18-AUG-2007
I Shall Come Back
I shall be coming back to you
From seas, rivers, sunny meadows,
Glens that hold secrets:
I shall come back with my hands full
Of light and flowers....
I shall bring back things I have picked up,
Traveling this road or the other,
Things found by the sea or in the pinewood.
There will be a pine-cone in my pocket,
Grains of pink sand between my fingers.
I shall tell you of a golden pheasant’s
Feather....
Will you know me?
Hilda Conkling, Age 10, 1922
18-AUG-2007
Child of the Wood
Take shelter
Child of the Wood
Heal
Burrow deep into the warm earth
Breathe slow and true
Sleep safe among our tangled roots
Until sunrise comes
Turtle waits for you on her log
Snake rests in the dry leaves
Toad has climbed atop the mossy stone
Fish schools in the dark shadows
Deer sips jeweled daisy dew
River sings
Tree whispers
We all wait for you
Take shelter
Child of the Wood
Heal
Tomorrow is a new day
Join us then
And together we will chase the sun
16-AUG-2007
Appearances Can Be Deceiving
Here is a strange and beautiful insect with a long name: Snowberry Clearwing Hummingbird Moth (Hemaris Diffinis). This is one of those species that I have long wanted to see. Because they are so interesting looking they often pop up among the PaDs but I have never able to spot one myself. But it must have been just the right time of year because I ran across several of them in the two different areas on two successive days. In both cases they were feeding on Lantana which, according to my internet research, is one of their favorite meals—even though it takes its name from the Snowberry flower. This is the smallest of the three prominent North American species of Hummingbird moths. As you and see, it can easily be mistaken for a large bumble bee. But make no mistake about it, this is a moth. In this shot you can see the obvious feeding tube or proboscis that is characteristic of moths and butterflies. Like hummingbirds, they hover above flowers without landing and extend their proboscis to extract the sweet nectar. As far as I’m concerned, my encounter proved the wisdom of two common saying. First, appearances can be deceiving. And second, good things are worth waiting for. Yes, they sure are. They sure are.
14-AUG-2007
Virgin's Bower
They shall live again beneath my shadow,
they shall flourish as a garden;
they shall blossom like the vine,
their fragrance shall be like the wine of Lebanon—Hosea 14:7
Virgin’s Bower is one of my favorite wildflowers. Though it grows in many different areas, thick mats of this hearty vine can often be seen alongside mountain roads this time of year adorned with a dramatic profusion of small white blossoms. It is said that Mary and Joseph took shelter in shady bower formed by this beautiful climbing plant during their flight from Egypt which is where the name originates. Perhaps because of its Biblical association I have also heard that Appalachian brides would wear these flowers in their hair on their wedding day. The passage from scripture with which I began is inscribed on a rock placed next to the Virgin’s Bower that grows at a garden located on the campus of the University of Dayton. Although I am not a person of great religious faith its message of renewal and rebirth speaks to me because of important events going in my life right now. As though of you who read these blog entries in the past know, I often used this forum to discuss my place in this world in many different ways. It has been a deeply enriching experience to do so. But I am at a point where I must shy away a little from the bright light of the public confessional and sort out the consequences of my choices in a way that will make for a happiest tomorrows. It is likely that my attention to the PaD will become more sporadic in the short term (as it has already been), and so I apologize if I neglect my comments responsibilities and so forth. But through it all I intend to keep my camera in my hand, the keyboard under my fingers, and all of you in my thoughts as I continue upon this amazing adventure we call life.
13-AUG-2007
On the Backs of Giants
This summer I taught a special topics course in political communication and I was reminded of how much we mark American history largely by the passage of presidential administrations. Though the text we used for the course wasn’t limited to presidential rhetoric, most of the prominent examples came from the executive branch. Rep. Robert Doughton (D) N.C. is just another of the countless men and women—often forgotten—who left smaller footprints on the nation’s history through their service in congress. In all honesty, I know little about Congressman Doughton and internet research only filled a few sketchy details. He was born on November 7, 1863 in the mountain town of Laurel Springs, NC. He began his career as a farmer and later became President of the North Wilkesboro Savings and Loan (the town in which NASCAR was born). But in 1911 he was elected to Congress where he served until 1953, including many years as Chairman of the powerful House Ways and Means Committee. I found an old Time Magazine article that mentioned his nickname was “Muley” for the stubborn control he exercised over the nation’s purse strings. I doubt I would even know who Congressman Doughton was save for one very important contribution he directly made to my life. Congressman Doughton was one of the strongest advocates for the construction of the Blue Ridge Parkway. And at milepost 238.5 there a large, beautiful park that bears his name. Located near Boone, NC Doughton Park has a number of natural and historic features that I will leave for you to discover should you ever travel this section. But if you are lucky enough to be there in late summer be sure and visit the largest patch of blazing star that I have ever seen. It is located just across the street from the restaurant, beginning right alongside the Parkway (pictured here) and rising all the way to the top of the grassy bluff that over looks the area. It is a true gem. And if you do pass that way, join me in saying a little quiet thanks to Congressman Doughton and all the other visionaries who gave us the chance to travel the Appalachian crest on the backs of giants.
09-AUG-2007
Leap of Faith
"Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now."
William Hutchinson Murray (1913-1996), from his 1951 book entitled The Scottish Himalayan Expedition
08-AUG-2007
A Windrow on the World
Occasionally a student will solicit my advice about pursuing a career in teaching. Of course, their parents are almost always sure to have warned them about the modest income they can expect from the teaching profession, and to that I add my particular frustration over the increasing bureaucratization of the classroom at every level of the education system thanks to “No Child Left Behind” policies and their ilk. But there is also much to recommend about being an educator. Beyond the opportunity to make a difference in young people’s lives, I almost always point out that the opportunity to have some time away from work during the summer months can greatly contribute to the quality of one’s life—particularly those who plan on having families. Now the truth is few teachers today can afford to let summer past without some additional source of income, but usually there is at least some greater opportunity to experience time away from work than is available to those in many other professions. What then, you may be asking, does that have to do with this picture of large round hay bales resting in a Virginia field at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains? Well, as some of you may know, the “summer vacation” from school originated to serve the needs of farming communities that needed the labor of young people to help harvest crops. And the hay harvest placed a particularly high demand on farmers need for available labor. Hay that is harvested too early has such high moisture content that it can be difficult to dry risking mold and rot. Hay that is brought in too late lacks the nutritional content animals need during the winter months. There is often only a two week window when conditions are ideal for cutting and baling hay and the time that window will occur changes each year with the different weather conditions. So, young boys and girls needed to be free from school when that time came. Of course, things have changed even while the tradition of summer “vacation” remains the same (at least until the “year round school” advocates have their way). The large, round hay bales you see here are a product of modern farm machinery. Unlike other methods for gathering and storing hay, the circular bale reduces the surface area exposed to the elements and helps shed water so they can be left uncovered in the field until they are needed. Interestingly, the hay harvest may occur during a narrow window in time but it actually begins by first creating a “windrow.” A windrow is a long row along the ground into which hay falls (or is raked) as it is cut. The hay is left in these windrows to dry before being gathered or bailed. I don’t know how many times I have seen one of these large circular bales of hay alongside a country road and more than once they have drawn the attention of my lens. But it never occurred to me that their size and shape represented an important innovation in modern farming or that my life as a teacher had been shaped by their summer hay harvest. It’s just another example of how the camera has been a great teacher to me—even during summer vacation.
07-AUG-2007
Beginning At the End of the Road
It had been too long since I got lost on the back roads of the Appalachians. After what seemed like an endless working summer I was thirsty for new adventure, and over a three day weekend, I was able to replenish my tired spirit. Without really intending it, my route followed in the dusty wagon tracks of the Scot-Irish and German pioneers that first settled the Carolina backcountry. I traveled north from Charlotte to Durham to Martinsville Virginia and then west across the crest of the Blue Ridge into the Boone area. These cities where once connected by one of the first and most important interstate transportation systems in American history—the “Great Philadelphia Wagon Road.” This ribbon of dirt, rock, and clay carried thousands of Scot-Irish and German immigrants who had settled the beautiful farmlands of Pennsylvania and Maryland into a new Southern frontier in the hills and foothills of the Appalachians. These fiercely independent people would be the key to the American victory in the Revolutionary War. Many of them would also form enclaves of anti-slavery sentiment in the high mountains of Western North Carolina. But not all. Sometime around 1814, Abram Reynolds and his wife Mary Harbour made the trip down the Great Wagon Road from Pennsylvania to the southern part of Patrick Country, Virginia where they settled in the shadow of the No Business Mountains. They farmed tobacco, began a family, and prospered. They also used slave labor to generate their growing wealth. Soon, the same wagon trail that had brought many settlers south also carried golden leaved tobacco from distant rural farms to burgeoning urban markets--leaves sadly bloodied by the chain and lash. In 1853, Abram’s son Hardin built Rock Spring Plantation on the family land. This shot is of one of the original structures that still stand at what is now the Reynolds Homestead Historical Site operated in conjunction with Virginia Tech University. The ancient gnarled oak on the left is used as iconic symbol on many of the materials distributed in the modern visitor’s center also located there. But the story Rock Springs didn’t end with Hardin Reynolds. Hardin and his wife Nancy brought sixteen children into the world at their home including one Richard Joshua Reynolds. Like his father and grandfather, R.J., as he became known, also went into the tobacco business. But he chose to leave the hinterlands for the bustling city of Winston-Salem, North Carolina which lay, ironically enough, right along the Great Wagon Trail. He opened a tobacco manufacturing facility in the warehouse district and the rest is history. Some of you may have heard of the little company he founded—R.J. Reynolds Tobacco. And it all began at the end of the road under the shade of this old oak. Yes, good and bad, history is all around us and I never tire of feeling part of it.
02-AUG-2007
As Easy as That
And easy as that it was gone. I have had the same hair “style”—and I use that word loosely—for more than twenty years. Yes, since the advent of New Wave I have been a long hair. Well, in the front and back anyway. While I kept the sides on a tight leash with a trusty No. 4 trimmer blade (usually under my own not so skilled hands) the rest was swept back in a ubiquitous spiraling ponytail. I have occasionally gone so far as to reduce the length of that 1980’s fashion icon to a mere nub, but more often it would be kept so long that it had to be doubled up to keep from soaking the back of my shirt. Until yesterday that is. I can’t quite remember who it was but a few months ago one of our fellow Pbasers (was it you Joan?) celebrated their birthday by donating their hair to Locks of Love. I toyed with the same idea when I had my 45th in June but chickened out. But yesterday, when summer school came to an end, I decided that the time had come. I jumped in the truck and decided to just stop at the first hair salon that I came to—which happened to be Spartanburg’s “Hair Cuttery.” I stepped inside and found, how shall I say, a largely “mature” staff and clientele. The silver haired stylist with a heavy Spartanburg accent that asked if I needed help did so in a tone that sounded more as if she truly wondered whether I was in the right place than an offer of service. But I laid it on her anyway—that I had had the same hair cut for twenty years, that I wanted to donate my current crop of 20+ inch long curls to Locks of Love, and that I had absolutely no idea of what to do with a short hair style. “Are you up to the challenge?” I asked her. She smiled and directed me to the chair. And here you see the results. To be honest, I kind of like it. I didn’t know whether to exactly take it as a compliment when the Chair of my department said upon seeing the new me, “Who knew there was someone so handsome hiding under all that hair?” I surely wouldn’t go that far but it’s exciting to take a leap of faith and try something new. So, me and my new doo are going to head for the hills for a couple of days to recharge before I make the last push to complete my book and tenure file. Have a good weekend and I’ll see you Sunday!
01-AUG-2007
A Poke Without a Pig
When I was about nine or ten years old my parents moved our family into a new suburban home that overlooked what was probably once an old farm pond. It seemed more like one of the great lakes to me. I don’t think many days went by that I wasn’t down along the muddy water’s edge fishing, looking for frogs, snakes, and turtles, or engaged in some other wilderness adventure. My memory has faded to the point that I can’t remember the exact details but I do know this was my first encounter with pokeberries. Any of you who live on the east coast are probably familiar with these tall weeds with thick reddish stems which sprout clumps of large purple berries in the late summer. One day, while playing near the pond, my friend Chad and I discovered something that Native Americans and America’s early settlers already knew: the deep purple juice that is emitted from the berries when they are flung at one another or gleefully squeezed between dirty teenage hands makes a powerful and long lasting dye. Summer school came to an end today, and after some heartwarming ceremonial speeches by my students, I made a quick trip to Griffin Preserve to celebrate. The temperature was in the mid-90s so I knew it would have to be a short loop. I was surprised that one of my favorite shots was of this emerging pokeberry flower. Of course it made me to think of my infamous childhood pokeberry fight. But when I started poking around (pardon the pun) to see what else I could learn about these ubiquitous summer weeds, I learned some other interesting things. The name “pokeweed” comes from the Algonquin word “pucoon” which means “a plant used for dye.” During the 1844 presidential campaign, supporters of James Polk wore pokeberry twigs as campaign buttons--which must have been quite messy! Pokeberry is also a traditional food dish in the Southern Appalachians where tender young shoots are twice boiled before being eaten. The elaborate preparation is necessary because the raw plant is poisonous. But perhaps most interesting of all, pokeweed contains chemicals called PAPs (Pokeweed antiviral proteins). These compounds appear to stop protein synthesis in living cells which make this humble plant a promising treatment for cancer and HIV. So, the next time you pass one of these common summer weeds on your favorite trail, you may be looking at the future of medicine. But if even if this miracle cure doesn’t pan out, don’t forget the berries make great ammunition when flung at an unsuspecting friend. Just don’t be surprised when you are hit with a hefty cleaning bill!
31-JUL-2007
Spiderman
As some of you may remember, I have been a fan of the Minnesota Vikings since I was five years old—which is getting to be a long time now! But my second love are the Carolina Panthers who make their home in nearby Charlotte, North Carolina. My connection with the Panthers also has a long history. It began back in 1989 while I was still in graduate school at UNC Chapel Hill. At the time I attended an event called the “Carolina Kickoff” that was held at North Carolina State University’s Carter-Finely Stadium in Raleigh. This sold out exhibition game between the Giants and the Jets was intended to demonstrate the viability of a professional football team in the Carolinas. Four years later the NFL awarded Charlotte a franchise and the Panthers were born. The Panthers took the field for the first time in 1995. But not in Charlotte. As construction of their stadium was completed, the Panthers played their first season of home games at Clemson University here in the Upstate of South Carolina. Though their first game resulted in a narrow loss to the Atlanta Falcons, I will longer remember being there in the stands to see it happen. Though I have never traveled to Charlotte for a game, I renew my connection to the team each summer because their training camp is held here in Spartanburg at Wofford College. Today was the first opportunity I have had to get over there this year and I was finally able to make the trip with a decent camera in my hand. It was very hot, and though the players were surely anxious to get off the field, some of the team’s biggest stars spent time at the fence signing hats and jerseys for fans including wide receiver Stephen Smith. Nicknamed “Spiderman,” he is one of the best in the league. After sustaining a severe broken leg in 2004, Smith returned in 2005 to lead the league in receptions, receiving yards, and touchdowns. Only receiving greats Jerry Rice and Sterling Sharpe before him had achieved this remarkable “triple crown.” So, needless to say, it was pretty thrilling to be able to get so close to this future hall of famer. He signed autographs longer than any other player but the expression on his face that is captured in this shot never really changed. He was all business which, as a Panthers fan, is just the way I like it. So, go Kitty Cats! Let's get back to the playoffs in 2007. (Just don't beat the Vikings along the way)
30-JUL-2007
Another Photograph
What’s wrong with us? Forget cowboys. The song should have gone, “Momma, don’t let your kids grow up to be photographers.” After a quick overnight trip out of town (complete with an early morning speed trap that not even dropping Larkin’s name could get me out of), I started the day in a bone tired haze. But there was work to be done, so I plugged away, completing one mind numbing task after another. Finally, it was time to shut it down and soon I was humming along the interstate and headed for home. Then came a fateful fork in the road. To the right, a soft couch, cold Diet Pepsi Jazz, and the flickering blue comfort of the magic box. To the left, an opportunity for another photograph or two. Which do you think I chose? I think it was the glow of the setting sun behind the clouds that had settled over the buildings of downtown Greenville that pulled me on. I began to dust my filters as I drove, anticipating some pretty moving water. It had been months since I had visited the centerpiece of the impressive redevelopment project that has transformed this sleepy southern city into a cosmopolitan tourist destination: Reedy Rivers Falls Park. As I have explained before, Greenville came to be in large part because of the presence of Reedy River Falls. But the remarkable sky bridge, scattered bed of colorful flowers, and café-lined river walk, not only make for a great Sunday afternoon family destination, it is a true photographic smorgasbord. I didn’t stay long, but I didn’t need much time to rack up a card full of nice shots. It was dark by the time I got home. I was more tired than ever. But I had something even better than sleep--another photograph that I looked forward to sharing with you.
