Faith, Folklore, and Friends

Image from Wikipedia I can't remember the first time I heard my Daddy tell the story.  A friend of his, who apparently didn't get out much, hitched a ride to town one Saturday.  Red clover was in bloom all along the roadside.  The friend, astounded, looked out and said, "Just look at all those strawberries!" My Daddy thought it was hilarious, and told the story every time we were riding and saw some red clover outside the car window. We, being terribly smart and contemporary, would roll our eyes at each other, smirking at that lame story we were hearing for the hundredth time. Image from Wikipedia Isn't it crazy, and isn't it sad, that by the time we are mature enough to realize the value in some stories, the storyteller is no longer with us?  This story was a part of who my Daddy was, and a part of who we all were, part of the glue that bound us together as a family. We are lonesome animals.  We spend all our life trying to be less lonesome. ...

When our granddaughter, Amanda, was about five years old, we found this bike at a yard sale for $5.  It had a cute seat on it then, and Poppy bought the horn for it.  It stayed here, and Amanda rode it up and down the driveway thousands of times. Amanda is sixteen now, and drives her car named Harold. The bike had been stored until recently, when we pulled it out of the spider webs and washed it off.  Poppy had already removed the seat when I remembered to take a photo. Poppy painted the whole thing white, then added a galvanized bucket that was ruined inside (he knew I would never let him use a good bucket).  He somehow welded it on to the bicycle frame. It is now in the flower bed in front of our porch, among the roses and the peonies. Poppy steadied it up by adding some metal pipes.  I added the fern, which should spread out and cover the bucket by the end of the summer. I get to keep the bike a little longer without feeling gui...

I have asked one thing from the LORD;  it is what I desire: to dwell in the  house  of the LORD all the days of my  life,  gazing on the beauty of the LORD  and  seeking Him in His temple. ~Psalm 27:4

When we moved to this house  in '02, there was a large shrub at the northwest corner of the house.  We came in August, and we had no idea what the shrub was. When it exploded in white blooms the next May, I took a branch to our local expert, Margie Anderton, to find out what it was.  She told me it was deutzia. Every year since then, it is a show-off in early May.  People passing our house slow down to look at it.  Through the years, I have potted the sprouts, and the deutzias are now in several other yards. We planted this one in the backyard two years ago. When the blossoms fade, they fall off and make a big mess.  Still, for a couple of weeks, they gloriously light up our neighborhood.

Yesterday, Hub and I went to the first Music in the Park for this year. It was a cool but beautiful day, nice for sitting outside.  Good people and good music made it almost perfect. Music in the Park is every Wednesday during May and June.  It is from 11:30 until 1:30.  Bring a chair and an umbrella (I speak from experience).  Steak and Stuff is there if you want to buy your lunch, or you can bring your own.  Wilson Park in downtown Florence is such a beautiful place to spend some time. A big shout-out to Mike Adams, Todd Nix, the Florence Parks and Recreation Department, and everyone else who makes this happen.

Yesterday, we attended a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a new Bluegrass Exhibit at the Alabama Music Hall of Fame. There was a large mass of humanity there, including some good friends.  It was a special day. Love, love Claire Lynch! Several members of the Foster Family were there, including some who were not born when this photo was taken. Jake Landers, one of Alabama's greatest treasures, cut the ribbon.  Unfortunately, I was not able to get a good photo of the ribbon-cutting  because of the crowd.  This one was taken after the ceremony.  It is a beautiful exhibit, and we appreciate all the hard work that made it happen. The Alabama Music Hall of Fame  is located on Highway 72 West in Tuscumbia, Alabama.

Love Story by Wanda Stricklin Robertson She was a child of the city, tenements and buses and stoop-sitting. Books showed her wide open spaces; the block-sized park was her forest. He was a gangly country boy, lost in the dirty city, here for just a while, saving enough factory money to buy some Alabama soil. The Lord works in mysterious ways. When two hearts are drawn together, what was before fades and love becomes stronger than logic. She loved him enough to come to this place of humidity and mosquitoes to raise their children, to make a home, to spend their given days together. That first night on this curious soil changed her, overwhelmed her; the new openness, the crickets’ songs as they walked in the Alabama night. She was amazed at the stars, different, brighter somehow as they lay on dew wet grass and planned their future, eons away. Rising, he walked to a nearby field, returning with a watermelon that ...