oAt6dcbyzcfjla0O5RnRzK_1jFfwscq4NPdCUGQPV5GybGBx8y5Wv-60OLiIQ/s1600/IMG_0398.JPG" height="295" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Are you still with me? </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Produce markets. Seriously love the variety of fresh, local food here. Remember my plug for heirloom tomatoes? Heirloom Peppers are just as noteworthy. They're gorgeous, in all mottled shades of green, red, brown, and purple. I never knew peppers could taste like an heirloom pepper tastes. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7USUOspuV7GgPJyvJwbkTgUbCyO5XZWF0Dc_ExWEi_UCwf-Jc5MyFYeTQDnb6ILdX8_Je3XSqrZ-2jgvXE60dMmfznbj6NLxtro2S1NVIQdtREFqvfIobnxiJJsCYKsJf4H11w/s1600/IMG_0454.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7USUOspuV7GgPJyvJwbkTgUbCyO5XZWF0Dc_ExWEi_UCwf-Jc5MyFYeTQDnb6ILdX8_Je3XSqrZ-2jgvXE60dMmfznbj6NLxtro2S1NVIQdtREFqvfIobnxiJJsCYKsJf4H11w/s1600/IMG_0454.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
I absolutely love to see roadside produce, especially with hand-painted signs, being offered on the honor-system.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5J5eUUPwWAI-7KYFB0bjiHuwi01vCvNX0FKr_gWp9oYL1rHDjWIK2q-g1ipptyn9rwWH5RQAu786OITQUh615M-8aGxtcVCfEd80RXdHan-y7ykOO3zgkkCucgXmpoHqxqivAg/s1600/IMG_0414.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5J5eUUPwWAI-7KYFB0bjiHuwi01vCvNX0FKr_gWp9oYL1rHDjWIK2q-g1ipptyn9rwWH5RQAu786OITQUh615M-8aGxtcVCfEd80RXdHan-y7ykOO3zgkkCucgXmpoHqxqivAg/s1600/IMG_0414.jpg" height="320" width="290" /></a></div>
Black Walnuts. These are yours for the harvesting. Just listen for the tell-tale sound of the fruits falling from the trees, or if you are very unlucky, discover them by having one fall square on your head, like I did. It took us awhile to figure out what these lime-like things were. They actually look and smell like limes. You gather them up when they fall, rather than pick them from the tree. Then you save them in a cool, dry place while you wait for them to season. That's what I call the process of letting them turn from their lovely yellow-lime color to dark brown. Here's our personal stash. Getting the nutmeats out of these guys is quite difficult, we've heard, not to mention the process stains your hands. That ought to make a fun, future post as well.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6EEb-Udeokk35AjQRczxdW8uLlpR9xDPPjZtXBZuMraxOKoDCukdciEaOlrP_1nwDkPJXEzc_zAuVbN1EvrF5gnZleuv-Ja1PElhCNXxCs3IgV-VZGatYXVwXaJg4IrrSb1s55A/s1600/IMG_1373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6EEb-Udeokk35AjQRczxdW8uLlpR9xDPPjZtXBZuMraxOKoDCukdciEaOlrP_1nwDkPJXEzc_zAuVbN1EvrF5gnZleuv-Ja1PElhCNXxCs3IgV-VZGatYXVwXaJg4IrrSb1s55A/s1600/IMG_1373.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Yet another thing to love? Butterflies. Butterflies everywhere, in all sizes and colors. They flit from flower to flower, reminding me of my childhood days spent catching and collecting and releasing.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9pMl63ynVfPUHMMzKaOmh_knN73xBPz9Wt4BbbeHYZBXDpj8qk6IyHGEMV7gDOQ_Mvsoo-ke_0k61d8zE0_j7_Gq1uqXL_0EY5ilNo240eexnhBr5-soTpQ1pF_j8Ji5cGi1T7g/s1600/IMG_0505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9pMl63ynVfPUHMMzKaOmh_knN73xBPz9Wt4BbbeHYZBXDpj8qk6IyHGEMV7gDOQ_Mvsoo-ke_0k61d8zE0_j7_Gq1uqXL_0EY5ilNo240eexnhBr5-soTpQ1pF_j8Ji5cGi1T7g/s1600/IMG_0505.JPG" height="199" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Cumberland Mountain State Park. Some dear friends introduced us to this, and surely it is deserving of its own post...but shoot, I'm just running out of days. So here you go.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZu6USDPAHYPqycFRo908Aizub7KOG8oIzDUOte7ELj0YLOmdqn1Vk_U-oM3dwXMHQpMScy9csAHyCP0xUpAqddo_sZdnFMzEsBoNMgRawPcRcnga4lQ673wZGAPAt0toLm5yJw/s1600/IMG_0731.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZu6USDPAHYPqycFRo908Aizub7KOG8oIzDUOte7ELj0YLOmdqn1Vk_U-oM3dwXMHQpMScy9csAHyCP0xUpAqddo_sZdnFMzEsBoNMgRawPcRcnga4lQ673wZGAPAt0toLm5yJw/s1600/IMG_0731.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
In addition to a lovely campground, they offer use of canoes, kayaks, paddle boats, fishing boats, and paddle boards, all at no additional charge. The beautiful, man-made lake is just a short & crazy ride across the park from the campground. We highly recommend riding in the back of a pick-up, to get full-effect.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkLMsH3lnnIiJO4lPsBSPl_IQR5rodM_UbJLLAvT13GzptPH1gA7YISUVfGkcystGfMVUARLZ9g4-UUTPqYS1H3Fy9sUeQtNQ0rZH2pRefLENwtX5voAMBWfDGC5o-4-TgzqQCg/s1600/IMG_0742.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkLMsH3lnnIiJO4lPsBSPl_IQR5rodM_UbJLLAvT13GzptPH1gA7YISUVfGkcystGfMVUARLZ9g4-UUTPqYS1H3Fy9sUeQtNQ0rZH2pRefLENwtX5voAMBWfDGC5o-4-TgzqQCg/s1600/IMG_0742.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPijVAfbMtrJS5ZxnvD3EZA8h3JL_kIsveiDw7AMFeeI1LKLpBCcQXtlaF4aLc_G8QUM8LczD4HSlK1g3dqGUN3WcIeY3OZk7fvTj-AHBital4CDfejnoPmQ3FuUhxL__BXH7GA/s1600/IMG_0732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPijVAfbMtrJS5ZxnvD3EZA8h3JL_kIsveiDw7AMFeeI1LKLpBCcQXtlaF4aLc_G8QUM8LczD4HSlK1g3dqGUN3WcIeY3OZk7fvTj-AHBital4CDfejnoPmQ3FuUhxL__BXH7GA/s1600/IMG_0732.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
One of us went out on the water for the very first time ever.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPnwo2o98e-CVOvQnhzhmxy9OghfkM-R2JEI-5bZrJQbc5HI8eYuF8dppsv56m495QPICXb_auRFmh5v5EYqTbGdWhVBYUpInEcK4i5ity41m6BUJbANipBSWY-mo-hxwNVR7o9w/s1600/IMG_0774.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPnwo2o98e-CVOvQnhzhmxy9OghfkM-R2JEI-5bZrJQbc5HI8eYuF8dppsv56m495QPICXb_auRFmh5v5EYqTbGdWhVBYUpInEcK4i5ity41m6BUJbANipBSWY-mo-hxwNVR7o9w/s1600/IMG_0774.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLEn0Sh9XF8zurIcLNVMvfokBbzX9SJNMEjx9Bjfp5q1TYXKQodWmvWvBzLMe_Q02_j_aJk51nFz8kQUJ6c4wfPEdXz4rSi4E6KmMu0Q7BeIu538RcV8CChP7aVOrFHpv4HJd93Q/s1600/IMG_0736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLEn0Sh9XF8zurIcLNVMvfokBbzX9SJNMEjx9Bjfp5q1TYXKQodWmvWvBzLMe_Q02_j_aJk51nFz8kQUJ6c4wfPEdXz4rSi4E6KmMu0Q7BeIu538RcV8CChP7aVOrFHpv4HJd93Q/s1600/IMG_0736.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Neighbor horses. I grew up next door to an Amish family. I always loved seeing their horses at work or rest or play. It's an absolute joy to have horsey neighbors again, and we visit with them often.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-yhoo0OLB6C9nMsPn8zPqZVoqqP1ZKF1oETmHD45dPiHFACXqcNLqfPKR7diKHXMdahHrZZvQJggxLlYdkt91y81qL6lvTq_-TpJ-K6gwLTaBjD6lOvJrPURv-ikMWR_mT1qBrQ/s1600/IMG_0249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-yhoo0OLB6C9nMsPn8zPqZVoqqP1ZKF1oETmHD45dPiHFACXqcNLqfPKR7diKHXMdahHrZZvQJggxLlYdkt91y81qL6lvTq_-TpJ-K6gwLTaBjD6lOvJrPURv-ikMWR_mT1qBrQ/s1600/IMG_0249.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
There are other things, too, friends. So many things to love. I haven't even mentioned extended sandal-wearing into October, or wild Morning Glories twirling and twisting up roadside signage and fences. Nor have I yet mentioned how Papa Murphy's $5 Faves are all. week. long. rather than just Monday through Wednesday.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACWWxZW7LRhpcp5GoGJgFPAOMdChdovoe4N_wQ9eOLXBhkaY1b8CLhYL-pWKaT0ALqU70a61kFh9Qaset7cUs5BwqDgQDUYS5NIOWgHys-cIcSmgxmzwtRfTODe7dfmilJCU1Kg/s1600/IMG_0911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACWWxZW7LRhpcp5GoGJgFPAOMdChdovoe4N_wQ9eOLXBhkaY1b8CLhYL-pWKaT0ALqU70a61kFh9Qaset7cUs5BwqDgQDUYS5NIOWgHys-cIcSmgxmzwtRfTODe7dfmilJCU1Kg/s1600/IMG_0911.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
I also have not mentioned the joy of finding (with the help of our car salesman, 1 1/2 hours away--true story) our new church family here in the South. Missing our beloved Alaska church tremendously, we now have part of our hearts here at Church of the Cove, too. After all, every time we go somewhere new, we have a chance to meet more of the family. As He so tenderly reminded me as I grieved leaving Wasilla Bible Church, "My people are everywhere, Jessica."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7IhR9F8o6S70yZPr7lCUuYmM8v_X7yWnL0auo5SwgA3IydhsoDa8T_bYJGQDI29jI22jJhTvlgPqJATHzz7EppREiiJANPlKcMcFpd41jqQ-59OKLn-rlKcK5CefugvID5uoqdA/s1600/IMG_0871.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7IhR9F8o6S70yZPr7lCUuYmM8v_X7yWnL0auo5SwgA3IydhsoDa8T_bYJGQDI29jI22jJhTvlgPqJATHzz7EppREiiJANPlKcMcFpd41jqQ-59OKLn-rlKcK5CefugvID5uoqdA/s1600/IMG_0871.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjBX1Hx36sfFKHzre31o3BeGgKFhFgS3D6QAGGxOXEy04ct1O6vwBaNoGvY3XGnHhyphenhyphenfb1QS8mRD1CFWoF7FE3J8k0oxK02HMIWHu-yZ1yiKH0cgyOY03wueTsDEcgBBGNV-mzvQ/s1600/IMG_0200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjBX1Hx36sfFKHzre31o3BeGgKFhFgS3D6QAGGxOXEy04ct1O6vwBaNoGvY3XGnHhyphenhyphenfb1QS8mRD1CFWoF7FE3J8k0oxK02HMIWHu-yZ1yiKH0cgyOY03wueTsDEcgBBGNV-mzvQ/s1600/IMG_0200.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja16PU6C5SxPe0hBN1YXzYYvvKSBZYXCldgp4J7S-qbaIYZTGopVNb8staMrDrAPYV4Lp9BL-G7b7AeXplkSKmkZVI3VwkikmfzaRQqPsyJKo4uVM69BUhAP__yBfgJ_JtN4Cbzw/s1600/IMG_1365.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja16PU6C5SxPe0hBN1YXzYYvvKSBZYXCldgp4J7S-qbaIYZTGopVNb8staMrDrAPYV4Lp9BL-G7b7AeXplkSKmkZVI3VwkikmfzaRQqPsyJKo4uVM69BUhAP__yBfgJ_JtN4Cbzw/s1600/IMG_1365.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I'm so thankful for a bright and familiar place in the midst of feeling like strangers in a strange land. And with that, a scraping-of-the-barrel, hodgepodge of things to love, I will close for tonight. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTPz5AUa09RACaYQ6tjLssCXe9jbjolELWp0C6KIXN5c6T9kQF1In_m4KvKKmqhwvW0aj2lzCm5Fi1Fs5J44l-KctF8-_av8wGb0OHobDTTn7JD09tHCPO97m6U0IXuzEQHZerSQ/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTPz5AUa09RACaYQ6tjLssCXe9jbjolELWp0C6KIXN5c6T9kQF1In_m4KvKKmqhwvW0aj2lzCm5Fi1Fs5J44l-KctF8-_av8wGb0OHobDTTn7JD09tHCPO97m6U0IXuzEQHZerSQ/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html"><i>For a complete listing of (much less rambling) post than this in the series, click here.</i></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-84734841101393425412014-10-29T19:24:00.001-08:002014-10-29T19:24:39.079-08:00A Cove to Love: day 29At risk of overdoing it, allow me to indulge one last time in raving over living so near the Smokies.<br />
<br />
Cades Cove.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBhD83ytITi3ia5plA1UnM0Q7Qfx4ESdolhSJ59uQMnDa80NR3DBklhaknmnC25UJVhyYuD6DlkjLmQF6J_Fvn17mJPJXV0nlKekzhLehe3mol0_abEp14nRrtYjJzZjj9EGJu6A/s1600/IMG_0341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBhD83ytITi3ia5plA1UnM0Q7Qfx4ESdolhSJ59uQMnDa80NR3DBklhaknmnC25UJVhyYuD6DlkjLmQF6J_Fvn17mJPJXV0nlKekzhLehe3mol0_abEp14nRrtYjJzZjj9EGJu6A/s1600/IMG_0341.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivhvArSD_30nELqaXrl4HZUwhhLBzu6xKkQSreGeDLGHR1c-JOocXgdiJTTKIuX5-rYSoO7DDc4SUqgcMRtnWcJcZOStGQg137zDfwo3r8W5yOMQgIwtaBNfBbtLTuVBh9lMWuNw/s1600/IMG_0340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivhvArSD_30nELqaXrl4HZUwhhLBzu6xKkQSreGeDLGHR1c-JOocXgdiJTTKIuX5-rYSoO7DDc4SUqgcMRtnWcJcZOStGQg137zDfwo3r8W5yOMQgIwtaBNfBbtLTuVBh9lMWuNw/s1600/IMG_0340.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Oliver's cabin, War of 1812 veteran</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was the first place on my list to visit here in East Tennessee. For the last few years, I have pored over photos and articles of this place in magazines. I had no idea we would actually live so near it, affording the opportunity to visit as often as we like, during all times of the week, and in all seasons. <br />
<br />
Back in a day, this was prime, Cherokee hunting ground. Later, it was settled by Europeans in the early 1800's. <br />
<br />
Cades Cove boasts the widest variety of historical buildings in the Park. I still can't get over the fact that the buildings are all left open to walk through at any time. If you time it just right, you can have the place all to yourself, enjoying the silence except, of course, for the imaginings of former inhabitants' voices in your mind. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zBHXHWjS83phb4FHCUP3q1_hiPRWT7aERim5-spcmoQCqvTITdVWiklmMagK4mfbRB3Nz4_7gu0tvWxfZNiJbGaUDihAfM2vGaLEuuIUZmjrahDgtPXWF0g-LWlStBwDemGbig/s1600/IMG_0336.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zBHXHWjS83phb4FHCUP3q1_hiPRWT7aERim5-spcmoQCqvTITdVWiklmMagK4mfbRB3Nz4_7gu0tvWxfZNiJbGaUDihAfM2vGaLEuuIUZmjrahDgtPXWF0g-LWlStBwDemGbig/s1600/IMG_0336.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
You can walk through and picture the family who lived there, getting along with regular life. You can look out the windows and see the same, timeless view they enjoyed, or position yourself in front of a fireplace and imagine all the times that took place there. <br />
<br />
Nobody lives here anymore, except for so many deer, elk, and many other critters which call Cades Cove home. Along the 11-mile loop, there are a working grist mill, numerous barns, log homes and other structures.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwu4jThj9GGTrbuRbKRQnHmeg2VOJyZvJRVEH8h3yTegjuRCAKJjC3sFfHqgj6jf5d_TtyR-0yuOh1yDIhnLcdPpUNiByvH_vaiPonApspNqTKmJKIErYyGPfSgFHLgboD0VbOg/s1600/IMG_0347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwu4jThj9GGTrbuRbKRQnHmeg2VOJyZvJRVEH8h3yTegjuRCAKJjC3sFfHqgj6jf5d_TtyR-0yuOh1yDIhnLcdPpUNiByvH_vaiPonApspNqTKmJKIErYyGPfSgFHLgboD0VbOg/s1600/IMG_0347.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyeQYjprbfweRJ63Iol10qHrJ1tc2_EQm7uDI9_MTxqp8_A7-48O-OVE7EkjYfIthNm6oRIzfuPaRlE9L86xf3fAAx77jL8iMD1NWCP-xCX8O_AIA0vvNvufVy_0ZWY9LrmdQbRA/s1600/IMG_0338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyeQYjprbfweRJ63Iol10qHrJ1tc2_EQm7uDI9_MTxqp8_A7-48O-OVE7EkjYfIthNm6oRIzfuPaRlE9L86xf3fAAx77jL8iMD1NWCP-xCX8O_AIA0vvNvufVy_0ZWY9LrmdQbRA/s1600/IMG_0338.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
There are also 3 churches, which are always a favorite of mine, because you can sense the part these buildings played in the settlement. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxufgvSmLfC6rkqEA_qxdLAanX8ejq-YFab4CTj9fsGpyayYiIMAdL8bKHleqHqwT0AEBcBgh8pa3BVvWVArtWR6670X_gAKvtzvCykyOfwlDQmFARiO037O5g0bnWJe3wWlo7jQ/s1600/IMG_0352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxufgvSmLfC6rkqEA_qxdLAanX8ejq-YFab4CTj9fsGpyayYiIMAdL8bKHleqHqwT0AEBcBgh8pa3BVvWVArtWR6670X_gAKvtzvCykyOfwlDQmFARiO037O5g0bnWJe3wWlo7jQ/s1600/IMG_0352.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
They were a place of gathering, of worship, of community. They were places of celebration, and places to find comfort in grief.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjej3vhlnvjfDZAyc4Q6FIwY5JCdX1emXmZ1-Biva7mPXIgwITnEGhpAvnS4qfR6q8-Ra5bJalJxMqHFwzsSclM_dWDkafGNoGHceiiXvrkScWGitZGISKXoOhkPmOOKGxRbcH4sQ/s1600/IMG_0358.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjej3vhlnvjfDZAyc4Q6FIwY5JCdX1emXmZ1-Biva7mPXIgwITnEGhpAvnS4qfR6q8-Ra5bJalJxMqHFwzsSclM_dWDkafGNoGHceiiXvrkScWGitZGISKXoOhkPmOOKGxRbcH4sQ/s1600/IMG_0358.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
Walking along the grounds, there are so many tiny gravestones. I am saddened by so many lives seemingly cut so short. But I am also heartened to see how precious and valued these little ones were.<br />
<br />
To me, the magic of Cades Cove is meandering through such a large space that is in essence left as it was. So much history. So many stories. So much to learn. God-willing, we'll be spending a lot more time here, delving into all.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZlwQfD6Zxs7JSnttOpTCvRFcEK-HKuahJ9i2m0vVqoS19fqZYXrJMUZO9r6mr_XNGv5zcpWRrUxZZLERAkRDA2ze1AdXW5Hh26Va93gjzxlM3ji243mrreO-wdOSiCQ5BLFzjg/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZlwQfD6Zxs7JSnttOpTCvRFcEK-HKuahJ9i2m0vVqoS19fqZYXrJMUZO9r6mr_XNGv5zcpWRrUxZZLERAkRDA2ze1AdXW5Hh26Va93gjzxlM3ji243mrreO-wdOSiCQ5BLFzjg/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html"><i>For links to all other posts in this series, click here.</i></a></div>
<br />JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-75872065599982303492014-10-28T19:12:00.001-08:002014-10-28T19:12:23.976-08:00Community in These Parts: day 28We've been informed of an interesting fact of life in the South which we've not experienced yet.<br />
<br />
Apparently, the stores are crazy with the slightest mention of inclement weather in the fore cast. People head to the grocery stores in droves, filling the milk and bread aisles. We hear it's frantic. The shelves empty as bags of bread overfill in carts, and sometimes spill onto the floors. Folks, already having secured their booty, hang around and visit with other folks, some of whom they haven't seen since the last bread and milk extravaganza.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo1Ll2HUJ4BGUdHDEajsCbKTYuSse_b0LBjwNTuOOY3cB_JZ5Z-gJU-dhO0YvPnZXJcoY1EFaqy8lcLYCt-h_eIKojC2KeX3sxmkdCs91FXaRyZpI32DgfgvTbb4Kcs2e3XYk9-w/s1600/bread_is_good.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo1Ll2HUJ4BGUdHDEajsCbKTYuSse_b0LBjwNTuOOY3cB_JZ5Z-gJU-dhO0YvPnZXJcoY1EFaqy8lcLYCt-h_eIKojC2KeX3sxmkdCs91FXaRyZpI32DgfgvTbb4Kcs2e3XYk9-w/s1600/bread_is_good.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
Bread and milk. It doesn't matter if you actually eat bread, or actually drink milk. If there's a snowflake on the forecast, you run to the local Food Lion or Food City or Kroger. You buy bread and milk. Around these parts, it's just what you <i>do</i>. My guess is it's much more about community than about sustenance.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUKQWFNawS208QyObsyzxbWuxgHL3iom5Q0D1rAcBjzbMgoBL9YspyyhXoYvwpbJUyXPh6QUv6Gawyy-QFboNL7zoC_VZoYKp1HoFuTpQp_iJiaHR_wn2ca-vqE3fXU6-HkZN9fQ/s1600/milk8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUKQWFNawS208QyObsyzxbWuxgHL3iom5Q0D1rAcBjzbMgoBL9YspyyhXoYvwpbJUyXPh6QUv6Gawyy-QFboNL7zoC_VZoYKp1HoFuTpQp_iJiaHR_wn2ca-vqE3fXU6-HkZN9fQ/s1600/milk8.jpg" height="320" width="222" /></a></div>
As extreme Northerners, there are few weather reports which cause us to run to the store in preparation. I can think of a couple. We went for face masks, duct tape, and a few other things in the face of a volcanic eruption and the threat of volcanic dust. We may make (an air-conditioned) run to Food Lion during a particularly hot part of the inferno they call summer here. One can't be low on tea to make into sweet sun tea. We all have our standards I guess.<br />
<br />
Community is a good thing. We were never created to do life alone. We all need to be supported and to be supportive, whether we realize it or not. If a
single snowflake in the forecast does that for people in the South, I hope there
continues to be runs on bread and milk for a long while, whether people actually consume it or not. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYVdUT2rQqK__NOF67jU19FAa5UGEhP7eeqBzm2Onftcvpa8J4tTrx1mIbBt1uK2JzFyiuiVqHfRX1V1KOFji9dw3OtirbmY7Pd9RRDlL-VmUATkP3awjKL_Ak6K1v0loUYEXxJA/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYVdUT2rQqK__NOF67jU19FAa5UGEhP7eeqBzm2Onftcvpa8J4tTrx1mIbBt1uK2JzFyiuiVqHfRX1V1KOFji9dw3OtirbmY7Pd9RRDlL-VmUATkP3awjKL_Ak6K1v0loUYEXxJA/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html">Interested in other quirks and goodness of the South? Click here for other posts in this series.</a></div>
<br />JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-68621261050993900402014-10-27T19:47:00.001-08:002014-10-27T19:47:51.212-08:00Stories Brick & Mortar Tell: day 27I love historic buildings, particularly those built of stone and brick. They express a look and feel of permanence, encompassed in cobblestone walkways, stone columns, dental work, and wide staircases of brickwork. Nothing material lasts forever, of course, but although they become weathered, blemished, and re-purposed, buildings can be a bridge to the past for us. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSSXGAjW64r_lxu2rXIptoOxIjyDBc0hTTta4CsZh3gf76pX5tW50u5j5cBo3rHPt73_BTMKCDJEnKOnIj0M4W4R4FnmcZMg8QYpGqBgnM-09FEfg0x6PoioZ8Aa1rOCMGOSMI9w/s1600/IMG_0671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSSXGAjW64r_lxu2rXIptoOxIjyDBc0hTTta4CsZh3gf76pX5tW50u5j5cBo3rHPt73_BTMKCDJEnKOnIj0M4W4R4FnmcZMg8QYpGqBgnM-09FEfg0x6PoioZ8Aa1rOCMGOSMI9w/s1600/IMG_0671.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">timeless storefronts, downtown Maryville</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
They provide a bit of timelessness and tradition in a rapidly changing world.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnK-6DZneFNNd96a3D5noEK5AvG-kGqaLUbY_oXSLLF8rJZgsc0CpqZvmsWdzxH1SlagoqY78Q7l0yYVce2ObhDH0ApRRi5zR5Tr8Q_k9r9dNLYtC6V3NFvmiXF_65tMlqkbPZMQ/s1600/5581834230_f3b8f66e6c_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnK-6DZneFNNd96a3D5noEK5AvG-kGqaLUbY_oXSLLF8rJZgsc0CpqZvmsWdzxH1SlagoqY78Q7l0yYVce2ObhDH0ApRRi5zR5Tr8Q_k9r9dNLYtC6V3NFvmiXF_65tMlqkbPZMQ/s1600/5581834230_f3b8f66e6c_z.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Palace Theater, downtown Maryville</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Maryville has some amazing history, as does much of this entire region. Settled in 1785 when a Revolutionary war veteran built a wooden palisade around Fort Craig, the settlement was later incorporated in 1795. This station was originally built to protect Euro-Americans from Cherokee attacks. Talk about history coming to life! One such Cherokee village was in walking distance from our house. This place is brimming with reminders of stories past. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtDHGmdmk8MpNIlKgD3Ch-wf5KeIIz5MJP9usv-oMYr8QA2aFwUW9sGJfEa0mdPciXXV00hoXzV7UpOHKrU96qJaWiNT9PlJuWFi5InnZC4PAj6qlComB_NFdUAK6wu9uxddQnQ/s1600/170093_l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtDHGmdmk8MpNIlKgD3Ch-wf5KeIIz5MJP9usv-oMYr8QA2aFwUW9sGJfEa0mdPciXXV00hoXzV7UpOHKrU96qJaWiNT9PlJuWFi5InnZC4PAj6qlComB_NFdUAK6wu9uxddQnQ/s1600/170093_l.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Providence Presbyterian, downtown Maryville. We call it the "castle church"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWE39SnS3g_-IZtxdxkl3oll4QtlR2x5x6dX7VGnq0qH5lOFSGocbOBJfAW1zqJOpfBIsclFXEqMuMiRdfU7YWTxzJbXqSf5emlzxdEg02K8UEU6u6Y9ea1YDrvbAkiBFN41Ryg/s1600/ServeAttachment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWE39SnS3g_-IZtxdxkl3oll4QtlR2x5x6dX7VGnq0qH5lOFSGocbOBJfAW1zqJOpfBIsclFXEqMuMiRdfU7YWTxzJbXqSf5emlzxdEg02K8UEU6u6Y9ea1YDrvbAkiBFN41Ryg/s1600/ServeAttachment.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrSvtUc8fWORVGKDbL9VLOkujvXWWJrGbfpBMR2drpY1LElNgt7SorHkXKjGsyhUzVxkwf3nrcHeQ_8Oia6QrE4S8EnAnkREnToRSpyt-YjO0fszDvzF6MJYJeBly3Yspn0Kb8Q/s1600/standrews1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrSvtUc8fWORVGKDbL9VLOkujvXWWJrGbfpBMR2drpY1LElNgt7SorHkXKjGsyhUzVxkwf3nrcHeQ_8Oia6QrE4S8EnAnkREnToRSpyt-YjO0fszDvzF6MJYJeBly3Yspn0Kb8Q/s1600/standrews1.jpg" height="266" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj0oVPLUZbK-tczLvtM3acCZGXE2EzyNkh8SIx8jRlgngOGTFh9GoexkDmyAMP71g2-kATKFgeBYUrEGkGGO2t0ZUF4M4U2Hp9j1mFVmurDPkwbB5GQqy4n-_fOSZaUTb42jOX2w/s1600/IMG_0207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj0oVPLUZbK-tczLvtM3acCZGXE2EzyNkh8SIx8jRlgngOGTFh9GoexkDmyAMP71g2-kATKFgeBYUrEGkGGO2t0ZUF4M4U2Hp9j1mFVmurDPkwbB5GQqy4n-_fOSZaUTb42jOX2w/s1600/IMG_0207.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">relics from old train station, downtown Maryville</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Perhaps one thing that is so fascinating to me, is the longevity of documented history in this region. There is so much to learn about the Cherokee tribal history, as well as Revolutionary War history, Civil War history, WWI, WWII, right on up to present day. To see tangible evidence of all these periods in time intermingling is riveting.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmgFvESQGJXlrArDrUTEeoenGSR1ak0rQ7aVEBg9VkmcmDQscKihajn3JuDXy5Y5rfSX6BTnmJ7w1EZasmVza8pMIrjMo8dG89STOp3Y-syTDx3dV5HD76j2f_MPYuJoXoSSZMQ/s1600/ce8e77c91acf91a45c15bfde2d2972bc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmgFvESQGJXlrArDrUTEeoenGSR1ak0rQ7aVEBg9VkmcmDQscKihajn3JuDXy5Y5rfSX6BTnmJ7w1EZasmVza8pMIrjMo8dG89STOp3Y-syTDx3dV5HD76j2f_MPYuJoXoSSZMQ/s1600/ce8e77c91acf91a45c15bfde2d2972bc.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">old Maryville library<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIA5HheLLi3okfcuZYnExHishW_7noojkBZK3IGSAjLTrj-9xS4hkkhHar3OH7byw3NnxYvP9XFyWfoFzUGlH_Eiu8S_-lhqk0-owzXZ8VbDCmY5N2KTyWxBJWjqi9QZNA9paPQ/s1600/IMG_0206.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">new Maryville library, one of our favorite places</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
During the Civil War, Maryville was predominantly Union. Confederates set fire to many buildings, including the courthouse, in order to expel Union soldiers in hiding. An African-American slave, Polly Toole, is credited with saving the majority of documents therein.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj821uwEk7phhJpjMiJvseSiUjTNkl18osdzV_w_iHJUeklxAca5yaaAx36jZTO6HH3hV8QC1IpJBRODuD3hXPtwDEi6lXg_HmHxBpBECat-t9FPJHvcCdbPTti1lbpH3hAcf7Vyg/s1600/DSC02062-BC+Courthouse+fall-S.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj821uwEk7phhJpjMiJvseSiUjTNkl18osdzV_w_iHJUeklxAca5yaaAx36jZTO6HH3hV8QC1IpJBRODuD3hXPtwDEi6lXg_HmHxBpBECat-t9FPJHvcCdbPTti1lbpH3hAcf7Vyg/s1600/DSC02062-BC+Courthouse+fall-S.jpg" height="220" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blount County Courthouse at present, photo credit Deb Campbell</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Maryville was a center of abolitionist activity in the early 19th century, largely supported by Isaac L. Anderson, founder of Maryville College.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTVrrgHJc2iM41GPOMUWUVv70z9XPZvTFB-4MVxlBIvEs8j4arJNPVhPeHezarXLlRZN4Q84eWsusVM_zcrceQmYlHWYQhjsJTPLpdP-fcn6xviJvJHydL0zS5gIUPK9LtKdXr4g/s1600/Maryville_College_Anderson_Hall_1870.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTVrrgHJc2iM41GPOMUWUVv70z9XPZvTFB-4MVxlBIvEs8j4arJNPVhPeHezarXLlRZN4Q84eWsusVM_zcrceQmYlHWYQhjsJTPLpdP-fcn6xviJvJHydL0zS5gIUPK9LtKdXr4g/s1600/Maryville_College_Anderson_Hall_1870.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maryville College, founded 1819</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rSX7DrJvOASCLlANQ_gkDMkZyLyAHmX79pL0COreGi2ufghSiUILgPu5u01F4OknVphFheq7i33rpb0Z5EB6ZLqH0ggdsToguQw_5EttTMRsc59ci0mPHMITv4NwrhqGtkG0AQ/s1600/Maryville_College_Carnegie_Hall_1910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rSX7DrJvOASCLlANQ_gkDMkZyLyAHmX79pL0COreGi2ufghSiUILgPu5u01F4OknVphFheq7i33rpb0Z5EB6ZLqH0ggdsToguQw_5EttTMRsc59ci0mPHMITv4NwrhqGtkG0AQ/s1600/Maryville_College_Carnegie_Hall_1910.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So many beautiful buildings, each with multiple stories to tell, which weave in and out through many generations. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Writing this post, I'm positively giddy to begin exploring these topics more thoroughly. It's one of the first things on my list after finishing this 31 day blogging commitment. Now I just have to choose which area to begin with...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWBvsCtE08J7ds5xhyphenhyphentaHKZF56yXKVezZe2bjIGF0whJE5KBFKbLgMr26bwDOW-0jV1dCC8RpGDQnrvBH7X8MRBFlTDTF8Rw8n2Hcho-6gTIdz7GfrxWxPhyrhzAuP8_pBnmX0VQ/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWBvsCtE08J7ds5xhyphenhyphentaHKZF56yXKVezZe2bjIGF0whJE5KBFKbLgMr26bwDOW-0jV1dCC8RpGDQnrvBH7X8MRBFlTDTF8Rw8n2Hcho-6gTIdz7GfrxWxPhyrhzAuP8_pBnmX0VQ/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html"><i>Click here for other topics in this series.</i></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-18162961893828448532014-10-26T20:38:00.002-08:002014-10-26T20:38:42.806-08:00Andrews Bald and Clingmans Dome: day 26Today was a day we were utterly saturated with natural beauty. Driving down narrow, winding roads canopied by trees in colors of the rainbow, leaves cascading down in front and all around us, it felt like we were in a postcard. Perhaps the autumn version of a snowglobe would be a more accurate description, if there was such a thing. We'll call it a leafglobe.<br />
<br />
The color was astounding. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kUHQfOff8xK747nj26-nmvoPtKZh-W4haGIH1IbZEiyhygcxhG_pe8H2U2IQ4PaTyPUY4q5ft6GDMfVsQSegoTTjZ-poV3BZLwmuaoVGRbqRY2F2Ua6JDKNUquM4dLM5s3xrAA/s1600/IMG_1329.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kUHQfOff8xK747nj26-nmvoPtKZh-W4haGIH1IbZEiyhygcxhG_pe8H2U2IQ4PaTyPUY4q5ft6GDMfVsQSegoTTjZ-poV3BZLwmuaoVGRbqRY2F2Ua6JDKNUquM4dLM5s3xrAA/s1600/IMG_1329.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwDvvx0yCAc52q1FSv0B-CohIvvG4_ZVBVQvxF3p7Q9Mr0l12ejMt1Ji84q5UEmAU926wySpWlwLKUn83xnXl_ZKQXOm9ovGQsxfKo2zAEiP_MuzIWjQdAeFOWRlnpQ-ccAy0QVw/s1600/IMG_1334.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwDvvx0yCAc52q1FSv0B-CohIvvG4_ZVBVQvxF3p7Q9Mr0l12ejMt1Ji84q5UEmAU926wySpWlwLKUn83xnXl_ZKQXOm9ovGQsxfKo2zAEiP_MuzIWjQdAeFOWRlnpQ-ccAy0QVw/s1600/IMG_1334.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Rivers ran cool and crystal clear as we drove through the wonderland that is The Great Smoky Mountain National Park up to Clingmans Dome. As we gained elevation, the trees became leafless. They had already had their turn to shine, and their garments had become a forest floor carpeting. More Firs appeared, the temperature dropped, and we suddenly felt a whole lot more at home.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOAzt8Zj8aELXHWJvuK-4UPSIKS2ZL113fYVR2RgofPw9Xb5lZ-E0gYpEc038moQT1Wl2SUp0g-yzn5FObyXRlIUJI2mhsmRH1MlfzqocB_Fn1RR9NZ3dRgmk2sPdMGWJLEa8Lg/s1600/IMG_1217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOAzt8Zj8aELXHWJvuK-4UPSIKS2ZL113fYVR2RgofPw9Xb5lZ-E0gYpEc038moQT1Wl2SUp0g-yzn5FObyXRlIUJI2mhsmRH1MlfzqocB_Fn1RR9NZ3dRgmk2sPdMGWJLEa8Lg/s1600/IMG_1217.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KCmaYfMO0qZn_2-mwQlM-q2WgEXZur8ZEP03lUOkunOMbzHbJMLpeIDzTBO_pLX27OJB8AopVE7J-WKEbV-dq9gUBpPPhppLtVnoBJm58VMjjRe49PhUpPEG4D75m3tvkqRGZA/s1600/IMG_1312.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KCmaYfMO0qZn_2-mwQlM-q2WgEXZur8ZEP03lUOkunOMbzHbJMLpeIDzTBO_pLX27OJB8AopVE7J-WKEbV-dq9gUBpPPhppLtVnoBJm58VMjjRe49PhUpPEG4D75m3tvkqRGZA/s1600/IMG_1312.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
The plan was to hike Andrews Bald. We became parents of a 12-year-old again today, and this young man usually requests some sort of adventure for his celebration. He aches for our beloved mountain hiking, as we all do, so we thought this may be a bit of a cure. I must say, it delivered.<br />
<br />
We walked through rocky, wooded terrain for 1.7 miles, <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNB_PIBXukg-MPlrlGWU72yU_LcR4VD91xhI2_KCYeaxaKgIXtfq-4tT3mV4-3H1Wm7JqxSrkBEhJZVwqamj93yyPLBlBk8PtkzgFQPK2VNus4ZiPyEHffRdDBl9rDGgJ-YJEYsA/s1600/IMG_1222.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNB_PIBXukg-MPlrlGWU72yU_LcR4VD91xhI2_KCYeaxaKgIXtfq-4tT3mV4-3H1Wm7JqxSrkBEhJZVwqamj93yyPLBlBk8PtkzgFQPK2VNus4ZiPyEHffRdDBl9rDGgJ-YJEYsA/s1600/IMG_1222.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
when suddenly,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZ2zEBYrmRmWhLVhRaP5Cz2BEEysaf5I6baNOT9bALk9JEQQ4XBNtbHZO0_8Xqpph4skZQNSsbIrXZzGZY5i-qdJjEnYn3Crd6PN2KxvGfXKqapQ-ZOh6xnrwazPwVZnQhCJqZg/s1600/IMG_1225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZ2zEBYrmRmWhLVhRaP5Cz2BEEysaf5I6baNOT9bALk9JEQQ4XBNtbHZO0_8Xqpph4skZQNSsbIrXZzGZY5i-qdJjEnYn3Crd6PN2KxvGfXKqapQ-ZOh6xnrwazPwVZnQhCJqZg/s1600/IMG_1225.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_yQOpzxgjQqCHK6E1oU8lw7R1YVySetlEpVMcOLCaTOraN8hyphenhyphenF1rJQM27EK-jGNouQiVX88SlTZrQrLu_3TdRuw11Jw_nlaA-3V7Lx5R-u1mNgbJI3G3CRfuG26SLCI_dTNKOQ/s1600/IMG_1243.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_yQOpzxgjQqCHK6E1oU8lw7R1YVySetlEpVMcOLCaTOraN8hyphenhyphenF1rJQM27EK-jGNouQiVX88SlTZrQrLu_3TdRuw11Jw_nlaA-3V7Lx5R-u1mNgbJI3G3CRfuG26SLCI_dTNKOQ/s1600/IMG_1243.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
we stepped out into grandeur, the wide-open space that we know and love so well. Sure it wasn't exactly the same. But there was a certain familiarity in the quality and temperature of air at 5900 ft. which felt like home to us. Breezes wafted and blew. The sun warmed the soft grasses where we reclined for our afternoon meal.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AJuz5VKqgbJohu4BkvbjnmpCCgm1ZvVwem00F6Iictgb8KUS_HYUPnjqpRjNYzHikOwnoBzN8WQ-SBbNYo9BZEMq0M250E71EyOqOsGqOVNbaDkYlKj_UovZefTTkIPqB0lCOw/s1600/IMG_1246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AJuz5VKqgbJohu4BkvbjnmpCCgm1ZvVwem00F6Iictgb8KUS_HYUPnjqpRjNYzHikOwnoBzN8WQ-SBbNYo9BZEMq0M250E71EyOqOsGqOVNbaDkYlKj_UovZefTTkIPqB0lCOw/s1600/IMG_1246.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
We ate and relaxed, and told fun stories.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2XX5b6d18M8mvGs2KXEHvCYxJJtKo-PGU39TIFgJbRW9m2jg-IP7aYV5CuCkyMCqYF23a51qfphGve2-xfmU_Om63gKpPDXpUiy9nH1IjM44iItBGIXkidrOS5XwL1h4m8IhNjA/s1600/IMG_1288.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2XX5b6d18M8mvGs2KXEHvCYxJJtKo-PGU39TIFgJbRW9m2jg-IP7aYV5CuCkyMCqYF23a51qfphGve2-xfmU_Om63gKpPDXpUiy9nH1IjM44iItBGIXkidrOS5XwL1h4m8IhNjA/s1600/IMG_1288.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
My how I love these people I'm so blessed to call my family. There was just nowhere I would rather have been than right there, right then, with those people. The Creator gifted us with Andrews Bald today.<br />
<br />
After a long and leisurely while, we packed it up to head the 1.7 miles back.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45r9kpmC3sKXSU9mbmlLBkwHt3qvuYWTFGrhVve-yOoOicQSh_TWYuMzc1F3VRa1qjUpLZODgtC-RyOiTRRR3LJnevBUY_WTqWs5wNeiJetURKwNv_rvbSuYb_KqlEE16BwO6Qw/s1600/IMG_1305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45r9kpmC3sKXSU9mbmlLBkwHt3qvuYWTFGrhVve-yOoOicQSh_TWYuMzc1F3VRa1qjUpLZODgtC-RyOiTRRR3LJnevBUY_WTqWs5wNeiJetURKwNv_rvbSuYb_KqlEE16BwO6Qw/s1600/IMG_1305.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
There was one more hike we wanted to get in today, before they close Clingmans Road for the winter, and that was its namesake, Clingmans Dome.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBV1SZ_DRZophQ-tCBhrwKmpAjSDSjTPPojTXSo793XFpJj7bKHCiMQX4tX_vz2zSrpNLtSfuC4PqAw8zLZdJJ_ioz827fdWeIPDKH_Bk5EVH5ATIlE8Ck0ZDYf1juQocRXojfgQ/s1600/IMG_1323.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBV1SZ_DRZophQ-tCBhrwKmpAjSDSjTPPojTXSo793XFpJj7bKHCiMQX4tX_vz2zSrpNLtSfuC4PqAw8zLZdJJ_ioz827fdWeIPDKH_Bk5EVH5ATIlE8Ck0ZDYf1juQocRXojfgQ/s1600/IMG_1323.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
This one, being paved and all, seemed quite a bit more tame than what we're used to. However, after nearly four miles already under our belts, the steep incline of this one had us worn out. Admittedly, I didn't really know what we were getting ourselves into once we got up there. When I realized we were going to go up a concrete fibonacci spiral, <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOS2Gz_ft5ZWveUv3_DpFGpSA-jiCQOC8Vt8w9l3ncSlE-Uey47iiQPP9sAQLU5vQCsDE6pYWmTHiqqJ7qYbJpjsRgziPqatqF8Tgr-jmaLC7iW2wzXdj0GEiv6E18RPzzxgE7Pg/s1600/IMG_1322.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOS2Gz_ft5ZWveUv3_DpFGpSA-jiCQOC8Vt8w9l3ncSlE-Uey47iiQPP9sAQLU5vQCsDE6pYWmTHiqqJ7qYbJpjsRgziPqatqF8Tgr-jmaLC7iW2wzXdj0GEiv6E18RPzzxgE7Pg/s1600/IMG_1322.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Clingmans sort of freaked me out. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilLnBh3WS0laVVg1VWKl4lcjR_UUN_WO08KicKZZk-Ea65zES9HdaudKNfVwEhljpkF6OOJnOuU7XQlMVtoYLFUvlwyhFEuq-b6WODG8XNeO-Pphr12dzd3kbOeMqxdmvJjLk2SA/s1600/IMG_1321.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilLnBh3WS0laVVg1VWKl4lcjR_UUN_WO08KicKZZk-Ea65zES9HdaudKNfVwEhljpkF6OOJnOuU7XQlMVtoYLFUvlwyhFEuq-b6WODG8XNeO-Pphr12dzd3kbOeMqxdmvJjLk2SA/s1600/IMG_1321.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
But I tell you, the spectacular, 360-degree view of the Smokies and beyond was totally worth it. I have only one, very non-impressive picture of part of the southern view. I took it because we could see Andrews Bald in between the Firs.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkwlKhu0RCnacxYYGShxOu9JcRyB-RcMyZK6_4uxvQ7VP8Gij6TMUiZmFKQARopRIt4mYwec-uOfYNEL2M3AUjYaamFXIboCDlBs9mxOWAOWGzCw8TxZaXseLLP6-56DG-LWWA3w/s1600/IMG_1319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkwlKhu0RCnacxYYGShxOu9JcRyB-RcMyZK6_4uxvQ7VP8Gij6TMUiZmFKQARopRIt4mYwec-uOfYNEL2M3AUjYaamFXIboCDlBs9mxOWAOWGzCw8TxZaXseLLP6-56DG-LWWA3w/s1600/IMG_1319.jpg" height="163" width="320" /></a></div>
It's always frustrating to experience something and then not be able to explain it properly. Sometimes the awe is in the span and the depth and the scale of things.<br />
<br />
In any case, it was an amazing day to be thankful for, as we celebrated 12 years of an amazing boy. What a gift all around.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWs6so5agvr_tSqCJJaRSrcqW9bAgQtoZUbfWlqr2rb_dz6juygF3Mw7fSF5ickcwgFrinRtY1sMW1NTbUHm1UN-eZOsovZPdHzD_N-Qi40fu7GEGWHWOlAnNhtCS5FBFgxchU-g/s1600/IMG_1260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWs6so5agvr_tSqCJJaRSrcqW9bAgQtoZUbfWlqr2rb_dz6juygF3Mw7fSF5ickcwgFrinRtY1sMW1NTbUHm1UN-eZOsovZPdHzD_N-Qi40fu7GEGWHWOlAnNhtCS5FBFgxchU-g/s1600/IMG_1260.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwFwhe2LAKwOWqEFkU50z_4w1IyJKe58yLNmtuhBUaXm8i8uq2eohURU-vgr8efUKLodEeZmChE1BnThdKn1fy8nFLXs3u-aL7qfhfPsiScypM5cxh1O85VJR0vjPCXCq-OePzA/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwFwhe2LAKwOWqEFkU50z_4w1IyJKe58yLNmtuhBUaXm8i8uq2eohURU-vgr8efUKLodEeZmChE1BnThdKn1fy8nFLXs3u-aL7qfhfPsiScypM5cxh1O85VJR0vjPCXCq-OePzA/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html"><i>I'm counting other things to be thankful for in the South here.</i></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-12883337874889138282014-10-25T15:38:00.000-08:002014-10-25T15:38:43.072-08:00Land of Christy: day 25<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I began ordering the discs from Netflix last spring. I'd heard of the Christy series before, but as our plans to adventure South began to take shape, the story became more appealing to me. Based on the classic novel by Catherine Marshall, I have found the made-for-tv series to be quite accurate.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDIfUvaR5H8XWImfRD4P-1c7TH_f1kiPjd766W8_JpX_uUsypG7aBaMVNo9RB8JzCtnSeYdHjEu0kGp1DSa51bVia8JG3Jbd-HL-eFgkhkBx6asoSMr8Ksekzeni0BNAd_bdnuw/s1600/IMG_0283.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDIfUvaR5H8XWImfRD4P-1c7TH_f1kiPjd766W8_JpX_uUsypG7aBaMVNo9RB8JzCtnSeYdHjEu0kGp1DSa51bVia8JG3Jbd-HL-eFgkhkBx6asoSMr8Ksekzeni0BNAd_bdnuw/s1600/IMG_0283.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
The television series was filmed just a few minutes from us, in Townsend, and in Cades Cove of The Great Smoky Mountains National Park.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGeYE38tJN3H7OdQ7IbLnaQMLZQF5AboyPWEgJftMQoav4M68ULWIzIVj8u1eHQ-zUN0iwpIVKZYu7LLUqhQjbLRw25OG_OMf_cUeWTXtRnQalsvy3X8I5m1v2lCqYsuF0E9_fg/s1600/IMG_0341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGeYE38tJN3H7OdQ7IbLnaQMLZQF5AboyPWEgJftMQoav4M68ULWIzIVj8u1eHQ-zUN0iwpIVKZYu7LLUqhQjbLRw25OG_OMf_cUeWTXtRnQalsvy3X8I5m1v2lCqYsuF0E9_fg/s1600/IMG_0341.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitlTL66A9cNfVygYh7aRQKQM3ZDUIx04iTuQYWSCBNDdC4c7vEDnqswoeRS8X6-9FJLQHWUNRxVaBrt9Bh5e9oVkGn68DOzK0RSBASfqfb8KxmINSHXGoUfwGDmHJKQrvvJLnBGw/s1600/IMG_0345.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitlTL66A9cNfVygYh7aRQKQM3ZDUIx04iTuQYWSCBNDdC4c7vEDnqswoeRS8X6-9FJLQHWUNRxVaBrt9Bh5e9oVkGn68DOzK0RSBASfqfb8KxmINSHXGoUfwGDmHJKQrvvJLnBGw/s1600/IMG_0345.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
I didn't realize until recently, however, that the novel was written based upon actual events. The real Christy was a woman named Leonora Whitaker, the mother of the author. She left her home in Hendersonville, NC as a young, single woman in order to teach impoverished children in the Appalachians. You can visit the Mission site where this took place, a bit north from here in East Tennessee in Cocke County. <br />
<br />
I absolutely love history, and greatly enjoy historical fiction. Both the book and t.v. series shed light upon life here at the turn of the 20th century--folk traditions, medicine, and superstition, as well as cultural issues such as moonshining and family feuding. The author had definitely done her homework, studying the regional culture and history by searching through records and interviewing previous students of her mother. <br />
<br />
Reading this book, watching the series, and visiting other historical sites from this era has opened up an entire book of history for me that I had never delved into. Having lived in the harshness of Alaska for so long, I had unknowingly and essentially played down the hardships that people faced while pioneering here in the Appalachians. It appears so mild here compared to what I'm used to. However, what I am learning, is that in reality, life here was very laborious and challenging. Arduous really.<br />
<br />
I am also learning that some folks take their Christy very seriously. There is actually an entire festival devoted to this classic tale, called ChristyFest. Many cast members, writers, and other crew attend this festival, and there are mountain crafts demonstrations, and storytelling. It sounds like it's a big celebration of southern mountain culture and history. I'm not sure if I'll get an opportunity to attend, but if I do, I'm pretty sure it'll be something to love.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQoGgjtDQ8PZB9AofmuLKLIVLE63Yrz4QJLitZ0nmKtlKXXxaaHX-tdrYpbh3KGA5m0r2Pv6N32CyFcu3Gv7y2ZXP20F7C24wuZgJ4sMbtyFlucsz8EK0Bf47XgSW_mPAvztX2yg/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQoGgjtDQ8PZB9AofmuLKLIVLE63Yrz4QJLitZ0nmKtlKXXxaaHX-tdrYpbh3KGA5m0r2Pv6N32CyFcu3Gv7y2ZXP20F7C24wuZgJ4sMbtyFlucsz8EK0Bf47XgSW_mPAvztX2yg/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html"><i>You can read the other posts in this 31 day series, by clicking here.</i></a></div>
JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-86784119581172788802014-10-24T13:40:00.001-08:002014-10-24T13:40:25.848-08:00Mosquitoes: day 24Let me tell you something about mosquitoes in East Tennessee. Essentially there are none.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>(insert wild, raucous clapping and hooting) </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-sLdw-KkDYvnTjbuytWHA9D6qnxBUhFda9j1tQj6mxxZWlS5cdsWpH_0WbPCm3qWTSuqcwnnA0UbNNyPcS8KWNRbzyPzzsCg8OWIMZLoCQs4UOyWldUECKP2McTdSE0vqwCwL-Q/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-sLdw-KkDYvnTjbuytWHA9D6qnxBUhFda9j1tQj6mxxZWlS5cdsWpH_0WbPCm3qWTSuqcwnnA0UbNNyPcS8KWNRbzyPzzsCg8OWIMZLoCQs4UOyWldUECKP2McTdSE0vqwCwL-Q/s1600/images-1.jpg" /></a></div>
After fighting through clouds of those little suckers for as long as I can remember, it's a welcome relief. Now, if you ask any local around here, they will adamantly reply, "YES we DO have mosquitoes!" Then they will expound with a few statements which essentially tell us we don't know what we're talking about. They probably will punctuate that with a "bless your heart". This will remove any doubt we had about being called clueless earlier. <br />
<br />
But the thing is, of the multitude of things we really are clueless about regarding the South, the lack of mosquitoes is not one of them. Alaskans know mosquitoes. We're talking clouds of mosquitoes, at times so thick you can't breathe without them going up your nose. We have looked out the window to see some sort of black growth on our dogs' muzzles. Upon inspection, the "growths" were masses of blood-filled mosquitoes. We've seen moose go crazy, trying to get away from the mosquitoes, to no avail. There were summers when the mosquitoes were so bad, the boys were just covered with bites. The all-time record has to have been after a weekend with Grandmom & Grandpa at their Montana Creek cabin. We counted 100 (yes, that's two zeros) on one boy before quitting counting. Head nets, bug dope, and wild mosquito-slap dances are just a part of regular life in The Last Frontier. <br />
<br />
So about East Tennessee? You can bless my heart as many times as you wish, but this place essentially has no mosquitoes. Which brings up the question, why? In a warm, moist climate such as this, we really expected a lot of them. We assumed, after being here for a couple weeks, that the county must have sprayed for them. Of course they would need to spray for them...to avoid Malaria, right? <br />
<br />
<i>(insert a "bless your heart") </i><br />
<br />
Upon asking a neighbor about this, she smiled slightly, then regained her composure and sweetly informed me that no, the county does not spray for mosquitoes. Apparently they just don't seem to thrive down here, though any East Tennessean will disagree. Whatever the case, we'll just enjoy being mosquito-free.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2RNOMV5AyvtOnYAfGlg5GQOeebaF-mjtZ1ZFZuhObHRLSTETtLcQM-EhQUxBwV02fMYsoJzciWyHY9ex4K37Xl_lenu-q_14DEozq2N6x94w8uxZ_EHGRoNVYQkvFi5QpaF_-g/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2RNOMV5AyvtOnYAfGlg5GQOeebaF-mjtZ1ZFZuhObHRLSTETtLcQM-EhQUxBwV02fMYsoJzciWyHY9ex4K37Xl_lenu-q_14DEozq2N6x94w8uxZ_EHGRoNVYQkvFi5QpaF_-g/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html"><i>For other posts in this series, click here.</i></a></div>
<br />
<br />JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-56109940651896492812014-10-23T17:43:00.002-08:002014-10-23T17:43:52.873-08:00This One's For the Girls; day 23<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Ok, folks, tonight it's time for a little less serious subject. A celebration of the wee little things, if you will.<br />
<br />
I was messaging with a friend yesterday morning. This particular friend has walked a similar path with her family, as they too set out from Alaska a couple years ago, on an adventure to the Lower 48. Her story is amazing and involves a rather large span of the 48 contiguous states. She will smile when she reads that. <br />
<br />
I remember so well, sitting across from her at table, steaming tea mugs at our fingertips, as she recounted their travels and I listened intently while mentally drawing her route on a map. It's quite a story, one that I hope she will continue to write and to share. Their adventure came full circle, and they are once again living in Alaska. But anyway, as we were chatting yesterday about things to love about the Lower 48, she mentioned one thing she adored, which I hadn't thought of writing about in this series yet. It's something that I've noticed and enjoyed about living in a mild climate myself, but hadn't really thought of to much degree. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrbjNdW4xVvzHkYE_txurqnRdr6rAePuiFSC67khuMWJCk6P_VkZYXM96AoI4zdzB7o71DVR5P6ervrn0_KSshbDqv8hRBTSMhqIXFUpCVM4Igq2Wb5PIz77lILywjzTUXm52tw/s1600/images.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrbjNdW4xVvzHkYE_txurqnRdr6rAePuiFSC67khuMWJCk6P_VkZYXM96AoI4zdzB7o71DVR5P6ervrn0_KSshbDqv8hRBTSMhqIXFUpCVM4Igq2Wb5PIz77lILywjzTUXm52tw/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I really love me a good, long, hot shower. Being a person who is cold nearly all the time, no matter the season, this is a big deal to me. What is utterly heavenly about the South, however, is when you step out of the shower here, you're not instantly cold again. But this is not the only thing my friend mentioned. She expounded on this as she declared with as much enthusiasm as can be conveyed by instant message, </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>"<span class="_5yl5" data-reactid=".3d.$mid=11413961214088=2e92e1b2a2681b0289.2:0.0.0.0.0"><span data-reactid=".3d.$mid=11413961214088=2e92e1b2a2681b0289.2:0.0.0.0.0.0"><span data-reactid=".3d.$mid=11413961214088=2e92e1b2a2681b0289.2:0.0.0.0.0.0.$end:0:$0:0">As in, not having your leg hair grow back the second you shave when you step out of the shower. Brr!!!"</span></span></span></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Spot on, dear friend. Spot. On.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIReUvNuKSO6shhqN2k7zE29IiVVpbgmDZgWrreOFD_PBd2Fj3sI_PzvUAuhPs7J42cGHVfwTkfNHyZqanQw4mEdRvzz13RW478L0edHtLN1mov5vcJEisVB6wKGTKHv06TEermQ/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIReUvNuKSO6shhqN2k7zE29IiVVpbgmDZgWrreOFD_PBd2Fj3sI_PzvUAuhPs7J42cGHVfwTkfNHyZqanQw4mEdRvzz13RW478L0edHtLN1mov5vcJEisVB6wKGTKHv06TEermQ/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html"><i>For other, perhaps less silly posts in this series, click here.</i></a></div>
JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-56402053076632939672014-10-22T20:04:00.000-08:002014-10-22T20:14:05.545-08:00So Many Trees: day 22I delight in trees. I love how they dance in windy weather, and I love the music made as the breeze rushes through their leaves. I enjoy learning how to identify the various kinds, and discovering how alike or different they are from others. My heart soars at the turn of color in autumn, the silhouettes against winter skies, beautiful and intricate buds unfurling in springtime, and the lushness trees boast during summer months. I love to pad across soft carpets of needles, shush through fallen leaves, collect acorns, and play with maple seeds. As you must know, they make incredible helicopters!<br />
<br />
Aside from all this, and the enjoyment I receive from other aesthetic qualities of trees, they hold other significance for me. I've always been drawn to scripture regarding them.<br />
<br />
<i>"They shall be like a tree, planted by the river of water, which brings forth its fruit in its season, whose leaf also shall not whither, and whatever he does shall prosper." </i><br />
<i>Psalm 1:3</i><br />
<br />
In a particularly trying time in my life, I felt as though I had been hacked off, all jagged as an old stump. I felt broken. Discouraged. Worthless. Without hope. And then I read Daniel 4:15, regarding King Nebuchadnezzar being severely humbled by God:<br />
<br />
<i>"But leave the stump of its roots in the earth, bound with a band of iron
and bronze, amid the tender grass of the field. Let him be wet with the
dew of heaven. Let his portion be with the beasts in the grass of the
earth.<span class="p">"</span></i><br />
<br />
Though it was true, God <i>had </i>allowed for me to be hacked off to the very bottom at that point in my life, but I <i>did</i> have hope, and that was the hope that although I was completely broken, my God was also protecting my roots. He was protecting my source of life and sustenance with a strong band of iron and bronze. He would not allow for me to be completely snuffed out. There was still the hope of new growth.<br />
<br />
And so I began to love not only trees themselves, but what they represented to me. I put up artwork of trees and photos of trees. They decorate our house all over to this day, reminders of the author of those trees and how He is growing me stronger. I especially love the tall, strong, soaring types. The ones with multiple and thick branches which reach toward the heavens. Those, like this ancient Cedar, give me the most hope. That is what I want to be like. Strong. Immoveable. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFfYck8CLbPSYqkPq0xu20MWD1RBRojKp3CAphsHmCIyrh22xuYxjE-GGNPP912tA_dc5ZpmUQsmXBXDMCuisi9HEG4Yh8-nPbWUPyp144dG84p4ATdsVJHFOk9HUwbH8tjmfnFA/s1600/IMG_1116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFfYck8CLbPSYqkPq0xu20MWD1RBRojKp3CAphsHmCIyrh22xuYxjE-GGNPP912tA_dc5ZpmUQsmXBXDMCuisi9HEG4Yh8-nPbWUPyp144dG84p4ATdsVJHFOk9HUwbH8tjmfnFA/s1600/IMG_1116.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
In this particular area of the South, trees are very present in every different height, many towering so high above us.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPEDu498c5PckIxjuz9sv4tj-Gj9zPi71m536AVCE1K6W_gmdpdbWzg0O65cZ5gaa0oeWrOHAtaBWtKYaW54-_Te1JQQXJuNMCyO1oThAEvws_IvSrbAGwSx4e68P3JLHe4Xbs9g/s1600/IMG_0958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPEDu498c5PckIxjuz9sv4tj-Gj9zPi71m536AVCE1K6W_gmdpdbWzg0O65cZ5gaa0oeWrOHAtaBWtKYaW54-_Te1JQQXJuNMCyO1oThAEvws_IvSrbAGwSx4e68P3JLHe4Xbs9g/s1600/IMG_0958.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
They vary in girth, many of which we cannot span the circumference, even if 3 or 4 of us link hands. Some trees here are familiar to me, and many are not. Would you believe there are over 100 native species of trees in the area we presently live in? That's about ten times the number of species we're accustomed to seeing.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlgcn44yc2ksUkjs9wAwqEetY1ogO30IcCft0WSAcIF_h0prCxcEW1qss1egbeo7_Rw4DWN2Yjjwnm2swTBVFKivlEaAOKqLqUwbaITJNVm219RevoUG-oy-nJjYYX0xLxEKH2Lw/s1600/IMG_1032.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlgcn44yc2ksUkjs9wAwqEetY1ogO30IcCft0WSAcIF_h0prCxcEW1qss1egbeo7_Rw4DWN2Yjjwnm2swTBVFKivlEaAOKqLqUwbaITJNVm219RevoUG-oy-nJjYYX0xLxEKH2Lw/s1600/IMG_1032.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4web1eJeJ-ckGaUFaRRs4bqNXtLh5G45UUS6z2oxaHdrikjeyjZFlxtdVqAT5mG7vJFQYv-l_5CL5W27c4L39LUj07LHcTcP7Y5aJGulDtpIfqScvPwaXHk7gl6zNbUSDwylA8g/s1600/IMG_0686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4web1eJeJ-ckGaUFaRRs4bqNXtLh5G45UUS6z2oxaHdrikjeyjZFlxtdVqAT5mG7vJFQYv-l_5CL5W27c4L39LUj07LHcTcP7Y5aJGulDtpIfqScvPwaXHk7gl6zNbUSDwylA8g/s1600/IMG_0686.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhstFbwMBIe-s2tNTveOqwBS6H_9D9qjbipNLgF12GtAhRxXv3G7EGJLOm_woD2vw4RcpBdBjPx5f1w7feVFH1HnckYm7k9Vo-z-BMbXEkHSKXcQdMbMz33_UmO9lP7Rjv5H1uCoQ/s1600/IMG_0009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhstFbwMBIe-s2tNTveOqwBS6H_9D9qjbipNLgF12GtAhRxXv3G7EGJLOm_woD2vw4RcpBdBjPx5f1w7feVFH1HnckYm7k9Vo-z-BMbXEkHSKXcQdMbMz33_UmO9lP7Rjv5H1uCoQ/s1600/IMG_0009.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It's amazing. A simple afternoon stroll in the yard yields a nature lesson every day for us. Recently, I went out with one of our little guys on a leaf hunt for his Kindergarten project. In five minutes, he had a pillow case full of dozens of types of leaves.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuJWpNmYmE9xod4WMgmJA8h9h0hCJbE1F28LWIfw3GJpxzvWN8JPzXzKXmW7GFrepLL5lyx7Kl4Ed7kVQhAIT7Im81vKOdVVravWJGknPY5I1eckbWY2F6A-SkR0A3gQwouMZSCw/s1600/IMG_0848+(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuJWpNmYmE9xod4WMgmJA8h9h0hCJbE1F28LWIfw3GJpxzvWN8JPzXzKXmW7GFrepLL5lyx7Kl4Ed7kVQhAIT7Im81vKOdVVravWJGknPY5I1eckbWY2F6A-SkR0A3gQwouMZSCw/s1600/IMG_0848+(1).jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We're learning all we can. We're making fun projects out of tree parts, and even eating tree parts. Just this week, we were amazed to discover we have a Persimmon tree growing in our yard.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mJ00ylkpmRHGaXlBMYa_HX8zjLvYezExVdzzOD4HoyDlzi0rvDWuoQN1ZfPipEkITpr86VUmYFl6uU3UCgWM5Y0NCJjpjhgFuuZ_zXxy7Xy9TUrFsqNY1fh3hxefL-vyMnev_g/s1600/IMG_1182.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mJ00ylkpmRHGaXlBMYa_HX8zjLvYezExVdzzOD4HoyDlzi0rvDWuoQN1ZfPipEkITpr86VUmYFl6uU3UCgWM5Y0NCJjpjhgFuuZ_zXxy7Xy9TUrFsqNY1fh3hxefL-vyMnev_g/s1600/IMG_1182.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I'm thankful for details within natural beauty which teach us of deeper life truths. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><span class="versetext highlightThenFade" id="job12-7">"But ask the animals, and they will teach you,<a class="highlightThenFade" href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="11"></a> or the birds of the air,<a class="highlightThenFade" href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="12"></a> and they will tell you;<a class="highlightThenFade" href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="13"></a> </span><span class="versetext" id="job12-8" style="display: inline;"><span class="versenum"></span>or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish of the sea inform you." Job 12:7-8</span><span class="versetext" id="job12-8" style="display: inline;"> </span></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="versetext" id="job12-8" style="display: inline;">It's true. The creation is declaring the beauty of The Creator, no matter where you find yourself. </span><i><span class="versetext" id="job12-8" style="display: inline;"> </span></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiynEZqaW_EYKevlzXxTzX2UlFgImp6WooVAeTOnHPGHCJL0Kw_7LXxHD8l4tEJ8x5xvLVzV53OFIJMEA7uBGws_QxSu6A64lkaX-FhsGze8crvX-s5U9kU-inGQg_3UMCg9EQ_4A/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiynEZqaW_EYKevlzXxTzX2UlFgImp6WooVAeTOnHPGHCJL0Kw_7LXxHD8l4tEJ8x5xvLVzV53OFIJMEA7uBGws_QxSu6A64lkaX-FhsGze8crvX-s5U9kU-inGQg_3UMCg9EQ_4A/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html">Other posts in this series can be found here.</a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i><span class="versetext" id="job12-8" style="display: inline;"> </span></i>
<span class="versetext" id="job12-9" style="display: inline;"><span class="versenum"></span></span></div>
JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-8105781762250380112014-10-21T18:41:00.000-08:002014-10-25T15:35:27.777-08:00Little Greenbrier School: day 21I absolutely love living 20 minutes away from Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Most times, when one visits a National park, it's necessary to prepare and plan your trip so that you'll be sure and see everything you want to see, and do everything you'll want to do, before it's time to leave. When you live so near a National park, however, you can go every week or more often if you want to. You can take advantage of all the natural beauty, educational experiences, hiking, and adventuring you want, and not miss a thing. Not to mention, and this is a huge bonus, you can go in the middle of the week, to avoid the crowds. <br />
<br />
Today we did school in the Park. We visited Little Greenbrier School, where a school marm in period dress shared with us about the history of the area.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5rdv3ueUVAHGflD3RRCY-xoEuyRW66DSaBMsyVCTr7HSgQvjJtbicMB0jauh0Q6pcnWGb14w-6dC-mA0XIU_fkrLtdQWRyBdX4aZdIgqmXIuIO_zh7t-leN8TokH2Q5XdHl9sg/s1600/IMG_1100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5rdv3ueUVAHGflD3RRCY-xoEuyRW66DSaBMsyVCTr7HSgQvjJtbicMB0jauh0Q6pcnWGb14w-6dC-mA0XIU_fkrLtdQWRyBdX4aZdIgqmXIuIO_zh7t-leN8TokH2Q5XdHl9sg/s1600/IMG_1100.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
The little school house in the background was built in 1882. We learned about the building process, building tools, and about a typical school day here, as well as about the families the school served, and their lifestyles. We learned about prominent families, such as the Walker family, and followed up the program with a 2 1/2 mile hike to the original Walker homestead and cabin.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcn-VR6MydpBqEYNLNpsJ0-04-m7cgM3DLhZD5pDx1if1nTNle5tlvmic7ce6yqGJ0xndwpMXucX_D4OvldQ7YZyexKTTEIblGPvPN6_sSbUBs2BnmhSg7WE6U2_jCKHDGC5u_cA/s1600/IMG_1108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcn-VR6MydpBqEYNLNpsJ0-04-m7cgM3DLhZD5pDx1if1nTNle5tlvmic7ce6yqGJ0xndwpMXucX_D4OvldQ7YZyexKTTEIblGPvPN6_sSbUBs2BnmhSg7WE6U2_jCKHDGC5u_cA/s1600/IMG_1108.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
What a beautiful and peaceful setting. No wonder the seven sisters whom inherited the property didn't want to give up their 122 acres to the Federal Government, but instead were faced with a condemnation suit. Ultimately they received just $4750 for their beloved land, with a provision that they could stay and use the land for the remainder of their lives.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhVjKTaBkLZSMj59GV3t9ZtQZqG4UxusFDT2YUzHMmEv9gfCV_pPCr_0YwZOKafAr1J5GEzOAcDJL2LNZ_oRYMsIjbGfjnuf8-chJUYC5Lw54PQvYvm0RTga9FkppisDNXtIAsA/s1600/IMG_1112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhVjKTaBkLZSMj59GV3t9ZtQZqG4UxusFDT2YUzHMmEv9gfCV_pPCr_0YwZOKafAr1J5GEzOAcDJL2LNZ_oRYMsIjbGfjnuf8-chJUYC5Lw54PQvYvm0RTga9FkppisDNXtIAsA/s1600/IMG_1112.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Walking through the land and structures, we really got a feel for what life must have been like. Beautiful, yes. But hard. Newspapers still line the walls, leftover from insulation efforts. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWDYJcdeZ8VF3Ll4ywXHFF8BtjobjbB_gSCU4nhb-HAKpp0WelWhP1u82cKhsEI8Axddh-tgqUUjhxqDWVdzmQQpERY2GmgZVPFo0CW7XT1i4fMX2VSyx-WLw3TOFZ39K0x-P6Q/s1600/IMG_1114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWDYJcdeZ8VF3Ll4ywXHFF8BtjobjbB_gSCU4nhb-HAKpp0WelWhP1u82cKhsEI8Axddh-tgqUUjhxqDWVdzmQQpERY2GmgZVPFo0CW7XT1i4fMX2VSyx-WLw3TOFZ39K0x-P6Q/s1600/IMG_1114.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Stone fireplaces open to the sky remain from being used for heating and cooking for so many years. Electricity and plumbing were never brought into the property. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBsqz8gbKJO7Sd9CvQFtd22sxaKv1SjwFEJYXYl973jDYKfSKfHjojgJbeCidBQPUzYRHK8Bi609TKULRflT4O0TRwRwStOOeIsXDDhHsqlrs9LTfX_8FjmvG4vym50D5DfIOLzw/s1600/IMG_1117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBsqz8gbKJO7Sd9CvQFtd22sxaKv1SjwFEJYXYl973jDYKfSKfHjojgJbeCidBQPUzYRHK8Bi609TKULRflT4O0TRwRwStOOeIsXDDhHsqlrs9LTfX_8FjmvG4vym50D5DfIOLzw/s1600/IMG_1117.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
A spring house was used as a refrigerator for food storage.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho9P6jFGnfgqbSN18RANVAl3E9CJvCWsabd6b8aJHeBVlDX9Ikm4JXsYr_8VYc5PSN22MRaMkyxSxvY4BQJLevzdiDaN-6MEEjATIzLiNZzHz2AuMPqElUQMjoDvAhtDx1qYHGrQ/s1600/IMG_1145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho9P6jFGnfgqbSN18RANVAl3E9CJvCWsabd6b8aJHeBVlDX9Ikm4JXsYr_8VYc5PSN22MRaMkyxSxvY4BQJLevzdiDaN-6MEEjATIzLiNZzHz2AuMPqElUQMjoDvAhtDx1qYHGrQ/s1600/IMG_1145.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNWz8uRmxc-Iao2y4cbtwvnNIJd__Bg1dYcNBcNerCCTsneqR0Qix_HYto5rqEAVHKV8PrvoWvX9ahHMCMTmhMiJqzMOI4qICxzAGn1xTYd3w6G7xUDrH1bGgRFOgVSoPiZrizMw/s1600/IMG_1106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNWz8uRmxc-Iao2y4cbtwvnNIJd__Bg1dYcNBcNerCCTsneqR0Qix_HYto5rqEAVHKV8PrvoWvX9ahHMCMTmhMiJqzMOI4qICxzAGn1xTYd3w6G7xUDrH1bGgRFOgVSoPiZrizMw/s1600/IMG_1106.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO-sGMnlKUBgdfrcRm6u8kaBWMMVgHngCKEhlZ2AGY8Y0fJlEdDD4HY88GXHvVrynZCdT1SY7sIkTy8kb54gqdG5qqlKlunVJv9wTVrLwdqCTwrA_WLvP9Fok0KJVN83W2ZmvEhw/s1600/IMG_1136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO-sGMnlKUBgdfrcRm6u8kaBWMMVgHngCKEhlZ2AGY8Y0fJlEdDD4HY88GXHvVrynZCdT1SY7sIkTy8kb54gqdG5qqlKlunVJv9wTVrLwdqCTwrA_WLvP9Fok0KJVN83W2ZmvEhw/s1600/IMG_1136.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb2KkOlYiJy9Wbi-maXG5XliSas-qC9pyB6p07hIPl6jz1q1pqpyLY89wnDiE4CWChz1Tt0b3AODSXnkHGbyng-237m4cxiGE2KsIGy_y8G5avD33g-hQXzsUlABCi0l34GdKBFA/s1600/IMG_1137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb2KkOlYiJy9Wbi-maXG5XliSas-qC9pyB6p07hIPl6jz1q1pqpyLY89wnDiE4CWChz1Tt0b3AODSXnkHGbyng-237m4cxiGE2KsIGy_y8G5avD33g-hQXzsUlABCi0l34GdKBFA/s1600/IMG_1137.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
I love learning history. Each life is such an amazing story, and they all fit together so intricately. I love tangible reminders, such as the Walker homestead, which give us a link to another time. John Walker fought for the Union in the Civil War. He cast his first presidential ballot for Abraham Lincoln. Walking through his cabin reminds us that those things occurred not so very long ago.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcZcnUT-sskPjB2Eoqg_J7QUwOQs9PJVq19YSFy55iF5sIrblQgwDVGVjxJQeDlfCsvmy4HiVCx8tDZhdZfX2akWy1BWAhlZxxJTVRKQzJ4p38hH0HdVLEFoCEKbeo4YDLWQa6w/s1600/IMG_1141.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcZcnUT-sskPjB2Eoqg_J7QUwOQs9PJVq19YSFy55iF5sIrblQgwDVGVjxJQeDlfCsvmy4HiVCx8tDZhdZfX2akWy1BWAhlZxxJTVRKQzJ4p38hH0HdVLEFoCEKbeo4YDLWQa6w/s1600/IMG_1141.jpg" height="240" width="320" /> </a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This area is incredibly rich with history, so much to learn, and tangible reminders at every turn. It's definitely something to love.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd4GbEAdHF9rIDx7HcSShlkPEsms4f2QOGeJBxOewUpEUPW1YQ9zTGkZCU6o6VgE9mcVMI0cHkr81LZBjC8CDBxlCE-gq1uojNkTA6k6PeFvzh-rVMwjOyyJCpHEeBfGVagZHDJg/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd4GbEAdHF9rIDx7HcSShlkPEsms4f2QOGeJBxOewUpEUPW1YQ9zTGkZCU6o6VgE9mcVMI0cHkr81LZBjC8CDBxlCE-gq1uojNkTA6k6PeFvzh-rVMwjOyyJCpHEeBfGVagZHDJg/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><a href="http://www.nps.gov/history/history/online_books/grsm/walker_sisters_hsr/sec1.htm">You can learn more about the Walker family here. </a> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html"><i>You can also read more posts in this series by clicking here.</i></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"> </span></span></span> </div>
JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-88319209194541190362014-10-20T13:17:00.003-08:002014-10-20T13:30:39.481-08:00Living So Much Outdoors: day 20Here's something for this Alaska Girl to truly appreciate--living so much of life outdoors.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOffU91sblTfgnGsu3OCEPDRh66D8OR4zUV6BkmvWF48kQtPNHPiNyGcctIlw7qKDzEOA9kAp6nwHPUK-dakqlJMJR4FA3AxWn__fJ4aKOMn4tT0ypP7oBhA87vgG4PLh56tPZA/s1600/IMG_0158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOffU91sblTfgnGsu3OCEPDRh66D8OR4zUV6BkmvWF48kQtPNHPiNyGcctIlw7qKDzEOA9kAp6nwHPUK-dakqlJMJR4FA3AxWn__fJ4aKOMn4tT0ypP7oBhA87vgG4PLh56tPZA/s1600/IMG_0158.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Although we definitely spent more than our fair share of time outdoors in Alaska, weather usually wasn't real conducive to regular day-to-day outdoor living for us. We tended toward getting what needed to be done indoors first, and then suiting up for some outdoor time. Here we are, heading out on a hike nearly 2 years ago this week. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUsqOsnfhlUqcTOOEYV8Lu5pqB2LwlBPuPZvmGUXVVDmYQs2tQx2qL4S5YaWW8MDIz8Rn2jcQp0RkKP_F82EGvfVYdzSTiErFTXai-RDWD8Rwq6IZmSNDko7APJran61FcYZCgg/s1600/DSCN7919.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUsqOsnfhlUqcTOOEYV8Lu5pqB2LwlBPuPZvmGUXVVDmYQs2tQx2qL4S5YaWW8MDIz8Rn2jcQp0RkKP_F82EGvfVYdzSTiErFTXai-RDWD8Rwq6IZmSNDko7APJran61FcYZCgg/s1600/DSCN7919.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
What an absolute joy it is for us this fall, to incorporate so much outdoor time into daily life, whether it be chores, education, meals, art, or hang-out time.<br />
<br />
We have discovered the particular pleasure of having a back porch, coupled with lovely, mild weather to enjoy it every day. We eat meals and celebrate birthdays on the porch. We breathe the fresh morning air while getting some snuggle time in.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjNXpOM0v6vdBzYsifU8T0UEMY6ibq0rwKr7XQdGbclOI6TTy4gqfBochQUbav5Ato2rSxMbd4TjuH-NU4Da3_XJPxMfm4fAwyTl8k7bjpHjGowXKg9DbIIp2sFUVChSETN1Il4A/s1600/IMG_0151.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjNXpOM0v6vdBzYsifU8T0UEMY6ibq0rwKr7XQdGbclOI6TTy4gqfBochQUbav5Ato2rSxMbd4TjuH-NU4Da3_XJPxMfm4fAwyTl8k7bjpHjGowXKg9DbIIp2sFUVChSETN1Il4A/s1600/IMG_0151.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
It's a wonderful place for bird watching and bug watching, and can be a thrilling place for storm and shower watching. It's also a magical place for an evening cup of tea.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
We're avid readers, and I tell you, it's hard to beat a back-porch hammock with sweet breezes flowing through for a reading nook.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJ-6xjRoCs2PV5Jk2ri6-NOP87zial86PjACByuLbX5jt7s7JofBJPiO-SvV7Yl7k9CQw62Ug8JrByFQsxVGGrS-lDyJXp4mMxDQ3_XHClC8WXPP0xlpfosnmsz4b3Slwy95CUA/s1600/IMG_0225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJ-6xjRoCs2PV5Jk2ri6-NOP87zial86PjACByuLbX5jt7s7JofBJPiO-SvV7Yl7k9CQw62Ug8JrByFQsxVGGrS-lDyJXp4mMxDQ3_XHClC8WXPP0xlpfosnmsz4b3Slwy95CUA/s1600/IMG_0225.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_kHUq98H6wq6CSVDD8yFKGV55qa1JcoLtrGYR-hxhV0n-p9HZwxo8CkC6hJEhs1usqj7s76RRfzxLSVUjHUEP3oiHLEh2mRunqYR4VA-CBmZ2OxCYZDPe6Vivs9XgHWfuPYcgKw/s1600/IMG_0616+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_kHUq98H6wq6CSVDD8yFKGV55qa1JcoLtrGYR-hxhV0n-p9HZwxo8CkC6hJEhs1usqj7s76RRfzxLSVUjHUEP3oiHLEh2mRunqYR4VA-CBmZ2OxCYZDPe6Vivs9XgHWfuPYcgKw/s1600/IMG_0616+(1).jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Furthermore, the back porch is a great place to<br />
<br />
simply. just. be. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsdgr638y8x6-Z31qJucRAYRKGcD0zeo5Ps6mqUxbsQWYBk2v874TqG3x5e2W0FHq0ggPuvZIqJxUoOQosP1x0jj5caY4mwYaBJQLC5kfje8s_E4TF_ubYysjXXVhSydZYgT3QEQ/s1600/IMG_0165.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsdgr638y8x6-Z31qJucRAYRKGcD0zeo5Ps6mqUxbsQWYBk2v874TqG3x5e2W0FHq0ggPuvZIqJxUoOQosP1x0jj5caY4mwYaBJQLC5kfje8s_E4TF_ubYysjXXVhSydZYgT3QEQ/s1600/IMG_0165.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
As blissful as back porch time can be, sometimes, you just need more sun, with your toes in the grass. This is why we've done our fair share of homeschooling outdoors this fall. We particularly love to do this in the dappled sunshine, under a shade tree.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDuIw1klW_vcZIWBzNWV_VO02qHK6HMHTtK4Kp_ybb2OuZEwd5UuELPwyvckVPmvXKowCVONNvRxpdaDpTCyPWS6tOfUftjkTLFY3yeua5k9QWc2L3lXNP8p2nySrWaKHbj7zNFg/s1600/IMG_0816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDuIw1klW_vcZIWBzNWV_VO02qHK6HMHTtK4Kp_ybb2OuZEwd5UuELPwyvckVPmvXKowCVONNvRxpdaDpTCyPWS6tOfUftjkTLFY3yeua5k9QWc2L3lXNP8p2nySrWaKHbj7zNFg/s1600/IMG_0816.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
I find myself willing and able to do a lot of the messier experiments and projects, which I normally would have passed up in Alaska. We would pass them up, not due to lack of interest, but because of logistical roadblocks. An example of this would be, creating a model of the Nile and then overflowing the banks a couple times per week in order to make the banks flourish and grow. It just doesn't work well in 20-30 degree weather in October.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYMR4eaWCTEKWNwsvEGhoUmucsGSarXkW6NwIXHM5r62EWqTYRYaRtH2D1ISpARN9Cxd9VPvwPMRsa9SvTY6dRUej83OIFAHztWVy3tPaTPzNfvKetSQgDnmzJf2jpRL6Hgm28g/s1600/IMG_0680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYMR4eaWCTEKWNwsvEGhoUmucsGSarXkW6NwIXHM5r62EWqTYRYaRtH2D1ISpARN9Cxd9VPvwPMRsa9SvTY6dRUej83OIFAHztWVy3tPaTPzNfvKetSQgDnmzJf2jpRL6Hgm28g/s1600/IMG_0680.jpg" height="320" width="314" /></a></div>
So for now anyway, we will enjoy our in-and-out, out-and-in lifestyle in the South. We'll swing in the hammock, pad through the warm grass on a sunny fall day, and grow our Nile River banks, while God-willing we'll grow and thrive ourselves. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YYyEPwOUpT_xwW6m-B8HbuuBU1QolGQ_-Rb7sszo-7Ipaa_l0Q7T2WzUl6_M2qTP3xvnd1HDVGxf5Uut1phrpTvZwQ_1m-MkdVsQlSuPlLogs6yvl9PkephRINe7Mc3zcyjsaQ/s1600/IMG_1097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YYyEPwOUpT_xwW6m-B8HbuuBU1QolGQ_-Rb7sszo-7Ipaa_l0Q7T2WzUl6_M2qTP3xvnd1HDVGxf5Uut1phrpTvZwQ_1m-MkdVsQlSuPlLogs6yvl9PkephRINe7Mc3zcyjsaQ/s1600/IMG_1097.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
And we'll give thanks. Lots of thanks.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZe5tv7IQa4y-Lgs6N8naf04Ydttiw3pXGHhUXseUXu7QjPraT66LUISV3VBBICKxcuTMAiOaBIWhHcRQJsecgQbjdArdKwJf3pWNsqnfDzgbwd_vs3woqhUM7rHSwl5ykkUNwag/s1600/IMG_0817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZe5tv7IQa4y-Lgs6N8naf04Ydttiw3pXGHhUXseUXu7QjPraT66LUISV3VBBICKxcuTMAiOaBIWhHcRQJsecgQbjdArdKwJf3pWNsqnfDzgbwd_vs3woqhUM7rHSwl5ykkUNwag/s1600/IMG_0817.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWMuPV3owPMTzC407GaNS62-y63eTUtT5FZNvEm7BBJnGVgnwrNvxhOcvgnhT6UmCFd03uzAtSyWCykvzQxnKx6GrJ8XimcuVou5ia39HVu6NY4YG-gLC3Cs-9z022T50j3pAww/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWMuPV3owPMTzC407GaNS62-y63eTUtT5FZNvEm7BBJnGVgnwrNvxhOcvgnhT6UmCFd03uzAtSyWCykvzQxnKx6GrJ8XimcuVou5ia39HVu6NY4YG-gLC3Cs-9z022T50j3pAww/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html">Click here for other posts in this series.</a></div>
<br />JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-88469777612605385302014-10-19T16:44:00.000-08:002014-10-19T16:44:02.011-08:00Come On Down: day 19We love to have our doors open to family and friends, whether we've known and loved each other forever or only for a short while. Today, we had our first visitors to this home. Both are relatively new friends, but cherished just the same. One is from Knoxville, one is from Alaska. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQnw5Btwggu69wuoUkn9rQnhKxIy7FQwGQiMcq1ssoMEMee8MTdYYbW6-83KGsxNpo_n_l6GGzQGkuV6CWVR9xXh9qHhU-1fmbd6otiUnpORbCVfd9fSf_DoWVfzGVJzdmTxr8qQ/s1600/IMG_1084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQnw5Btwggu69wuoUkn9rQnhKxIy7FQwGQiMcq1ssoMEMee8MTdYYbW6-83KGsxNpo_n_l6GGzQGkuV6CWVR9xXh9qHhU-1fmbd6otiUnpORbCVfd9fSf_DoWVfzGVJzdmTxr8qQ/s1600/IMG_1084.JPG" height="320" width="170" /></a></div>
It's people that make a house a home. It's the people who live there, yes, but nothing says "home" better than being able to swing open doors for friends. Moving from Alaska to the South, this is a big deal to us, and something we relish. Because, you see, Alaskans <i>looooove </i>to go South on vacations. Furthermore, our family will <i>looooove</i> to be that Southern destination for anyone who is wanting to thaw out a little.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCtXCsFbci0-fSKzEtNJhqybuarYY_OrqH3BQIib_5fbRtLPH70Aq0lIoIFBPFrzL6_IfWW1sge_kP-eH9ZuHs0MWAZTMO8qC4uNXuf93XjGLRFM-eMC_HAlfZlEQAkfLO93v3JA/s1600/IMG_1074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCtXCsFbci0-fSKzEtNJhqybuarYY_OrqH3BQIib_5fbRtLPH70Aq0lIoIFBPFrzL6_IfWW1sge_kP-eH9ZuHs0MWAZTMO8qC4uNXuf93XjGLRFM-eMC_HAlfZlEQAkfLO93v3JA/s1600/IMG_1074.jpg" height="181" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We've got plenty of sunshine, and plenty of space for marshmallow shooter contests.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-6LIKSg63rN3jfg2T_rVROqBVNhdh1VstmflXSqye0S_NIGTSFWSZkg3SLNJyGZT5mjiV9ZH6YiBhfp0XjtfsMcCU9LxlqlRwZrpLNnS6XDOdP3vFa9I2JXpj9amfMtxUE0MyA/s1600/IMG_1075.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-6LIKSg63rN3jfg2T_rVROqBVNhdh1VstmflXSqye0S_NIGTSFWSZkg3SLNJyGZT5mjiV9ZH6YiBhfp0XjtfsMcCU9LxlqlRwZrpLNnS6XDOdP3vFa9I2JXpj9amfMtxUE0MyA/s1600/IMG_1075.jpg" height="320" width="275" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwQF5J4PQykXxAlpqvMfcjCE7Lrrxa4hbdnqcLQsyDcRkSDNFF2Se80XdZoFjEZc1OKkiX8jxyT7nk' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
So if you aren't one of the 4 families we're eagerly expecting, with plans to come visit soon, </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbIhunJEp6-uoFuQ3vdD2QQqZ_OEh091L7JZyxmFeDB5__8ijSgU_52pV6zgR6ApZufG8Z9iYVJGx_Fd5855oRneu33NHTkATCLaY52-gsgxDe8-hWUJJguCLa6dGjyNCeoIzqHg/s1600/IMG_1079.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbIhunJEp6-uoFuQ3vdD2QQqZ_OEh091L7JZyxmFeDB5__8ijSgU_52pV6zgR6ApZufG8Z9iYVJGx_Fd5855oRneu33NHTkATCLaY52-gsgxDe8-hWUJJguCLa6dGjyNCeoIzqHg/s1600/IMG_1079.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
we hope you'll get crackin', grab your marshmallow shooters, get tickets, and come on down.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtKL_Uu4LwQOZyDjxQrR1Jkeh63by3ZwJwyj0L0hhyphenhyphenDv0FIbm8McGNkY-dCxQvJEk-yBoZtwQ8ZUJdaVwpj5eoQeLRlNqqMeEfv6kANDr-XXumJGufG6_WjGrD3_AiSmIs4hdKgg/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtKL_Uu4LwQOZyDjxQrR1Jkeh63by3ZwJwyj0L0hhyphenhyphenDv0FIbm8McGNkY-dCxQvJEk-yBoZtwQ8ZUJdaVwpj5eoQeLRlNqqMeEfv6kANDr-XXumJGufG6_WjGrD3_AiSmIs4hdKgg/s1600/IMG_0484+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html"><i>Click here for other posts in this series.</i></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20709101.post-45135130867346994762014-10-18T20:10:00.001-08:002014-10-18T20:10:15.688-08:00Beautiful Weeds: day 18Upon first inspection of our rental house, I was sitting on the back porch, trying to imagine us living here. I scanned the yard, and noticed to my delight, a lovely perennial garden. Smiling at the slender, feathery plants, I felt so happy knowing there would be flowers to enjoy. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc-5niHULhH8N8gYu5bP6dapfXRp4GKEaYPdwHVgWsH7tpsX4OOOb4GVJ-siQUiSuqhkMsJ0dY8jrnEmEZIyece3nlbGktQesGa8bzVTyWfsJwW-mfMApDDG9OfTxBBQLsmTZmxQ/s1600/IMG_0130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc-5niHULhH8N8gYu5bP6dapfXRp4GKEaYPdwHVgWsH7tpsX4OOOb4GVJ-siQUiSuqhkMsJ0dY8jrnEmEZIyece3nlbGktQesGa8bzVTyWfsJwW-mfMApDDG9OfTxBBQLsmTZmxQ/s1600/IMG_0130.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
We sure did enjoy them, just in a different way than I had initially thought we would. I expected to stroll leisurely through the garden, breathe deeply of the fresh flowers, and perhaps snip a few blooms for an indoor centerpiece. Instead, the boys and I spent an entertaining afternoon pulling as many out by the roots as we could before a thunderstorm hit. By then, they were half again as tall as you see them here. They were no longer "slender and feathery", but thick-stalked and haggard. They were weeds, you see.<br />
<br />
Coming to a completely different climate than I have ever lived, I have been clueless as to what are actually weeds around here. Things grow incredibly fast and so freakishly large. Take this one, for instance.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzwbZoD61ZNeZ92zvlAYZQth13kujg-pC_4xR47nw-_WgP4e2q1MtpE880IZQApxHvTaE1OurkQtVUuDLzvwoY8n5rwrvJi1YZoR7gXrQAEaivJdPVQHi4nNWW8fhBtTgZUUl5ew/s1600/IMG_0652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzwbZoD61ZNeZ92zvlAYZQth13kujg-pC_4xR47nw-_WgP4e2q1MtpE880IZQApxHvTaE1OurkQtVUuDLzvwoY8n5rwrvJi1YZoR7gXrQAEaivJdPVQHi4nNWW8fhBtTgZUUl5ew/s1600/IMG_0652.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
Not the kid, although he too has been sprouting at a shocking pace these days. I'm actually, though, referring to the tree-like plant behind him. Isn't it lovely? It looks like something I would buy at Home Depot for my living room to help get me through a long winter. That thing sprouted and grew to that size in about two weeks. I enjoyed watching it grow, and if I hadn't been so busy settling into life here in the South, I probably would've been watering it. Apparently it didn't need my babying, however, because when the rose bush began to look unhappy and crowded, I realized this bugger was actually a weed. No problem, I would just pull it out, right? So I tried, but it wouldn't budge. I put all my weight into it, but still it wouldn't budge. And it's a good thing, actually, because with how far I was leaning back, I totally would've wiped out had it given loose! I wound up needing to ask my knight in shining armor to pull it. He actually had to dig it out. Check out the tap root! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEhpgyT9pa5UkJNmP3fQ_PUKY9lYD-Gvw3aqCPIgUYLYw8hbvVIvyJp7UqXjTvtLLT1MaIN1_BqL9UdtfTpFF_Mdkvuqz8XX_SzC6RZlcLM8Ibd3D0EBb_DTMa10c4f8XgN4YZeQ/s1600/IMG_0653+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEhpgyT9pa5UkJNmP3fQ_PUKY9lYD-Gvw3aqCPIgUYLYw8hbvVIvyJp7UqXjTvtLLT1MaIN1_BqL9UdtfTpFF_Mdkvuqz8XX_SzC6RZlcLM8Ibd3D0EBb_DTMa10c4f8XgN4YZeQ/s1600/IMG_0653+(1).jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
Our 11-year-old hauled it away on his bike, tap root trailing behind. With the mammoth weed gone, the rose bush bounced back and continued to thrive. In fact, it's still blooming today on October the 18th, which incidentally, is also something for Alaska Girls to love about the South. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW82AviiWD8YKTS7Fr3mKRwRC_KX9bDqlm6_br6o_Ev_ZlTEHVTePI7ewykGJp7CvOVXKmeF8O6cQ8eNzwOVEIeTZ2S9zO0foacNYKLVKHBBEth_efmuTLI5Q7HnShxgqg84d1Mw/s1600/IMG_0484+2+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW82AviiWD8YKTS7Fr3mKRwRC_KX9bDqlm6_br6o_Ev_ZlTEHVTePI7ewykGJp7CvOVXKmeF8O6cQ8eNzwOVEIeTZ2S9zO0foacNYKLVKHBBEth_efmuTLI5Q7HnShxgqg84d1Mw/s1600/IMG_0484+2+copy.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jjsboyland.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-girl-in-south-31-day-series.html"><i>For more posts in this series, click here.</i></a></div>
<br />
<span id="goog_1427325043"></span><span id="goog_1427325044"></span><br />
<br />JJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14273152140036894504noreply@blogger.com0