Faith, Folklore, and Friends

Beautiful September! You bring us nights with raised windows, snuggling under quilts in the wee hours. You mark the time with morning glories  and turn the roadsides yellow. You remind the hummingbirds that it is time to migrate, to journey over a thousand miles to places with warm winters. They know they will have to be fat for the trip, so they fight for the feeders, flashing their ruby throats for our amusement. You sober us with the knowing--summer, the time for growing and gathering, for swimming and playing, for travel and iced tea, no matter how wonderful or fruitful it has been--summer always ends. September. So beautiful, you strengthen us during the transition, and help us face the winter that will surely come. To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.   Eccle...

Eupatorium maculatum, better known as Joe Pye weed, was in full bloom when we were in North Carolina recently.  The huge blossoms are on sturdy stalks that can reach up to six foot tall.  It only grows in the eastern United States, and I haven't seen any growing wild here in Northwest Alabama. The wildflower reportedly has many medicinal uses. It got its common name from a New England Indian healer named Joe Pye who lived at the same time as the Pilgrims.   Folklore says that Joe Pye cured typhus fever using the plant. I don't know if this plant has true medicinal properties, but I think it must have some sweet nectar.  Everywhere you find the plant, you will find some bumblebees and butterflies. Is it not inherently wrong to call a plant like this a 'common wildflower'? Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is adm...

Equal dark, equal light Flow in Circle, deep insight Blessed Be, Blessed Be The transformation of energy! So it flows, out it goes Three-fold back it shall be Blessed Be, Blessed Be The transformation of energy! -    Night An'Fey,  Transformation of Energy

For thou hast been a strength to the poor,  a strength to the needy in his distress,  a refuge from the storm,  a shadow from the heat,  when the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against the wall. ~Isaiah 25:4

We have become a society of busyness. Somewhere along the way, we have become frightfully confused, our eyes scaled by life's noise.   We are worn out trying to please our families, our bosses,  our leaders, our community. All of us have work to do, tasks given according to our abilities. It should be done with enthusiasm, with joy and thankfulness. We are NOT required to do what God has assigned to others. Would the mountains fall if you turned your cell phone off long enough to pay attention to what is going on around you? Would the world stop spinning if you took a few minutes to sit alone, and just listen? Would the course of human events be forever altered if you said, "No, thank you very much, I won't be able to..."? I hope you can take some time this weekend to slow down and be still. It can change how you will face the busyness on Monday morning.

Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and filet gumbo                   Cause tonight I'm gonna see my ma cher amio.                    Pick guitar fill fruit jar and be gay-o                                    Son of a gun we'll have big fun on the bayou. These are lyrics from Hank Williams' song, Jambalaya .  Where I came from, everybody loved Hank and for years thought his death had somehow cheated them.   Jambalaya was #1 on the Billboard country chart on September 6, 1952, not long before Hank's passing. We sang it for years afterwards. We didn't have a clue what those words (except fruit jar) meant; the bayou could have been on the moon as far as we knew. But we sang it anyway, just because it was a catchy tune and what was good enough for Hank was good enough for us. More than half a century...

North Alabama State Fair photos for those of you who can't make it there.  Sorry, I can't reproduce the smell of frying funnel cake. If you have been wanting to decorate your house with red/white striped monkeys, now is your chance.  It looked like they had enough to last all week.  You have until Sunday night to get there.