Faith, Folklore, and Friends

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

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 Interna

  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

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.  http://museumofappalachia.org/

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.    Chorus: Oh, Lawdy, pick a bale a cotton Oh, Lawdy, pick a bale a day verses: You got a jump down, turn around Pick a bale a cotton Got a jump down, turn around Pick a bale a day (chorus) Me an' my partner can Pick a bale a cotton Me an' my partner can Pick a bale a day (chorus) Had a little woman could Pick a bale a cotton Had a little woman could Pick a bale a day (chorus) Went to Corsicana to Pick a bale a cotton Went to Corsicana to Pick a bale a day (chorus) 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

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

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

 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