tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66162570308311165662024-02-22T13:58:07.381-05:00Random things from life as I see it.I tend to have a preference for nostalgia and for imagery that provokes questions: "Where does that road lead? This actually feels cold, hot, lonely, etc." With each shot I personally associate the sounds, smells, feelings, temperature, etc. Not everyone can or will connect with a photograph in this way. That is the beauty of this medium and what makes each photographer different. My only advice about photography is "Be in love with what you see."
All images Copyright Bowman Gray 20184thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.comBlogger205125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-78920662349723907592018-09-29T10:27:00.000-04:002018-11-11T19:08:50.180-05:00Forrest & Jenny: A Memior <div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“A really companionable and indispensable dog is an accident of nature. You can’t get it by breeding for it, and you can’t buy it with money. It just happens along.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">― E.B. White</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The phone rang early on a Saturday morning as we were preparing to make the two-hour drive to Marion, NC just outside of Black Mountain. “Would you possibly be interested in taking her brother too?” We paused and thought for a moment. Why not? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">About ten days prior, my wife, Karen, came into my office beaming and told me to pull up the pet adoption website whereupon I first saw a photo of Missy, solid black save for a white patch on her chest and back right foot. Sitting comfortably in a spectator chair, one of those all of us have carried in our trunks to take to kids’ sporting events, her jowls sagging to match the loose-fitting nylon of the armrests, a red bandana around her neck, and eyes barely discernably open under the heavy eyelids, she looked perfect. The description said that she was a sweet dog who preferred to take naps preferably in someone’s lap. Her lineage was described as one parent being “mostly American Bulldog” and the other “mostly Coon Hound”. We fell in love instantly and made the call. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The deal was struck, and arrangements were made to make the exchange in the parking lot of the Walmart in Marion. We arrived first and got out of the Suburban and in pulled a little Miata. The foster Mom got out, opened the passenger door and Buster and Missy spilled out on the ground rolling over onto their backs with tails wagging. There was no question, they were coming home with us. Pleasantries exchanged followed by health and dietary questions that uncovered that these two had been living mainly off of pizza scraps and dry puppy chow and had been living in a stall for their first six months. We loaded up and headed for home. (I should note for the record here that these two were clearly loved and their living situation was out of necessity, not out of any kind of neglect.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Clearly never having been in a car for long periods or on a highway, Buster promptly began drooling and barfed while Missy snored. Arriving home, we hopped out in front of the house and everyone was eager to get inside. Having come in and explored the main floor we started to head upstairs at which point Buster and Missy stood at the bottom of the steps stared at us and then at each other. They had never seen steps and were completely unsure how to navigate them. The “tiny switchback” approach both up and down sufficed until they learned how to bound four steps at a time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Having completed their tour, we settled into the family room, us on the sofa, they on their bed. Missy lay down first and Buster simply lay down right on top of her across her midsection and began snoring. We watched them sleep in this pile of fur and jowls as we debated new names. Bonnie and Clyde? No, they are not criminals, look at how they sleep… they are like peas and carrots….. and there we had it – presenting Forrest and Jenny.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Though they were brother and sister from a litter of ten, they didn’t look much alike, Jenny being mostly black and Forrest white with large rust brown spots – I think he may have been part Guernsey. Their statures were mixed at birth – Jenny with the long gangly body of the coonhound and the head of the bulldog and Forrest with the barrel chest of the bulldog and head of a hound. Their personalities fit perfectly, he was the risk-taking reckless type and she the worrying caretaker. For example, when he jumped up and managed to grab a full rack of ribs off of the stove top and made a break for safety under the dining room table to enjoy his ill-gotten prize, she bolted upstairs not wanting to be blamed for this theft of dinner. There is nothing much funnier than seeing your dog trotting out of the kitchen with a full slab hanging from the side of his mouth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Jenny would spend her time while they relaxed in the evening by cleaning up Forrest’s face and ears. Patiently licking him like a fastidious mother while he sat with his eyes closed. Occasionally he would return the favor, but mostly she would look at him in complete disgust at what a mess he usually was. If one was out of sight of the other, worry ensued. They played hard, running and knocking each other down, but it was Jenny who would, out of the blue, walk up to him and actually punch him in the face with her paw trying to provoke a scrum. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Both were incredibly affectionate, constantly placing their heads on the closest lap or pawing when they felt someone wasn’t paying enough attention. We actually had to talk to Jenny about not throwing herself at every man that visited, it simply wasn’t ladylike. Forrest, for his part, suffered from what I called “multiple dog disorder” – meaning that with a look, he transformed into Huckleberry, or The Big Ragu, or Dopey, or simply Hound Dog. These two were, without question, the most unique and loving dogs I have ever known. Being that I grew up on a farm with, at the high count, fourteen dogs, I consider myself somewhat of an authority on the matter. They both would lay between the coffee table and the L shaped sofa – one along each side effectively stranding whoever was sitting down – an event we affectionately referred to as being “dogged in” – Honey would you get me a drink? I would, but I’m dogged in at the moment…. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The next ten short years were filled with story after story with travels and surgeries and back gates being left open and who did that on the rug and please get off the sofa and and and – it was perfect. The following entries serve two purposes 1. Fulfilling my promise that others would know them and 2. A journal helping me move through my grief. These started out as social media posts that seemed to morph into something more. They seemed to reach everyone who had their own story of loving and losing a cherished pet. Having just put Forrest to rest after not quite 18 months after Jenny, I have been encouraged by those close to me to share these entries a bit more widely. I will warn you that they provoke some sadness, but I’d encourage you to look further into what were two very unique personalities and the immense texture that they brought into our world. Lastly, I would say that I share this because it has been my experience that sadness shared is greatly diminished and joy shared is infinitely multiplied. In hoping you find some of both in these anecdotes, I remain</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Yours,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Bowman Gray IV</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Winston-Salem, North Carolina </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">March 15, 2017</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Jenny - March 2008 - March 2017. We will desperately miss her uncontrollable, bend herself in half whole-body tail wagging, her not so subtle pawing at our legs or snout under the elbow, usually with a coffee in hand, when she was wanting attention. The way she would lean with all her weight against a leg while looking back up at us making sure we knew she was there. And of course, the snoring... lord have mercy, the snoring. If anyone were to ever wander into our house they would swear we had a grizzly bear in our living room. Jenny will join the greats that have blessed our lives - Milo, Dede, Thelma, Velvet and literally countless others who brought love and hilarity into our lives. Forrest seems unsure and is following us around. She would be worried about him as she did whenever he was out of sight. She was truly a good dog.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">March 17, 2017</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Those of you who know me personally know that we suffered the unexpected loss of Jenny, one of our two Heinz 57 variety dogs on Wednesday. She and her brother, Forrest (yes, they were like peas and carrots) came to us in 2008 via a foster family - the deal was done in a Walmart parking lot just outside of Black Mountain, North Carolina. These losses never get any easier as I get older, in fact, they seem to impact me more and more. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Jenny was the worrier of the two so it is probably best that she went first. As I stared blankly at my computer this morning thumbing through photos trying to find inspiration, Jenny came to visit me. As usual, I did not hear her coming, just felt her warm head settle onto my right thigh. Seems she was part panther as no dog in history at 90 pounds could move as silently as she did.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Looking up at me with big brown eyes surrounded by gray, she just said "It's the nature of things and it's OK. The consistent stream of life promises the occasional waterfall that disrupts the calm. The upside is you get to see in more detail the dynamics of the water, there is real texture there. It's good to be reminded of the depth and texture of life every now and again, even if it distorts and ruins the regular flow of things for a time. Things will smooth out again, they always do until the next fall comes." With that, she leaned in a little more and let out a deep sigh and walked off, this time with toenails clicking on the wood floor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">May 5, 2017</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Jenny came to visit again unexpectedly this evening. "I really just wanted to let you that heaven is pretty terrific. It's a lot like the farm except there aren't any burrs that get stuck in my ears. I run pretty hard all day and my knee doesn't hurt at all. No one makes me take a bath and I get to roll in that soft spot where that old pin oak used to be by the gravel drive to the barn. I lay in that thick patch of spider grass under the magnolia tree when I want to take a nap and no one has said a thing about my snoring. I see Thelma in the garden, but she's not much of talker and she is forever trying to get somebody to throw that stinky old tennis ball. I just don't get that. Anyway, I really miss you, mom, Daniel, and Alex. This place is almost perfect, almost, as nothing seems complete without Forrest. Not saying that I want you to hurry at all, but I'll be here waiting."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">May 28, 2017</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Jenny announced her arrival this morning with one of her epic whole body sneezes whose finale involves a vigorous shaking that starts with her head and like a traveling tremor exits through her tail. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Those always surprise me," she said as she walked toenails clicking on the floor into the office laying her head in my lap looking up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"You were gone for a few days?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Yes, we were in Boston to see Win graduate from business school. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Business school? Did you make him go because he kept jumping up on people? Like the one you always said you'd like to send Maggie to?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">No no, nothing like that, you're thinking of obedience school. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Oh, yeah. Tell him I said a good job and to be careful not to jump up on people anyway. I've always found that to be good advice. Well, I've got to go, it's time for my mid-morning nap." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I'm so happy you came to see me, we love and miss you. Oh - and keep your eye out for a friend of ours - Mike - he'll need you to show him around and keep him company.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Of course, he'll love it here."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">June 15, 2017</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I ran into Jenny when I came down out of the attic today. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Looks like you are getting ready to go to Maine?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Yes, Forrest and I will head up next week.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"I think this is one thing I miss the most. Maine. So many smelly things to roll in under the seaweed at low tide. I know that annoyed you because you always had to give me a bath after. You really should take the time to appreciate the nuances of dead crab, I really think if you opened your mind you'd appreciate it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">No, I think I'll leave that to your memory.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Hey, you are going to take some of my ashes and sprinkle them in that spot on the gravel driveway that gets that really amazing sun in the early morning right? That was absolutely my favorite spot after breakfast. Then of course in front of the fireplace at night when it got cool. I like that spot too. Yes, I miss Maine and I miss you, but it's good to know that I'll always have a little of that morning sun."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It won't be the same without you. I'll sprinkle some ashes in your spot and maybe some at the top of the hill so you can have something of a view and a few down by the bathing beach so you can commune with whatever is under the seaweed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"I'll probably come to visit you there if you don't mind."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Nothing would make me happier.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">July 11, 2017</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">When we pulled up to the house in Blue Hill this afternoon Jenny excitedly crashed through the screen door on the side porch off the kitchen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"I saw that you put some of my ashes in the sun here like you said. Did you go to the bathing beach and to the meadow on the hill?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Of course, we did. You are in the sunny spot here and over on the bathing beach it was high tide, so you were carried along the seaweed covered rock shoreline to no doubt encounter your favorite snack and rolling balm - dead crab. You would have been most pleased with the meadow as the breeze was blowing quite strongly and you covered what seemed to be several hundred yards of wildflowers and grasses. All through the areas where you liked to dive and roll. Mom picked one of those little purple flowers to keep with the little bit of you that we are keeping for ourselves in a box with your name on it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"This is fantastic! I'm going to head over to the beach now and catch the sunset from the meadow later. The best part is that now I will always be where you are, at home or in one of these places that we love. I'm happy now."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">So are we, Jenny. Thank you for making these places that much more amazing for all of us. In fact, I may go roll in the yard to get a taste of it myself, besides my back could use a good scratching. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"You really should. Any chance you are reconsidering trying out the dead crab?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">No.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Thought I'd ask. Anyway, tell Forrest to stop scratching at those bites on his head, it only makes them itch worse. Also, please tell him that I will join him next to the fireplace again when it cools down again next week. Those are the best naps."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">No argument from me there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Well, I'm off to the beach and meadow. I'll check in again sometime, not really sure when, but please don't worry about me, I really am happy with where I am now."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I won't worry, we just miss you and talk about your silliness - we always will.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">July 29, 2017</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2PJUBS-gTlDEtF_0MBGcKlJ_m2JwTjITRAEC75op_RutajuOduM7PouT93Fv0gXFbzHpRRe_7L0plpO6zohDm9mPbH41aUNDYA44wAiRkJXvGxGQ32rM35cgLKFHG4TlXZmXbEpotGiPh/s1600/DSC_2834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="1024" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2PJUBS-gTlDEtF_0MBGcKlJ_m2JwTjITRAEC75op_RutajuOduM7PouT93Fv0gXFbzHpRRe_7L0plpO6zohDm9mPbH41aUNDYA44wAiRkJXvGxGQ32rM35cgLKFHG4TlXZmXbEpotGiPh/s400/DSC_2834.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">As I started to pack for the long drive back to NC today I heard Jenny plop down heavily on the wood floor with a groan. Rolling on to her back so that her jowls sagged backward towards the floor making her look like she had a severe facelift. Thumping her tail and bending her head towards me to make sure we made eye contact she started... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"It's been an odd summer, quicker than normal I think"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It has been. Being here without you and the coming and going of friends. All of this knowing that when we get back we will be moving Daniel into college.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"I think Daniel's friends enjoyed being here. I tried to stay up and watch them, but they stay up way too late for me and you know how much I love to sleep. I'm glad that Forrest made such good use of the porch this summer, napping in the sun with him was so pleasant and reassuring. I am disappointed that you did not take him down to the bathing beach to explore things."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Trust me, he smelled bad enough without having to partake in your kind of rolling activities. He seemed quite content to snooze on that big old dog bed in the sun. His twitching and yowling in his sleep tell me that he was dreaming of you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"I'm pretty sure he was. I'm also pretty sure he doesn't think much of those blueberry/bacon dog treats. Seriously, how many times did you see either of us just go and eat blueberries? Now, bacon? That's a whole 'nother story.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Well, I'm going to go check on Mom and then I'm going to peek in on Alex and Win and see if I can offer Milo any advice on being a new dog. I'll see you again at home, thank you for bringing me here."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Bye for now, Jenny. I look forward to our next visit and the report on Milo.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">October 7, 2017</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I opened the door to let Forrest back in from doing his business out in the rain tonight and was pleasantly surprised when Jenny pushed past him knocking him into the door jamb as she always did, making sure to be first in line for the evening doggie treat. Sitting nicely knowing that the command to "sit" always preceded the dispensing of whatever we have stashed in the treat tin, she looked up without a word.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I began - </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I'm so happy to see you, it's been a while.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"I know, the time has been getting away from me with all these new friends over the last couple of months. I wanted to get home because there doesn't seem to be a source for those delicious jerky chicken treats and I heard that Daniel was back from school because he wasn't feeling well. I get that, not knowing what is wrong or how to explain it, just don't feel good and all I could ever think to do is come over and stare at you until you figured out what was going on. Did you and Mom take him to the vet and feed him boiled chicken and pumpkin until he felt better?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Well, basically yes - except we made soup and tried having a more balanced dinner tonight. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Does he have to wear a cone or anything?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">No, we are taking him back to school tomorrow. I think some downtime, good sleep, and decent food can fix most of this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"So you didn't have to hide his pills in cheese or anything?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">No, he has figured out how to deal with that on his own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"That's good, I hated that. I'll stay on the floor next to his bed tonight just to be sure everything is OK. You know how I like to worry."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We miss your worrying, especially Forrest who still hasn't figured out how to keep his face and ears clean without you. I think it makes us all feel better knowing you are here for a while.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Makes me feel better too."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">With that, she took her treat, climbed the steps and went into Daniel's room to find him already asleep, curled up on the floor next to his bed and immediately began her deep snoring.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">December 11, 2017</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">As I neared the top of the basement steps with the Fraser Fir in my arms I found Jenny on the landing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"It's Christmas already? Boy, I'm really going to miss Christmas... actually I missed Thanksgiving. You sure did drop a lot of good stuff on the floor in the kitchen. I especially liked Mom's sweet potatoes with all the brown sugar and butter and marshmallows."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We really could have used your help cleaning up. The floor has never been quite as spotless...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"You are going to put the plastic ornaments on the bottom of the tree again.. I am sure someone else has a tail they cannot control - couldn't be just me. I have to say the sound of the shattering glass ornaments when they hit the floor always startled me."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We're not too worried about Forrest, but we won't take any chances. It'll be a different story at Alex and Win's house with Milo though. She's high energy and had her first encounter with hors-d'oeuvres that were left on the coffee table... seems she likes salami and stinky cheeses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Can you get Forrest a gift from me this year? I think I'd like to give him a new soft blanket - you know the super soft ones from Costco that hold all the dog hair? Those were my favorites, so I want him to have a new one since I'm not there to keep him warm."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I'd be happy to do that for you. What can we get you?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Well, nothing really, just promise me that I can come around on Christmas Eve to help with the kitchen floor..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Of course, it wouldn't be Christmas without you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">March 12th, 2018</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">While staring deeply into a computer screen of flashing numbers that comprise the stock market, I was interrupted by the "thud thud thud" of Jenny's heavy tail on the floor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Has it really been a year? I guess it has... in some ways, it seems just like yesterday and in others, much longer. That was a really hard day and I am glad I didn't have to wait too long to get here."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">haven't seen you since Christmas, I'm so happy you are here! It has been an eventful year and yes, that was one of the hardest days we've ever known. Did Bonnie come and find you? We saw her out with Carl before he had to take her to the bridge. I think she was excited about seeing you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Oh yes! So nice to be able to run together instead of just barking at each other through the fence! She feels so much better now."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Thank you for picking up that big squishy blanket for Forrest from me, but did you have to get him the king size? Seems a little excessive. I mean it's like five times the size of his bed. It does seem to hold an extraordinary amount of dog hair though and that's a good thing, so maybe it was the right choice."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The giant one was all Costco had left of those velour type blankets, so yes, I had no choice and he really seems to love it. You are more than right about the dog hair, I think its somewhere in the neighborhood of 5-7 lbs worth before washing, possibly more if allowed to go for longer than a week.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"I stopped in to see Alex, Win, and Milo not too long ago. Milo is super sweet and very talkative. I tried to explain that as much as she wanted to speak to all those people across the street through the window, they probably can't hear her.... she'll figure it out. I'm actually jealous that she's allowed up on the sofa."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Milo is wasting no time providing antics for stories. When I'm on the sofa with her, she tries to eat my ears.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Well, I'm going to take a quick roll in the snow and check in on Daniel. I like to catch him in the late afternoon or early evening when he is engrossed in his work, otherwise, the scene is way too loud for me."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Thank you for stopping by, please don't stay away so long this time. We miss you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">With that she pushed her way out the front door, engaged in one very vigorous roll in the snow and disappeared around the side of the house.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">June 9th, 2018</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Quite unexpectedly Jenny made an appearance week or so ago. At the intersection of Lyndale Avenue and Lake Street in Minneapolis sitting upright in the front seat of another car. She glanced over at the disbelieving faces of Alex and Karen with direct eye contact and the usual quick readjustment of her oversized tongue, they knew it was her. Jenny has moved on to bring her intense devotion and hilarity to another home. I am so glad for them, though the lack of her oversized presence in our house is still noticeable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I am pleased and amused that she still sits upright in the front seat, all 90 pounds of her. Good girl.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">July 26, 2018</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJb9GqJijG587FFIItFab7AEBIoccfLQgrv2EBifUFmDXlsoNH08Cd1bDJXlowsMpuqF3tpt3Wc6bwC3ANCAbx1ra6W9PKXw_oSr9p6JivELubokZqZ2NtaKVsMkFT_Medp_s_fjNqsuQp/s1600/1782324_10151920834736674_128513525_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="1024" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJb9GqJijG587FFIItFab7AEBIoccfLQgrv2EBifUFmDXlsoNH08Cd1bDJXlowsMpuqF3tpt3Wc6bwC3ANCAbx1ra6W9PKXw_oSr9p6JivELubokZqZ2NtaKVsMkFT_Medp_s_fjNqsuQp/s400/1782324_10151920834736674_128513525_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Forrest - March 2008 - July 2018</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It's an end of an era. Forrest has gone to join Jenny. His hilarious facial expressions, his dramatic vocals more along the lines of a roar when hungry, and of course the "I'll roll over and show you everything to get your attention" to anyone who walked in the door were always sources of laughter. Known for resting his head on the laptop while looking up at you and wagging usually followed by a paw on the knee demanding attention. There is no other way to say it, he was a Great. Big. Dog. There will never be another like him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Of course, Jenny came to visit after I got home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"It's actually best that it was here in Maine, after all, I'm here right now and he's kind of helpless without me you know. I really can't wait to clean up that face of his, he's been a mess for months now. I know you, Karen, Alex, and Daniel are really sad, but you have no idea how happy we are to be back together. It may be raining on your side, but the sun is out and there is a great breeze here for us. And don't worry, you know we'll visit often."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">July 27, 2018</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAC164XzcPQn6zxzPxA8J_k-AkSsUyfhbbc-reB2kgCWIvAzLSTczSgQWIn8zt8ZqJhZrOLwSmhiOI75lKBVRx1c5gsVUMFyRouAeWJWhtZMSElbAMDykt37cCbKCgZIUsqUrxWConpxY/s1600/11709733_10152904899461674_3698852144257239934_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAC164XzcPQn6zxzPxA8J_k-AkSsUyfhbbc-reB2kgCWIvAzLSTczSgQWIn8zt8ZqJhZrOLwSmhiOI75lKBVRx1c5gsVUMFyRouAeWJWhtZMSElbAMDykt37cCbKCgZIUsqUrxWConpxY/s400/11709733_10152904899461674_3698852144257239934_o.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After a dreamless sleep, I woke to the sounds of blissful grunting from downstairs where I found Forrest on the rug in front of the fireplace, upside-down, and wiggling back and forth while rubbing his face vigorously on the coarse nap of the rug. Seeing me he sprang up and shook causing a cloud of white dog hair to explode around him (how he was not bald in life is a question for the ages) - </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Wow! That felt great! Haven't been able to do that in forever without it hurting my back! I feel so so much better!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Jenny lay on the floor next to him just thumped her tail and gave a half smile that said that she thought that he was just as ridiculous as ever and was happy to have him there with her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">July 28, 2018</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTDJcSsnP0ZECv5A7yaa6yIVobOj3FlTcPx8VosPbgze4IHNPz22sZBNxqy8Le2CnLW6gnEPkwUwCr1T-EGCYkjkuEcxTQMb0szzBDrWG6mto-lGewnXqXNGrZpu0y1lwyvRqRP-5VbXHd/s1600/DSC_0023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="1024" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTDJcSsnP0ZECv5A7yaa6yIVobOj3FlTcPx8VosPbgze4IHNPz22sZBNxqy8Le2CnLW6gnEPkwUwCr1T-EGCYkjkuEcxTQMb0szzBDrWG6mto-lGewnXqXNGrZpu0y1lwyvRqRP-5VbXHd/s400/DSC_0023.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">In a moment that was hilariously predictable, Forrest and Jenny's reunion was just as exhilarating and clumsy as you would have imagined. 170lbs of happy colliding hound....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">July 29, 2018</span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-taSjeQIkdD4/W6-G2wFtmAI/AAAAAAAABR4/HWkPP4gMRn8W42OKRALODTMTawit6vVMACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_1679.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-taSjeQIkdD4/W6-G2wFtmAI/AAAAAAAABR4/HWkPP4gMRn8W42OKRALODTMTawit6vVMACEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_1679.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I was unpacking today when Forrest came for a visit by himself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Were you bored without me in the car on the way home? I missed having that one on one time with you, especially when we stopped for burgers and you'd ask my advice on things. Jenny and I have been having fun and she's back to sleeping on top of me and her snoring seems to have gotten louder. I really don't mind at all."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Yes, I did miss you on the drive too. Looking in the review mirror seeing a carload of our stuff instead of you sprawled out in the back was not much fun. When I put my arm behind the seat I got a handful of golf clubs instead of a warm fuzzy head to scratch. I am so happy that things are the way they should be with you and Jenny. Please come and check in with us, we'd like to know how things are going.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">With that, he came over and gave my pant leg a thorough sniffing from cuff to knee, sneezed, and headed back downstairs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">August 3, 2018</span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VOMkEXzXjQQ/W7KMZ3usAZI/AAAAAAAABTE/xkWbSMN3pvE8UqKlQ03ArwaogzU0iHtTQCLcBGAs/s1600/DSC_4699.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VOMkEXzXjQQ/W7KMZ3usAZI/AAAAAAAABTE/xkWbSMN3pvE8UqKlQ03ArwaogzU0iHtTQCLcBGAs/s400/DSC_4699.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Returning home from a wonderful evening at the gallery seeing some wonderful friends, some I've known for over 30 years, others within the last. To make things even more wonderful, I sat down at my desk and was immediately accosted by Forrest and Jenny both attempting to get into my lap which, while physically possible, is not advisable. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Settling for having just their heads in my lap they began:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"We really just wanted to stop by and tell you how much fun we are having! I mean, we really do miss you, but it's pretty great here and we have the most amazing group; there's Gentleman Jake, Tuck, Butch, Spirit, Larry, Dugley, Mike, Shortstop, and Bonnie - they're all part of the crazy group. Some of the gang saw that you had been talking with some of their families and they all wanted to make sure that everyone knew how much better they all feel and how much they miss them, but we are keeping each other company. We've been eating a lot of grass, so it's just as well we're not home to barf on the living room rug. We found a large grove of red cedars and have decided that's where this new pack will call home at night on the soft floor covered in years worth of pine straw. Well, we better go, it's the cats' turn to chase us. We'll check in again soon."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I hope so....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">August 27, 2018</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ACYuopkT0Yk/W7KJdq8qhII/AAAAAAAABS4/Gr1iNigTJVUKkdOGNvr4ZUhQN5SdJT2OwCLcBGAs/s1600/1519381_10151878066086674_484175099_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="852" data-original-width="1136" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ACYuopkT0Yk/W7KJdq8qhII/AAAAAAAABS4/Gr1iNigTJVUKkdOGNvr4ZUhQN5SdJT2OwCLcBGAs/s400/1519381_10151878066086674_484175099_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Barely into my first sip of coffee this morning when Forrest and Jenny came crowding under my desk both pushing their heads into my lap. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"What's this about National Dog Day? We thought maybe it was some sort of thing where rules were suspended and we could eat bacon and sleep on the sofa or something so we thought we'd come to check it out."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Well, it caught me by surprise as well. I think it's not only a day for some bacon, but just to appreciate how wonderful you have made our lives. I have always felt that life without dogs is not really a full life. You two just oozed love and hilarity. I miss your curious looks, your warm heads on my lap, your pawing at my leg when you wanted attention, your snoring and backfiring under my desk while I worked with you sleeping on my feet. Everything.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"We miss Y'all, too. The belly rubs, the head-scratching, particularly around the ears. Fires on cool nights, we miss those fires and sleeping on that giant squishy doggie bed. Really we just miss hanging out with you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I know, we miss that more than you can imagine. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Leaning over I grabbed a handful of furry dog ear from both in each hand and kissed them both on the head before they headed into the kitchen, checked the counter for possible bacon and vanished.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Happy National Dog Day, Forrest and Jenny.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">October 20, 2018</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtlU_CmN4leVXKJQ9GdI2yrElK4yyLynXssFFZLqKyuttkdvPH6n45I6Um_LvLWp6UTYwJrIdAqnmoQCGVGcmOvjakWwHSPE8z-kEzhD9pX_Yu3X5fdwGrOJCG4Gq7NRjjWJ_TAHhHvmDN/s1600/DSC_0013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="1024" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtlU_CmN4leVXKJQ9GdI2yrElK4yyLynXssFFZLqKyuttkdvPH6n45I6Um_LvLWp6UTYwJrIdAqnmoQCGVGcmOvjakWwHSPE8z-kEzhD9pX_Yu3X5fdwGrOJCG4Gq7NRjjWJ_TAHhHvmDN/s400/DSC_0013.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"So we can make the drive home now?" Forrest asked having lumbered into the living room of my sister and brother in law's place in Maine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Yes, we picked you up and sprinkled some of your ashes in the meadow and at the top of Blue Hill, then at the bathing beach, the sunny spot in the gravel driveway at Brightly Cottage, and some up on the porch. All of your spots. It was a perfect day up here, very windy, cool, sunny, and dramatic clouds. We will make our drive home tomorrow just as we have done for the last ten years with you in the backseat. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">"Good, I've been wanting to go home. Can we stop for burgers?" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Of course.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">A Prayer for Dogs</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Dear Lord, please open your gates</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">and call St. Francis</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">to come to escort these beloved companions</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">across the Rainbow Bridge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Assign them to a place of honor,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">for they have been faithful friends</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">and have always done their best to please us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Bless the hands that send them to you,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">for they are doing so in love and compassion,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">freeing them from pain and suffering.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Grant us the strength not to dwell on our loss.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Help us remember the details of their lives</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">with the love they have shown us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And grant us the courage to honor them</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">by sharing those memories with others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Let them remember us as well</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">and let them know that we will always love them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And when it's our time to pass over into your paradise,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">please allow them to accompany those</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">who will bring us home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Thank you, Lord,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">for the gift of their companionship</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">and for the time we've had together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And thank you, Lord,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">for granting us the strength</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">to give them to you now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Amen.</span></div>
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-->4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-76608849487400508812013-12-28T19:04:00.002-05:002018-09-29T15:17:14.351-04:00<div class="MsoNormal">
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<b>MEMORIES OF BROOKBERRY FARM</b></div>
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“They’ll get you if you misbehave” said my parents as we
crossed the bridge over the creek below the old cattle barns. “Who will?” I
asked. They responded as most parents have and now in the same manner which I
respond to my son; with the story of the trolls that live under the bridge who
seem to have a penchant for kidnapping misbehaved children and making stew out
of them, or so I was told. This is among my first cognizant memories of my
early visits to Brookberry Farm prior to my Grandmother’s death in 1974. The
other would have been riding down what seemed to be the most impossibly long
and steep hill that was the driveway on a Radio Flyer sled that had been
outfitted with wheels and no brakes. That last detail was the most memorable
being that one had to intentionally bail out in order to stop. I still have
faded reminders of those moments on my left knee. Ah yes! The days before
product liability took the fun out of everything. Our visits were few, but
always special.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My Great Uncle Gordon Gray, bought the first pieces of land
that now comprises Brookberry back in 1944. Shortly after the purchase he was
called to Washington and realized that he would not be able to build and he
sold the farm to my Grandfather, Bowman Gray, Jr. Although my Grandfather’s full
time job was with RJR, I believe he secretly (or not so secretly) desired to be
a cattleman. He kept and bred Guernsey cattle and later Charolais. He actually
held a breeder’s conference with his Brother Gordon at Brookberry in the mid
1950’s hosting breeders from around the US. I expect that he found the land and
the animals very therapeutic as they allowed him to decompress from the
exposure to a high-pressure job. Rumor has it that not only was each cow named;
he also in a style true to his persona, remembered them all. I think there is
something inherent regarding my personal attachment and sentiment towards the
farm. I believe my Grandfather left a good deal of himself in that land and I
too have found peace out there during more stressful moments in my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Although I was born in Winston-Salem, my Father’s work took
us to Paris when I was only six months old and then on to Pennsylvania until
1978 when we finally moved back to Winston-Salem and on to Brookberry. For a
nine year old, this seemed to be heaven with the long driveway allowing for
warp speed on a BMX bike, huge Magnolia trees perfect for climbing, small lakes
full of fish, old barns ripe for exploration and a veritable zoo of animals,
some domesticated, some definitely not. Dogs (some generously donated by local
college students that no longer wished to care for the cute little puppies that
their girlfriends/boyfriends had given them for their birthdays), cats, horses,
cows, turkeys, rabbits, coyotes, fox and any number of large predatory birds
swooping down at any given moment. At times it was like living in our own
episode Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Being allowed full reign over the farm, I took to my bike
and learned how to make relatively short work of the nearly mile and a half
long driveway leading out to Meadowlark Drive even with a fishing rod stretched
across the handlebars. There were several gravel roads leading to various work
sheds, fields and the upper lake where I learned how to use a spinning reel and
caught my first prize bass (a real mistake to try to cook and eat it). I also
learned to ride horses, drive and shoot (not at the same time of course) by the
time I was twelve. The summers seemed to last a lifetime and there is nothing
quite like the symphony of sound that erupts at night out there in late July.
Armies of crickets, cicadas and a few barn owls would sing us to sleep most
nights. The smell of the boxwoods, the magnolia blossoms, freshly cut hay
rolled into bales and even those confounded old chestnut trees that during the
spring could make a skunk think twice, can take me back to my youth. Being that
Brookberry was still considered to be way out in the country, having classmates
over was not a common event and I spent most of my time with the children whose
parents either rented houses on the farm or lived near by. Exploring, fishing
and trying to defy the fixed laws of gravity on our bikes were the usual pass
times. That period of time growing up between ages nine and thirteen is when we
begin to define who we are to become. Little did I know that while I was
starting to grow up, I was living in place that was slowly becoming a
representation of what once was. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As a teenager when I “returned” home from boarding school,
family life had changed and we had moved off of the farm. Although we were now
living closer to town, I still sought the relative safety and solitude of the
farm not because I really had an appreciation for it as I do now, but because
like most teenagers I wanted to be out of sight of my parents and the
authorities. I should add that it is a miracle that the trolls did not come and
get me at age 16. I shared this privilege with many friends whose names will be
withheld to protect the guilty, you know who you are. Anyway, the farm also
provided a bit of relief from life’s stresses that we all encounter with usual
family mayhem and disturbances. I will forever be grateful for having a place
to hide if only for a couple of hours. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Now that I am grown (still seem to continue to grow
outwards) and have a family of my own, I have had the chance to share this
sacred place with my children. About half of the farm has yet to be developed
and is still held for the family as private property. My family and I have had
the pleasure of planting gardens out there with friends and their children,
teaching my son to use a spinning reel, how to shoot a BB gun, sledding in
winter and many of the other things that I experienced for the first time at
Brookberry as a boy. I take them there, my family and friends, for the same
selfish reason I share all of this with you – I want people to remember
Brookberry as it was. I want to share these pictures with all of you so that
maybe one of my memories, or possibly one of your own from out there, will
stick just a little longer. <o:p></o:p></div>
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To those of you that are now living on or are considering
living on Brookberry Farm, I want you to know how special it is. When next you
visit Brookberry or return home to it, step outside, take a deep breath, look
and listen to it all very carefully and with any luck you will find what four
generations of my family have found. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As sad as I am to see it go, growth and progress are
inevitable. My Grandfather was an advocate for the growth and progress of our
hometown. How pleased he would be to see all of you sharing in what was his
pride.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The trolls have had to move on as the bridge has been left
in disrepair from construction vehicles and the area known as the “bottoms” has
been flooded to create a new lake. This is the plight of the trolls. They are
aware that no bridge lasts forever and that sooner or later they must find a
new one. As they settle under their new bridge, as we all must do from time to
time, their sadness eventually wanes and is replaced with happy memories of
having chased all those unruly children who visited Brookberry Farm. So it is
with us as well.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In closing I want to paraphrase something E.B. White said
regarding writing his memoirs, he said that there is something rather
narcissistic about sharing one’s thoughts and memories with others, because you
do so being under the impression that somebody else is going to find your
memories and thoughts as interesting as you do. Well, I have to admit that I do
feel a bit odd about sharing these personal experiences with all of you, but do
sincerely hope that I have caused you to look back or at least appreciate what
I and many others once knew as Brookberry Farm. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But please always remember; They will get you……….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-13305631626495803912013-03-03T10:26:00.000-05:002013-03-03T11:04:12.106-05:00(Re)Fighting the Civil WarI had the chance to photograph a Civil War reenactment this weekend. I walked away very conflicted about the experience. The history, majesty and dedication to detail was something. The participants camped and lived and acted in a period correct fashion. While certainly the darkest hour in our nation's history, it must be remembered and studied as the old saying goes - if we fail to study our history, we are doomed to repeat it.<br />
<br />
What I found disturbing is that for some, the war still rages and the opinion that President Lincoln was indeed a tyrant was very common among the participants and spectators. So this would suggest that among this group of self proclaimed patriots and Americans, that not all men are created equal and that freedom belongs to only a certain section of the population and that those who disagree are either traitors or simply un-American. This attitude coupled with an astonishing amount of revisionist history regarding our founding was beyond alarming.<br />
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I am glad I went and I believe that everyone should attend one of these especially now that we are approaching the 150th anniversary of Gettysburg. The more we know, the better prepared we are for the future and the avoidance of the idolization and romanticization of brutal and failed nation that was The Confederate States of America.<br />
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<br />4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-2327086511210957842013-02-28T20:54:00.000-05:002013-02-28T20:57:19.834-05:00Mourning Peter Pan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Peter Pan died and I’ve been mourning him for almost 25
years now. Well, he didn’t die as much as I finally have recognized the loss of
my youth and I never really honored its passing with the time and sadness it
deserved beyond passing moments of nostalgia as when you hear an old favorite
song or catch the notes of a faint perfume worn by someone you once knew. I’m not
talking about breakdown crying as one might do when we lose a loved one, but an
acknowledgement of the power and intensity that is youth that is all too brief.
Had I known heading into it, that one day I would actually feel this loss, I do
not think I would have loved it as much because I would have been so much more
cautious instead of heading into life and love as recklessly as I did – and it was
those headlong sprints into everything that produced such sweet and painful
memories that now define me. Each time I have allowed myself to wander back in
my mind and heart I have instinctively pushed it all back down never allowing
myself to pick it up in both hands into the light and marvel at its wonders and
disasters. Like turning the pages of an old scrap book where you touch the
pages as tenderly as you would stroke the hair of your children, you love the
memories that much and in many ways they are just as precious. I suppose its
kind of like the loss of a parent in that there will always be hole where they
once existed in day to day life, but more than anything we are grateful for the
chance to have had what we had while we did. It and they can never be replaced,
but how sweet the sorrow knowing that they were born out of love and wonderment
that we can only hope our children get to experience the same one day. So tonight I do
shed a tear for Peter Pan and thank him for the life we lived so many years
ago. Mostly now I am grateful for the perspective that maturity brings now
knowing that while I must grieve all of this, I must not stay mired in it,
otherwise the sweet memories that are mine to build now will be lost.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rest well my old friend, thanks for the memories.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-73938727439809084022012-11-13T17:30:00.001-05:002012-11-13T17:31:31.447-05:00Time to burn out the underbrush.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UbCMMW9My1g/UKLC9S2mOGI/AAAAAAAABBM/2y9ix9_xmcI/s1600/DSC_8686.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UbCMMW9My1g/UKLC9S2mOGI/AAAAAAAABBM/2y9ix9_xmcI/s640/DSC_8686.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
A controlled burn on Pilot Mountain that clearly got out of control.<br />
<br />
Sometimes we have these controlled or not so controlled burns in our souls as well. We go in with the intention of just clearing away some dead wood that is resting on the floor of our hearts only to have it result in an uncontrolled outpouring of emotion that we did not know was so very combustable. Setting fire to one branch not knowing that it will ignite the fear or insecurity that was resting against it then spreading to the dry grass of loneliness.<br />
<br />
It took the better part of a week for firefighters to bring this burn under control resulting in what was to be a 175 acre burn turned into 1000. So it is with our hearts as well. While it looked so dangerous and damaging beyond its intent, I suspect that it was just what the mountain needed. Just like us, sometimes we start out talking about an old significant event that needs to be looked at and it becomes so much more than we expected and we can't stop it until it has burned all it needs to burn. Like trying to control the fire on the mountain, if we try too hard to contain it, we ultimately only injure ourselves and place others in danger. We need to get out of its way, let it run as it wants and be ready to address it once it reaches its peak. Once the fire is seen and felt in its entirety, it is more manageable and can systematically be dealt with in pieces. Each section of the mountain soothed with the cool water from the lakes near by. The cool water of our friends extinguish the burn in our souls, a piece at a time until it and we have been exhausted.<br />
<br />
Some will look at the charred mountain and lament the apparent damage only seeing what is, forgetting that the spring will bring tender new growth with a deeper green than the mountain has seen in our lifetime. Likewise people will look at us having been through our personal fire and lament our sadness and grief, not considering the sweetness of the new growth to come.<br />
<br />
Do not be afraid of the uncontrolled burn. Yes, it is painful, yes, it takes time to allow it to run its course and douse, and yes, recovery takes time. The spring will come and with it an explosion of all things new.4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-71026163321141979352012-03-17T10:42:00.007-04:002012-03-21T08:24:44.444-04:00E.B. White and Genration X, Y and Z (The new silent generation)First off allow me to apologize for being so long in posting. This has been an extraordinary year for which I am grateful. I will post more personal thoughts as I am able to collect them from the floor and the corners of my study (I think there might be some jammed under the seat of my car as well) and get them organized, or at least thrown together in a paper bag so I know where they are.<br />
<br />
As all of you know I am an unabashed fan of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/E._B._White">E.B. White</a> although I am fairly certain that <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Charlottes-Web-Trophy-Newbery-White/dp/0064400557">"Charlotte's Web"</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Stuart-Little-B-White/dp/0064400565">"Stuart Little"</a> were read to me, not by me. I am at present reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Letters-B-White/dp/0061374598">"The Letters of E.B. White"</a> which is an amazing collection laid out chronologically beginning with a letter to his brother, Stan, when E.B. was only nine. I feel as if I am walking alongside a man who has been able to articulate with such depth, emotion and texture, the way I see things. It is imperative, however, that to understand these letters, you must read <a href="http://www.amazon.com/One-Mans-Meat-B-White/dp/0884481921">"One man's Meat"</a> and his <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Essays-B-White-Perennial-Classics/dp/0060932236">"Collection of Essays"</a> before diving into his personal thoughts. I am sorry, there are no short cuts in this regard as you will only be left confused and wondering what all the hubbub was about.<br />
<br />
In a letter dated 20 December 1938, a thank you note to a friend, White, as usual, weaves in observations from life out in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brooklin,_Maine">Brooklin, Maine</a>. There is the usual mention of the the current struggles with the hens or the dog or the weather or a looming deadline or the upcoming PTA meeting. He began to lament over the view of the current generation of Mainers in which I think he unknowingly outlined the trouble with every "next generation". Here now, in 2012 we look on and back at most recently the "Gen X, Y & Z" cultures or lack thereof, and gave them these very generic titles that in and of themselves seem to be not so veiled insults about a group of listless wandering 20 somethings who would rather go rock climbing than get a job and be productive. With each new generation looking for direction, they have only one way to look for guidance, and that is to the generation that came before. And it is in that view wherein the root of what we may see to be the problem lies.<br />
<br />
White put it like this (and where he references Maine, think of our country as a whole):<br />
<br />
<i>"The trouble with Maine is that is has too distinguished of a past. Every day the Bangor Daily News runs a long feature piece on Maine lore or history, usually and octogenarian who still thinks of himself as returning from the China Seas with a sandalwood box for his bride - or a bride for his sandalwood box. Or he is in a clipper ship in a gale off the Horn. I think this kind of reading makes the present generation restless and unhappy, and they are always looking for something bold to do."</i><br />
<br />
He has nailed it with the last sentence "..looking for something bold to do." Today we read about the challenge to go the moon, the victory over other empires, the building of massive financial might and it's subsequent collapse under it's own weight and men like Steve Jobs, who in his own rite is our modern day <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edmund_Hillary">Sir Edmund Hillary</a>, and I think deserves his own honorary title of Founder in <a href="http://www.explorers.org/">the Explorers Club</a>. X, Y & Z read about, hear about and see nothing but these huge accomplishments (or disasters as the case may be) and I suspect that it all seems too much, so they go climb a mountain. Doing what is probably most valuable to the growing intellect that is not taught in any classroom - the challenge of self.<br />
<br />
Now, here is the catch or the rub depending on what happens on that mountain top. Once the personal challenge has been met in the thin and clear air, the next big success or disaster is conceived of to be executed once they have descended from the hilltop. With a clear head, belly full of passion, a JD and MBA they exchange the Patagonia fleece for a suit and try to outdo the previous generation, and they always do. The successes greater than any imaginable and disasters that bring us all to our knees.<br />
<br />
We need to be careful how we label this next generation and the implied insult of laziness and we need to be ever more careful about the challenge to boldness we issue to them, for after all, do we really want them to be more bold than those that came before?<br />
<br />
Me? Well today I am pondering my ghost of a best friend and wanting to go climb a mountain, all the while being stared down upon by large portraits of my <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bowman_Gray,_Sr.">Great Grandfather</a> and <a href="http://extras.journalnow.com/lostempire/tob9a.htm">Grandfather</a> issuing their challenge to me through old grey suits and deadly serious expressions, but tonight is a business dinner at my house and I can already hear Monday morning's opening bell in the distance.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1_MhbUrO430/T2Sivz1wIwI/AAAAAAAAA-I/lN2fVZaZg9g/s1600/DSC_8347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1_MhbUrO430/T2Sivz1wIwI/AAAAAAAAA-I/lN2fVZaZg9g/s640/DSC_8347.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/xU6nbdhuUR8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-36953204023133759012011-09-07T21:01:00.002-04:002011-09-07T21:01:17.816-04:00A little more North Carolina Tobacco -This is a follow on to my previous post, except it has to do with what happens in between the time we see the gorgeous green leaves off country roads and when they finally become cigarettes. I was invited to witness what is probably the last live tobacco auction in existence, most are now silent auctions. This is pure Americana. The Auctioneer is a world champion retired from RJR. It is unlike any other live auction you have ever or will ever hear. They have their own language and cadence, the best auctioneer at Christies couldn't keep pace. There is a certain romance to this business that is completely disconnected from the political push and pull of the industry itself.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxYWtEPYpn8nJR90jC8YuzfXzWKZ-3XdXWxi0l943vB-loT0cMbXF6wOVcU_fCwlmWh1bYH-M41adMb6sWVrw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-66299579271182329622011-08-28T10:08:00.004-04:002011-08-28T10:44:41.508-04:00Out in NC tobacco country in late AugustNeedless to say that we have a certain nostalgia for tobacco in this part of the world. Some actually say that we consider it a vegetable. You may have seen <a href="http://randomfromwinstonsalem.blogspot.com/2010/08/tobacco-auction-guest-post-by-doug.html">my previous post</a> (guest post actually) on the old tobacco auctioneers and my post from visiting <a href="http://randomfromwinstonsalem.blogspot.com/2009/10/fall-harvest-tobacco.html">a tobacco warehouse</a>. Many of you found that fascinating as a piece of emblematic americana that is fast disappearing. Anyway one of the best drives to take here in northwest North Carolina is up around <a href="http://www.ncparks.gov/Visit/parks/haro/main.php">Hanging Rock State Park </a>and <a href="http://www.ncparks.gov/Visit/parks/pimo/main.php">Pilot Mountain</a> - <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVMarZF2a7c">Highway 66</a> (not me in the video - just one I grabbed from youtube) for those who want to give it a shot. These are from a couple of days ago, I hope you enjoy them.<br />
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</div>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-37643854233911568482011-07-15T10:54:00.000-04:002011-07-15T10:54:17.012-04:00Blue Hill, Maine 2011This year was a shortened trip as we were without Karen who had to tend to <a href="http://www.karengraydesign.com/">her shop</a>. However, we had a wonderful time all the while missing her. <a href="http://www.bluehillme.com/">Blue Hill</a> is just such a pleasant place, full of interesting and dynamic people. I had the pleasure of meeting author <a href="http://www.peterbehrens.org/">Peter Behrens</a> and exchanging some emails with <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/142522.Martha_White">Martha White</a> (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/E._B._White">E.B. White's</a> granddaughter) who has pushed me in the direction of doing a book on Maine in similar fashion to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/As-Man-Thinketh-James-Allen/dp/0895873877">my first book of photography</a>. Anyway, turns out that Peter Behrens is a classic car nut as well and has a terrific blog <a href="http://autoliterate.blogspot.com/">AutoLiterate </a>that all of you will appreciate. And, of course, spent some time at <a href="http://www.meriresearch.org/">MERI</a> and did one of the eco-cruises out in the <a href="http://maine.hometownlocator.com/maps/feature-map,ftc,2,fid,565814,n,eggemoggin%20reach.cfm">Eggomogin Reach</a>.<br />
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As usual I did a slideshow set to some music, give it a minute or two to load! <a href="http://web.me.com/bowmangray/Site/Maine_2011.html">Click here for slideshow.</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A1O_2nNkCxo/TiBTcJj6zoI/AAAAAAAAA8s/9Vm2I4W-RKQ/s1600/DSC_4962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A1O_2nNkCxo/TiBTcJj6zoI/AAAAAAAAA8s/9Vm2I4W-RKQ/s640/DSC_4962.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-60776241138087886732011-04-15T16:39:00.001-04:002011-04-15T16:40:00.144-04:00Old friends just get better.You may have read my <a href="http://randomfromwinstonsalem.blogspot.com/2009/09/old-friends.html">previous post about this group of old friends</a>. I am pleased to say that we only waited three years before getting together again. Each year that passes seems to ground us a little more. There are no expectations, there is no pretense or anything that would present itself as not real. It's hard laughter, it's honest opinions, it's truth. Every now and again the universe smiles and opens the door to these kinds of friendships. Just another entry in the annals of a blessed man.<br />
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"Some of the most rewarding and beautiful moments of a friendship happen in the unforeseen open spaces between planned activities. It is important that we allow these spaces to exist."<br />
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Here is to my friends and to the unforeseen open spaces.<br />
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<a href="http://web.me.com/bowmangray/Site/WNP_2011.html">Link to the slides.</a>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-53754906131442230682011-04-02T12:07:00.001-04:002011-04-02T22:29:28.552-04:00Back from Boca Grande, FL 2011I know, I know - you are tired of hearing how much I love this place, so I won't bore you with the details of fishing with <a href="http://www.capttommylocke.com/">Captain Tommy Locke</a> or eating at the <a href="http://www.loosecaboose.biz/">Loose Caboose</a> or playing tennis with my son or going for ice cream at the Pink Pony or just sitting on the deck and enjoying the warm gulf breeze and watching the flora and fauna of the island. So, here are just some pics from this last week.<br />
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<a href="http://web.me.com/bowmangray/Site/Boca_Grande_2011.html">Click here to see the slides - sound on.</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CHWeqySmj5U/TZdJn6_JrMI/AAAAAAAAA7o/mWaG2ncolNI/s1600/Lure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CHWeqySmj5U/TZdJn6_JrMI/AAAAAAAAA7o/mWaG2ncolNI/s640/Lure.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-49186816091688115182011-03-12T14:18:00.000-05:002011-03-12T14:18:10.066-05:00A Day at the ZentrumAll I can say is WOW - what fun! I accompanied a friend to take delivery of his new BMW at <a href="http://www.bmwusfactory.com/zentrum/">The Zentrum in Greer, SC</a> and was given the opportunity to throw a few of their cars around the track at the performance center.<br />
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<a href="http://web.me.com/bowmangray/Site/BMW_Zentrum.html">Click here to see the slideshow.</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodeSoq0Aqi8z8YJIVPOw32epo646hnvyI-yqw6fIDJJHTQPdcTdYhz1gGo6-vLoMUQ323eeAGa6TRcnG5C4E-0Agz7kXeknVe1w8NvDb8vqKV-dIlNiRERawjAuMtozRJIZU0bIDSBefv/s1600/DSC_0056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodeSoq0Aqi8z8YJIVPOw32epo646hnvyI-yqw6fIDJJHTQPdcTdYhz1gGo6-vLoMUQ323eeAGa6TRcnG5C4E-0Agz7kXeknVe1w8NvDb8vqKV-dIlNiRERawjAuMtozRJIZU0bIDSBefv/s640/DSC_0056.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-23071968828903414222011-03-05T08:34:00.002-05:002011-03-05T09:23:23.548-05:00Diving with Whale Sharks VideoFinally figured out how to rip, edit and post! I had to place it on iWeb as the blogger upload kept failing and trying to embed it from FaceBook did not work because of my security settings. So, please click the link and allow it to load for a minute or so as it is a big movie file. For those of you using Chrome - make sure you have the QuickTime plug-in. The Chrome browser can still be a little buggy. It works fine with all other browsers however.<br />
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<a href="http://web.me.com/bowmangray/Site/GA_Aquarium.html">Video of our dive with the Whale Sharks at the Georgia Aquarium.</a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; color: #515151; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">GOOGLE CHROME SEEMS TO NOT PLAY NICELY WITH QUICKTIME - YOU WILL NEED TO USE EITHER INTERNET EXPLORER, SAFARI, FIREFOX OR OPERA. SEEMS A BIT ODD THAT GOOGLE WOULD NOT HAVE RESOLVED THIS ISSUE GIVEN THE BROAD USE OF QUICKTIME.</span>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-66973353335482932011-02-27T09:36:00.003-05:002014-01-12T11:24:06.775-05:00West VirginiaI had the opportunity to spend the night in Charleston, WV this last Friday. I was signing copies of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/As-Man-Thinketh-Bowman-Gray/dp/0895873877">my book</a> at <a href="http://www.taylorbooks.com/">Taylor Books</a> - a really wonderful shop. Anyhow, I was really struck by this capital city that is fighting to reinvent itself, since coal is not what it once was. I am familiar with this kind of work being that my hometown is doing the same; it was built on tobacco (RJR), Banking (Wachovia) and textiles (Hanes). Anyway, I took time on Saturday morning to drive highway 60 out of town to Fayetteville, WV to the <a href="http://www.nps.gov/neri/index.htm">New River Gorge</a>. What an amazingly beautiful drive, although depressing at points seeing what has become of the small towns along the river. I did not photograph the rows of trailer homes or closed businesses - it didn't feel right. What has happened there and what has happened here are yet more reminders that nothing is forever. To quote <a href="http://amoslee.com/home/">Amos Lee</a> "Time, it swallows everything, from the mighty to the meager things..."<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 3px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 3px; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"></span><br />
<h4>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Where the mountain river flows<br />
And the rhododendron grows<br />
Is the land of all the lands<br />
That I touch with tender hands;</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Loved and treasured, earth and star,<br />
By my father's father far--<br />
Deep-earth, black-earth, of-the-lime<br />
From the ancient oceans' time.</span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Plow-land, fern-land, woodland shade,<br />
Grave-land where my kin are laid,<br />
West Virginia's hills to bless--<br />
Leafy songs of wilderness;</span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Dear land, near land, here at home--<br />
Where the rocks are honeycomb,<br />
And the rhododendrons . . .<br />
Where the mountain river runs.</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Louise McNeill</span></div>
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4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-40562760689581833882011-02-23T07:09:00.000-05:002011-02-23T07:09:37.938-05:00Diving with Whale Sharks<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I wish I could post the video. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;">It was an amazing experience and very well worth the trip to Atlanta. The Georgia Aquarium is not only beautiful and certainly entertaining, but one of the best educational resources we have in this country to talk about ocean health and how it impacts all of us. Call, order tickets and go. If you are a certified diver, get in the water with the whale sharks - you will be amazed. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><a href="http://www.georgiaaquarium.org/">Link to the Georgia Aquarium</a>.</span></span><br />
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</span>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-70348966993697190832011-01-17T10:18:00.002-05:002011-01-17T10:19:31.952-05:00Botany Bay Plantation, SCThere are no words to adequately describe this place. I will simply say - get thee down to Edisto Island, SC (just south of Charleston) and plan on spending a long and amazing day if not two - on foot.<br />
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The 4,687 acre Botany Bay Plantation Wildlife Management Area (WMA) is located adjacent to the waters of the Atlantic Ocean in the northeast corner of Edisto Island in lower Charleston County, South Carolina. The area lies near the North Edisto River just south of the intensely developed resort islands of Kiawah and Seabrook and just north of the rapidly developing Edisto Beach area. The SC Department of Natural Resources acquired this property and opened it to the public in 2008.<br />
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The area's location near the North Edisto River places it within the boundary of the ACE Basin Focus Area, one of the largest remaining relatively undeveloped wetland ecosystems along the Atlantic Coast. Botany Bay Plantation WMA with Botany Bay Island (under conservation easement with The Nature Conservancy) and Deveaux Bank form a core area of protected habitat in the eastern corner of the Focus Area.<br />
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The biological features of Botany Bay Plantation WMA are characteristic of Sea Islands along the lower Southeast coast. The undeveloped coastal habitats of the management area are important to numerous wildlife species. The beach is utilized for nesting by the federally-threatened<a href="http://www.dnr.sc.gov/seaturtle/" target="_blank">loggerhead</a> sea turtle and the state-threatened least tern. The maritime forest and coastal scrub/shrub areas provide nesting and foraging habitat for neotropical songbirds including painted buntings and summer tanagers. The uplands support a wide diversity of wildlife. The tidal marshes and managed wetlands contain a variety of fish and shellfish resources and provide foraging habitat for numerous wildlife species.<br />
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The cultural resources on Botany Bay Plantation WMA are extremely significant. Cultural resource sites dating from as early as the Late Archaic Period through the 19th century are present. Several sites including the Fig Island Shell Rings, outbuildings from Bleak Hall Plantation and elements of the Alexander Bache U.S. Coast Survey Line are listed on the National Register of Historic Places.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TTRdcP2JF8I/AAAAAAAAA6E/8r3kq51CX6Y/s1600/DSC_0236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TTRdcP2JF8I/AAAAAAAAA6E/8r3kq51CX6Y/s640/DSC_0236.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-29441362111258103392011-01-06T21:17:00.003-05:002011-04-03T20:09:44.693-04:00Charleston, SC Book Signing at Blue Bicycle Books, 420 King StreetPlease join me at Blue Bicycle Books on January 15th from 1-4 pm!<br />
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<a href="http://bluebicyclebooks.com/the-store/">Blue Bicycle Books </a>Charleston's only independent book seller!<br />
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Or, if you cannot make it,<a href="http://www.amazon.com/As-Man-Thinketh-Bowman-Gray/dp/0895873877"> it's on Amazon</a>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TSZ3eMfySEI/AAAAAAAAA5Y/K3Co-Aswh1E/s1600/Cover_3%252Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="492" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TSZ3eMfySEI/AAAAAAAAA5Y/K3Co-Aswh1E/s640/Cover_3%252Bcopy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TSZ3tFZx7hI/AAAAAAAAA5c/MXhGGhBsiYA/s1600/DSC_0351.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TSZ3tFZx7hI/AAAAAAAAA5c/MXhGGhBsiYA/s640/DSC_0351.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-15693877452375991902011-01-02T09:36:00.003-05:002011-04-17T10:22:39.325-04:00Better Homes & Gardens selects Karen Gray Design for 2011 Quilt Sampler<a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/71183518/presale-better-homes-gardens-2011-quilt?ref=em">********CLICK HERE TO PRE-ORDER YOUR COPY AND KIT**********</a><br />
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All of you are aware of how wonderful and talented my wife is. Anyway, it seems that the people at Better Homes and Gardens also think so!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRf9l3SVRoUqf9MNRqs-eYZbi3YhDfjN8dImYFYvuDPSWF18whOMQAr9uJ0cImG53hP3e8R0_813ooUrjKI4W7qaUWwPWy_DoI84xOhodylMZ_CvmsI7cH6LhdMLZAIagC02UmDrJ24Gn3/s1600/QS+Color+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRf9l3SVRoUqf9MNRqs-eYZbi3YhDfjN8dImYFYvuDPSWF18whOMQAr9uJ0cImG53hP3e8R0_813ooUrjKI4W7qaUWwPWy_DoI84xOhodylMZ_CvmsI7cH6LhdMLZAIagC02UmDrJ24Gn3/s640/QS+Color+2011.jpg" width="640" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KIkks4trFjTw78l7vwiAqLOl1cdPSbBrTBxsee-Qg1-QAiCO2tduAKz2lq053CmWgUgMYkEmf4OG4EnF6L0GuTRlMwjVA644eJS-vn31SzRbxU7YbqZ3J9E_6tYhhMhPkbfN_F8Y2sSk/s1600/DSC_0005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KIkks4trFjTw78l7vwiAqLOl1cdPSbBrTBxsee-Qg1-QAiCO2tduAKz2lq053CmWgUgMYkEmf4OG4EnF6L0GuTRlMwjVA644eJS-vn31SzRbxU7YbqZ3J9E_6tYhhMhPkbfN_F8Y2sSk/s640/DSC_0005.jpg" width="640" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WMxIhTdcxIw/TZjc19iORUI/AAAAAAAAA7w/RT3OGg0PaNs/s1600/DSC_0018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WMxIhTdcxIw/TZjc19iORUI/AAAAAAAAA7w/RT3OGg0PaNs/s640/DSC_0018.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>FOR RELEASE AFTER JANUARY 1, 2011<br />
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Local Quilt Shop Featured in<br />
Better Homes and Gardens® Quilt Sampler® Magazine<br />
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DES MOINES, IA – Karen Gray Design, a quilt shop in Winston-Salem, NC, has been chosen as one of the 11 featured shops across the United States for the Spring 2011 issue of Quilt Sampler® magazine, published by Better Homes and Gardens.<br />
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Quilt Sampler, published twice a year, has been profiling North America’s top quilt shops for the past 14 years. Quilt shops submit a detailed application on their history, business promotions, charitable work, teaching schedules and design philosophies. A panel of quilt experts led by Jennifer Keltner, group editor of American Patchwork & Quilting® magazine, narrows down the applications to 10 featured shops for each issue. The team also selects an "encore" shop that was featured in a past issue to revisit. The names of the selected shops are kept secret and unveiled at either the spring or fall International Quilt Market.<br />
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Competition to be included in Quilt Sampler is keen. Nearly 3,000 quilt shops are<br />
eligible to apply for this year’s honor. Karen Gray Design and the other 10 shops chosen were photographed and interviewed by a team from Quilt Sampler, and a multi-page profile of the shop will appear in the issue, which will be available on newsstands on May 10, 2011. Employees of each quilt shop also design an original quilt for the magazine, and the full-sized pattern for the quilt appears in the issue of Quilt Sampler.<br />
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Quilt Sampler has proven to be a huge success, and early, out-of-print issues are collector’s items. Chosen shops are inundated with visitors and requests for the shop’s quilt patterns and fabrics. Quilters are known to try and visit all the shops in each issue, getting the signature of each shop owner in their copy of the issue.<br />
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<a href="http://karengraydesign.com/">Karen's website</a><br />
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<a href="http://karengraydesign.typepad.com/karen_gray/">Karen's blog</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TSCNasKof6I/AAAAAAAAA5U/6Iiwg71P7ZI/s1600/DSC_0061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TSCNasKof6I/AAAAAAAAA5U/6Iiwg71P7ZI/s640/DSC_0061.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-69534658483684567962011-01-01T09:09:00.001-05:002011-01-02T14:54:23.258-05:00She's Home. 1972 BMW 3.0 CSRemember my <a href="http://randomfromwinstonsalem.blogspot.com/2008/12/ok-i-am-really-shallow-person.html">post</a> from December 2008? Well, she is finally done. And yes, I am so shallow that an old car makes me happy. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TR805gxE2MI/AAAAAAAAA44/Hry3dG47gq8/s1600/DSC_0013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TR805gxE2MI/AAAAAAAAA44/Hry3dG47gq8/s400/DSC_0013.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TR81B6Z2hlI/AAAAAAAAA5A/KAP0ZGBPmKk/s1600/DSC_0027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TR81B6Z2hlI/AAAAAAAAA5A/KAP0ZGBPmKk/s400/DSC_0027.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TR81Gb4fi8I/AAAAAAAAA5E/hDRWbZ0BLbI/s1600/DSC_0037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TR81Gb4fi8I/AAAAAAAAA5E/hDRWbZ0BLbI/s400/DSC_0037.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Welcome home Gertie </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Vc_Y6NGtrwRXU3mWjNtPTp-3mM9h_S6O0IMW6t7fH_WpEGXUXGdIeG23nzAG7SxS9Hxlw2pKLJXwEVXhjrYsvjQktyrVGzr2PFNoHXxqEbgeDkG5EEIqJy_dCZfzOgKH1HTyrhyAaLzt/s1600/DSC_0042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Vc_Y6NGtrwRXU3mWjNtPTp-3mM9h_S6O0IMW6t7fH_WpEGXUXGdIeG23nzAG7SxS9Hxlw2pKLJXwEVXhjrYsvjQktyrVGzr2PFNoHXxqEbgeDkG5EEIqJy_dCZfzOgKH1HTyrhyAaLzt/s400/DSC_0042.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-22634337732964711042010-12-06T19:25:00.000-05:002010-12-06T19:25:07.584-05:00Birds & Trees<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TuhXcioat6F5WKjrDJsaIbhZ4WCP754uQErj4FEvJFH6hQcgpj6kONzFnaYvi3OuFmKKdHTd0tJ32nw1B8vYpZEoyx9w93y9AYIED5UUj18oFL0XVXbSCpJK8Jc7g1jhN2pn2YcntZ6I/s1600/DSC_0127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TuhXcioat6F5WKjrDJsaIbhZ4WCP754uQErj4FEvJFH6hQcgpj6kONzFnaYvi3OuFmKKdHTd0tJ32nw1B8vYpZEoyx9w93y9AYIED5UUj18oFL0XVXbSCpJK8Jc7g1jhN2pn2YcntZ6I/s400/DSC_0127.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TP19GSowEiI/AAAAAAAAA4o/Rf1tjLH9P5M/s1600/DSC_0204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TP19GSowEiI/AAAAAAAAA4o/Rf1tjLH9P5M/s400/DSC_0204.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TP19emKOksI/AAAAAAAAA4w/Besdl6XrxX4/s1600/DSC_0548.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TP19emKOksI/AAAAAAAAA4w/Besdl6XrxX4/s400/DSC_0548.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqMbE48TzurWJlTvB3EqKC0t4NUkj32v-yLhZqroEddu662QkxxZA3bzUeNiIC4oXEg5FmjYlTBd4Uhnf9OEpx_JgChZ0Ya65s_UClfDdqZ3FczbeKIN_Mz33kUXU73r-c80CJEOiFA2io/s1600/DSC_0069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqMbE48TzurWJlTvB3EqKC0t4NUkj32v-yLhZqroEddu662QkxxZA3bzUeNiIC4oXEg5FmjYlTBd4Uhnf9OEpx_JgChZ0Ya65s_UClfDdqZ3FczbeKIN_Mz33kUXU73r-c80CJEOiFA2io/s400/DSC_0069.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rHnD-pHQfmS61ErGhq5wCsQzjsrpEDKKL0Hsp7LdgHor2_zFaT3nRjvQMz0822cjIWOWp7uWDfHmtsVKPjV23UdoBMBnn7CCj03o4AHRXH74rKDTvPJtTdCyB5p0xHzE6aPrdY4u7o4l/s1600/DSC_0034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rHnD-pHQfmS61ErGhq5wCsQzjsrpEDKKL0Hsp7LdgHor2_zFaT3nRjvQMz0822cjIWOWp7uWDfHmtsVKPjV23UdoBMBnn7CCj03o4AHRXH74rKDTvPJtTdCyB5p0xHzE6aPrdY4u7o4l/s400/DSC_0034.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>So, while I was down in Hobe Sound, FL, I had the good fortune of finding a favorite perch used by several birds. Here are a few samples of what a few of these characters were up to possibly not being aware that they were being watched. Once again, the pelican, is the most fun and I think the most expressive bird alive. Now, what this pelican was trying to say is left to interpretation. As for the trees, I love the stretch of road that leads to and from the island covered in Banyan Trees. It makes for a suitable point of demarcation from reality and the other a fine place to sit and watch the sun set. As with other locations I post here frequently, this is yet another that has a deep family connection that goes back three generations and is the keeper of childhood memories.4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-20114664987025926242010-11-14T18:05:00.001-05:002010-11-14T18:05:58.027-05:00NovemberWas 65 and perfect here in NC today. Caused me to get out and roam to see what November had to offer. I found myself around the Deep Creek Dam and ultimately on a perch looking north to the foothills from Dennyville (I know all of you know exactly where that is - I'll let you google it)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TOBqdqolF-I/AAAAAAAAA4U/0ZNTaVoWUhE/s1600/DSC_0007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TOBqdqolF-I/AAAAAAAAA4U/0ZNTaVoWUhE/s400/DSC_0007.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TOBqjtlOw2I/AAAAAAAAA4Y/GhTMqfxmS44/s1600/DSC_0015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TOBqjtlOw2I/AAAAAAAAA4Y/GhTMqfxmS44/s400/DSC_0015.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>My November Guest</b></span> <br />
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;">My Sorrow, when she's here with me,</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 25px;">Thinks these dark days of autumn rain</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;">Are beautiful as days can be;</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;">She loves the bare, the withered tree;</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 25px;">She walked the sodden pasture lane.</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;">Her pleasure will not let me stay.</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 25px;">She talks and I am fain to list:</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;">She's glad the birds are gone away,</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;">She's glad her simple worsted gray</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 25px;">Is silver now with clinging mist.</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;">The desolate, deserted trees,</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 25px;">The faded earth, the heavy sky,</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;">The beauties she so truly sees,</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;">She thinks I have no eye for these,</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 25px;">And vexes me for reason why.</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;">Not yesterday I learned to know</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 25px;">The love of bare November days</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;">Before the coming of the snow,</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;">But it were vain to tell her so,</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 25px;">And they are better for her praise.</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-top: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 3px; margin-left: 150px; margin-top: 0pt;"><i>Robert Frost</i></div>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-70341055745831281062010-10-27T18:26:00.003-04:002010-10-27T19:35:53.444-04:00What makes a teacher?Those of you who know me know that I was never much of an academic. For most of my time in the hallowed halls I viewed my work as something to be endured and pushed through in order to keep one or more people in my life off my back. Most of my teachers and ultimately professors simply had me regurgitate information and those that asked for original thought really only wanted to see if I had discovered what they wanted me to see, not what I actually thought or found. This all changed one fall at the <a href="http://www.stthomas.edu/">University of St. Thomas</a> when my roommate charged through the door and exclaimed - "you have to to take <a href="http://www.periaktos.com/programs.html">Graham Thatcher's</a> class, you'll love him." This turned out to be an understatement. The rhetoric class was already full, or at least theoretically it was with 30 people or so. Graham ultimately let about 50 of us in. He asked us to stand on the shoulders of all the great philosophers and orators that had come before and handed us a copy of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lend-Me-Your-Ears-Speeches/dp/0393040054">William Safire's "Lend Me Your Ears". </a>He then proceeded to set our minds on fire with all the possibilities that came with powerful persuasiveness. Looking back, the experience could have been a classroom scene from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dXYVVRwk1fY&feature=related">"The Dead Poets' Society"</a> with one or more students Yawping from a desktop; throwing conventional approaches to classical teaching theories on speech and rhetoric out the window of a speeding bus. I was never better as a student. My work was mine for the first time. Unfortunately, like Robin Williams' character in Dead Poets' Society, Graham faced the ugly side of academia and had to resign as head of the Communications department. I resigned shortly after. Graham has since gone on to build a successful business portraying everyone from Clarence Darrow to Justice William O. Douglas in a series of one-man two-act plays recounting these great legal minds and their amazing use of rhetoric to help shape our nation and it's laws. He is so good at his portrayals, that his audiences are usually comprised of mostly lawyers who get CLE credit for attending!<br />
<br />
I had the privilege of attending his first performance at St. Thomas, reenacting the "Monkey Scopes Trial" as Clarence Darrow in 1993. I mention this because just last night I got to see him again in Charlotte, NC performing <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbsV70BYyos">"The Impeachment of Justice Douglas"</a>. Over 17 years had passed since I had seen my old professor, but sitting in that front row last night, I was once again a student, only this time the homework, not assigned by him, was to go and find my speech.<br />
<br />
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Thanks for being a real teacher Dr. Thatcher - God knows there aren't enough of you.4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-69770616633319154962010-10-21T23:20:00.003-04:002010-10-24T20:38:20.430-04:00October?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TMD-u67s-dI/AAAAAAAAA38/2xqQQtg2Wy4/s1600/DSC_0008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TMD-u67s-dI/AAAAAAAAA38/2xqQQtg2Wy4/s400/DSC_0008.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TMD-43cGnWI/AAAAAAAAA4A/hw0jTUyuMfw/s1600/DSC_0013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TMD-43cGnWI/AAAAAAAAA4A/hw0jTUyuMfw/s400/DSC_0013.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TMD_ICE67NI/AAAAAAAAA4E/3XKV7GEbkZo/s1600/DSC_0014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TMD_ICE67NI/AAAAAAAAA4E/3XKV7GEbkZo/s400/DSC_0014.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TMD_OtD5jLI/AAAAAAAAA4I/7UP6wdbC81Q/s1600/DSC_0022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TMD_OtD5jLI/AAAAAAAAA4I/7UP6wdbC81Q/s400/DSC_0022.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TMD_cp2mRCI/AAAAAAAAA4M/5l6jv1UNbQM/s1600/DSC_0076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TMD_cp2mRCI/AAAAAAAAA4M/5l6jv1UNbQM/s400/DSC_0076.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It has hardly felt like October lately, but I did catch a good whiff of it this last Sunday out at <a href="http://web.me.com/bowmangray/Site/Brookberry_Farm.html">the farm</a>. I suspect that this weekend will have some time dedicated to preparing for Halloween and some final yard work. Trying to choose between loving the fall over the spring here in NC is like trying to decide between the mountains and the beach or coming to a final decision on the finest sunset I have ever seen. It can't been done, at least not conclusively. I can say this much; that being outdoors some place like the farm, or up in the mountains or the outer banks during a change of season is a humbling and beautiful thing. Its good to be in awe of the seasons, it reminds us of how small we really are and that for all the power, intelligence, creativity we may posses, we cannot recreate these changes at will. Its good for us to be reminded of who is really in charge. <a href="http://web.me.com/bowmangray/Site/October_2010.html">Click here for more October photographs - Music by U2.</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><h1>Nothing Gold Can Stay</h1><i>by Robert Frost</i><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"> Nature's first green is gold,<br />
Her hardest hue to hold,<br />
Her early leaf's a flower;<br />
But only so an hour.<br />
Then leaf subsides to leaf.<br />
So Eden sank to grief,<br />
So dawn goes down to day.<br />
Nothing gold can stay.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-86616193223280315952010-10-18T07:56:00.001-04:002010-10-18T07:58:27.510-04:00The Buzzard<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TLw088hB2_I/AAAAAAAAA34/ye5I_rl3hMU/s1600/Buzzardoil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TLw088hB2_I/AAAAAAAAA34/ye5I_rl3hMU/s400/Buzzardoil.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
This rather graceful menace was circling above me yesterday as I roamed <a href="http://web.me.com/bowmangray/Site/Brookberry_Farm.html">the farm</a>. There were two actually. I was walking, I wonder if to them I looked as if I was about to drop dead in my tracks and they would have an answer to the question of dinner. Nonetheless, watching them glide and arch was something.<br />
<br />
(Can't find any poetry about a buzzard, so this will have to do...)<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="left" style="padding-left: 14px; padding-top: 13px;"><span style="color: #3c605b; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Vulture <span style="color: black;">by Robinson Jeffers</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; padding-left: 14px; padding-top: 20px;">I had walked since dawn and lay down to rest on a bare hillside<br />
Above the ocean. I saw through half-shut eyelids a vulture wheeling<br />
high up in heaven,<br />
And presently it passed again, but lower and nearer, its orbit<br />
narrowing,<br />
I understood then<br />
That I was under inspection. I lay death-still and heard the flight-<br />
feathers<br />
Whistle above me and make their circle and come nearer.<br />
I could see the naked red head between the great wings<br />
Bear downward staring. I said, "My dear bird, we are wasting time<br />
here.<br />
These old bones will still work; they are not for you." But how<br />
beautiful<br />
he looked, gliding down<br />
On those great sails; how beautiful he looked, veering away in the<br />
sea-light<br />
over the precipice. I tell you solemnly<br />
That I was sorry to have disappointed him. To be eaten by that beak<br />
and<br />
become part of him, to share those wings and those eyes--<br />
What a sublime end of one's body, what and enskyment; what a life<br />
after death. </div><img src="http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/images/_conv.gif" />4thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6616257030831116566.post-41309365544190772392010-10-11T19:14:00.000-04:002010-10-11T19:14:14.215-04:00The sea answers all questions......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TLOaKxi-BJI/AAAAAAAAA30/5RRDfSSJUH0/s1600/DSC_0169.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lePt24YGsnw/TLOaKxi-BJI/AAAAAAAAA30/5RRDfSSJUH0/s400/DSC_0169.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> The sound of the sea is the most time-effacing sound there is. The centuries reroll in a cloud and the earth becomes young again when you listen, with eyes shut, to the sea - a young green time when the water and the land were just getting acquainted and had known each other for few billion years and the mollusks were just beginning to dip and creep in the shallows; and now man the invertebrate, under his ribbed umbrella, anoints himself with oil and pulls on his Polaroid glasses to stop the glare and stretches out his long brown body at ease upon a towel on the warm sand and listens.<br />
<br />
The sea answers all questions, and always in the same way; for when you read in the papers the interminable discussions and the bickering and the prognostications and the turmoil, the disagreements and the fateful decisions and agreements and plans and the programs and the threats and counter threats, and then you close your eyes and the sea dispatches one more big roller in the unbroken line since the beginning of the world and it combs and breaks and returns foaming and saying "So soon?"<br />
<br />
E.B. White, February 19414thBGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630910580190343467noreply@blogger.com0