Saturday, October 31, 2015


I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

~Joyce Kilmer, 1913

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Lester Flatt Celebration

One of my earliest memories is waking up to the sound of coffee perking in the pot, accompanied by Lester and Earl on the radio. They would be singing about Martha White's biscuits, cakes, and pies, and I was always ready when Mama's biscuits came out of the oven. I have loved Lester Flatt's music forever, although there was a period during my teenage years when I wouldn't exactly admit it, because it wasn't cool to like Bluegrass then.

Lester Flatt was born and raised near the small town of Sparta, Tennessee, and every year, they have a festival to celebrate Lester Flatt and all of Bluegrass Music.

Sparta is a beautiful town, but I didn't get many photos to share.  As you can tell from Becky Buller's hair, there was a cold north wind that October Saturday.  I was snuggled under my apple quilt, and stayed there where it was nice and warm.

As you can see on the sign behind Joe Mullins and the Radio Ramblers, this celebration was the International Bluegrass Music Association's Event of the Year for 2015.

The festival is held every October.  Sparta is in White County, Tennessee, just off of Interstate 40.

Sunday, October 25, 2015

Sunday Scripture: Pits

 I waited patiently for the Lord; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry.
He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings.
And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the Lord.
~Psalm 40:1-3

Friday, October 23, 2015

Museum of Appalachia Fall Homecoming

We have been privileged to attend the Museum of Appalachia's Homecoming many times, and it never gets old.

It is a peaceful place, a reminder of simpler times, of good times that our parents weaved into stories for summer's front porches.

Everything about it feels like home to me, and I'm always happy when I'm there.

The Gibson Brothers pickin' and singin'; one of the best parts of this year's festival.

We really appreciate the work of Mr. John Rice Irwin, who founded the Museum of Appalachia in 1968. Mr. Irwin loved the stories of his grandparents, and listened when his grandfather said, "You ought to keep these old-timey things that belonged to our people and start you a little museum sometime."  

The Museum of Appalachia is located in Norris, Tennessee, just a little northwest of Knoxville.

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Cotton-Picking Time

As long as people have picked cotton, they have sung to break the monotony and help them get through the day.  This old folk song is thought to be as old as slavery or older. A bale of cotton is ~500 pounds, and I  think it is highly unlikely that anyone could pick a bale in a day, but the song is catchy.  Listen to the way  Lonnie Donegan does it.  

Oh, Lawdy, pick a bale a cotton
Oh, Lawdy, pick a bale a day

You got a jump down, turn around
Pick a bale a cotton
Got a jump down, turn around
Pick a bale a day

Me an' my partner can
Pick a bale a cotton
Me an' my partner can
Pick a bale a day

Had a little woman could
Pick a bale a cotton
Had a little woman could
Pick a bale a day

Went to Corsicana to
Pick a bale a cotton
Went to Corsicana to
Pick a bale a day

I b'lieve to my soul I can
Pick a bale a cotton
I b'lieve to my soul I can
Pick a bale a day

I don't know this farmer, but it looked like he was doing a fantastic job!

Saturday, October 17, 2015

Christopher Andrew Haeger

In Loving Memory
Christopher Andrew Haeger
July 20, 1979~October 15, 2015

 And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes;

and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow,

nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain:

for the former things are passed away.

~Revelation 21:4

Sunday, October 4, 2015

Sunday Scripture: Hiding

Can any hide himself in secret places 
that I shall not see him? saith the 
LORD. Do not I fill Heaven and earth?
saith the LORD.

~Jeremiah 23:24

Thursday, October 1, 2015


 Anne reveled in the world of color about her.
"Oh, Marilla," she exclaimed one Saturday morning, coming dancing in with her arms full of gorgeous boughs, "I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn't it? Look at these maple branches. Don't they give you a thrill--several thrills?”

― L.M. Montgomery,    Anne of Green Gables    

 First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys. 
― Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes

There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October. ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne

After the keen still days of September, the October sun filled the world with mellow warmth...The maple tree in front of the doorstep burned like a gigantic red torch. The oaks along the roadway glowed yellow and bronze. The fields stretched like a carpet of jewels, emerald and topaz and garnet. Everywhere she walked the color shouted and sang around her...In October any wonderful unexpected thing might be possible.
― Elizabeth George Speare, The Witch of Blackbird Pond

 He had never liked October. Ever since he had first lay in the autumn leaves before his grandmother's house many years ago and heard the wind and saw the empty trees. It had made him cry, without a reason. And a little of that sadness returned each year to him. It always went away with spring.
But, it was a little different tonight. There was a feeling of autumn coming to last a million years.
There would be no spring.
― Ray Bradbury, Long After Midnight

The sweet calm sunshine of October, now
    Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mold
The purple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough
    drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.
~William Cullen Bryant

 October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins. O autumn! O teakettle! O grace!  
― Rainbow Rowell, Attachments

All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travelers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken.
~Thomas Wolfe