In one week, I am leaving the house on the cove in the center of the Ozarks.
We have lived in this home for over 18 years and in the Ozarks for over 30. This land is one of the great loves of my life.
But now we leave.
Moving one thousand miles to the east. To the foothills of the Smoky Mountains and a new life.
I will miss this land of steep ridges and deep fern green hollows. And I don’t know how my writing will change. This beloved land has been my muse for now much of my adult life.
I am excited for this new adventure. And it has all happened with such suddenness and energy that I have no doubt it is exactly what and where we are supposed to be.
And with that certainty, I have little grief over leaving. I know I am being given another great love of my life in our new home. A home very much like my beloved shack in Arkansas, but this time tucked into the foothills of the Smoky Mountains in a small village in western North Carolina.
My husband is going home to the state of his birth and home to his family.
We are both going home to a place we never dreamed of until a few months ago.
I will keep in touch, Dear Reader, and I will find a voice in that new place and my writing will follow its course – The Course of Our Seasons – a new and beautiful adventure.
Our family’s veterans include great-grand fathers, my grandfather, great uncles, uncles, cousins, brother in law, sister in law, my Dad, my father in law and my husband, Bob. All served their country in war and peace.
And, today especially, we remember Lance Corporal Phillip Vinnedge who was killed in Helmand Province, Afghanistan in 2010, the brother of my beloved niece’s husband.
He was 19 years old.
He is risen!
He is risen indeed!
Happy Easter, everyone – may it be a day of beauty and love for you and yours.
weak as tepid tea, the sun shines from a cold blue sky
in the newborn Spring. early morning frost rimed each
tenuous stem, rattling dry desiccated, until vapors
rose like wraiths disappearing aspirating vanished
leaving grasses pale bleached, limp and wasted.
fear hangs on my shoulders, atlas at his task,
holding the earth and all her
devotees, on my weakling shoulders, now bent
and ancient, grieving for the world and
its plagued population, struggling for breath
and light in the weak kneed sun on a early spring
My friend, Pete Gleason, has left this world and is on to his next adventure. I am bereft that he has left so soon.
Pete was an extraordinary musician, guitar player, song writer. Always with his shaker tied to his foot giving beat to the small drum box, his pork pie hat at a jaunty angle, he would launch into a rouser that would have everyone whooping along. We all knew so many of his songs by heart, our voices would raise, becoming his choir of acolytes. He had a gift that moved people to laughter and tears. Everyone who knew him wanted to sit in when he played, hoping some of his magic would rub off.
He was also one of the best fishermen, really.
“While fishing from the Missouri shoreline of Bull Shoal Lake on the night of February 8, 1991, angler Pete Gleason caught one of the biggest walleye ever recorded by the IGFA – a 8.98-kilogram (19 pounds, 13 ounces) beast has held the men’s 4-kilogram (8 pound) line class world record ever since.
At about 10 PM, Gleason hooked the fish, which he originally thought was a striped bass, after it hit the live minnow he had on for bait. After about 15 minutes, Gleason and his friends were able to get a glimpse of the fish with their flashlights, and realized it was a huge walleye – not a striper.
Gleason backed off the drag and skillfully played the fish for another 20 minutes before he could finally slide the tired fish onto the bank. The fish was weighed 30 hours later and is estimated to have weighed more than 20 pounds at the time of capture.”
His talents were not just music and fishing but he was also a master carpenter, skilled and artistic. His projects shine – as I can personally attest. He gave me the most beautiful kitchen and bathroom I have ever seen.
Pete loved his children and was so proud of them. They were the apples of his eye.
Most of all, he was a loving, dear friend, whose strong hugs I will miss until we meet again.
rose colored glasses
I look at the afterlife
through rose colored glasses
’cause why not
the heaven we wish for
is the heaven we get
and there is no hell
and the love you felt-
from your mom and dad,
when you fell for your wife,
when you held your babies,
brought in that fish,
the time the guitar lick
caused the room to hush
then set it on fire-
all that is just a whisper
of what you will feel
when you inhale here
I love you, Pete.
*The fishing info was from https://wawangresort.wordpress.com/2018/04/07/record-walleye-4/
I wish you and yours all things merry and bright!