It’s hard to believe that around nine months ago a big truck with a backhoe pulled onto our property and began the grading process for the house. Nine incredible months of gravel and concrete, of drywall, paint, rock, electrical wires and plumbing pipes. Nine months of balancing on stones and limbs to cross a mud ravine … rain, snow, and then COVID.
It was one incredible experience with the worlds very best builder at the helm. James Herbert of JHL Builders began this project with all the excitement and energy of a kid at Christmas and it’s been a constant through this entire build. His crew became family and as we grow close to the end of this project, I can honestly say that they will be missed greatly.
Watching my forever home bloom from the earth like the trumpet plant that grows beside the driveway, is a surreal feeling. While this isn’t the first home we’ve had built, it IS the first home I’ve been actively involved in the design and decor. It’s actually thrilling to see a corner sanded or the final piece of trim go up.
Let’s face it. I’m a country girl and quite fascinated by these big old lugsome creatures. (Is lugsome a word? It should be.) Anyway … as a young girl growing up in Hancock County Georgia, I was always amazed by cows and their, well, lack-of-brightness.
Case in point. On our way to my school, we passed this beautiful green field with a gigantic red barn in the center of it. It belonged to Mr. McCroskie, a friend of my fathers.
Now, in this field were these beautiful brown cows. Now I don’t know the different types of cows, but these were big and brown and were always sort of standing around as if they were waiting for something to happen … like a circus, or maybe for one of them to get up and dance on their hind legs or something. I don’t know … they just always seemed as if something were ABOUT to happen and they didn’t want to miss it.
So one morning we drove to school and it was pouring rain. Sure enough, when we got to the pasture with the big red barn with the door flung open wide …. there were those cows, standing around the barn looking at it as if it were something marvelous. I was thinking all the while, “why don’t they just go inside and get out of the rain”? But Dad said that cows are so polite they’re letting the other ones go first.
By the way, when we came BACK by there after school, it was STILL raining and the cows were STILL being polite.
Anyway … when I was about twelve or thirteen, my cousins Ramona, Dennis, Jan and I all decided to walk to the store for Coca Colas in the little bottles and a Go-Go Bar (a shingle of gingerbread with pink icing on top). While at the store, it began thundering and lightening. We decided to cut across Mr. McCroskies pasture since we didn’t see any cows and assumed they were in another part of the field.
It was close to Christmas, and my cousin, Jan, had tied these little jingle bell things to her tennis shoes. Whenever she walked, they made this jingling sound that we all thought sounded pretty cool. We wanted jingle-bells on our shoes too. ANYWAY, so we were about half way across this field when we heard the thundering rumblings of many MANY large hooves. We turned around, and running straight towards us over the top of a little hill to our right was Mr. McCroskies cows .. all two hundred of them. It was like a galloping bovine rapture.
We took off running … leaving our GoGo bars and Coca Colas flying all over the place. And the harder we ran, the louder Jan’s shoes jingled and the faster those cows came at us. Finally, Dennis, realizing that it was Jan’s shoes they were after, screamed over his shoulder for her to “kick them jingles off”!!! She ran right out of those shoes and we safely managed to make it through the fence on the other side.
Now here is the interesting thing …. when we turned around to see how far back we’d left the cows, we were surprised to see all two hundred heads or so, surrounding Jan’s white tennis shoes with the little jingle bells on them. We surmised, since cows ALWAYS appear to be waiting for something to take place, that they were waiting for those shoes to get up and do something again.
I know for a fact that occasionally when we’d drive by the pasture, you could look across and see a cow or two still studying those shoes (which were never retrieved, by the way). I also know for a fact that later on we learned that Mr. McCroskie called his cows by using a big wooden stick with Jingle-bells nailed to it … that’s why they ran after us.
So anyway … that’s why I’m fascinated by cows. But only from a distance.
I have awakened many a morning completely amazed that I can now call this place home. The dream I had for ages has now been realized. I live in the Great Smoky Mountains.
Instead of write a long diatribe about how it feels, I’m just going to post a couple of photos of the places I enjoy most.
Soco Falls ….
Soco Falls was one of the most surprising hikes since I’ve been there. Hearing people talk about the rough path and the difficulty of the hike, naturally excited me and sounded right up my alley. So, I packed a day pack with water, an apple for a snack and laced up my hiking boots for the “long rugged” trek to the falls.
I drove about twenty minutes from my house to the pull off to Soco Falls. I was so excited and ready to hike. It was drizzling rain and I’d been told the trail would be slick and rocky. Didn’t care. I was ready to hike, so I scooted around the rail and onto the rocky path. Then I froze in my boots. Approximately one-third of a mile downhill from where I stood were the falls. It took me all of five minutes to descend the steep trail, stand in front of the falls and laugh my head off. I’d unpacked my gear, packed water and an apple for what took about five minutes to get to from the parking lot!
Still, it was beautiful. Double water falls tumble over an incredible rocky foundation. Ice was still clinging to the plants and roots around it and the forest around me was beautiful. Down the creek I could see tents along the banks of the river and wished I had packed a tent as well. After a while of taking it all in the rain began to really fall, but I enjoyed this venture very much.
The Cataloochee Valley ….
I believe my favorite place, next to my property on Plott Creek, is the Cataloochee Valley where one of the oldest settlements in the area used to be. The drive to the Valley is one thing, but getting out and really exploring the area is another! Cataloochee Creek is one of the most peaceful places I’ve ever been.
Surrounded by Sterling Mountain, Nolan and Cataloochee which rises close to 6000 ft! Cataloochee fits its name perfectly. The Cherokee called this mountain Gadalutsi, which means “fringe standing erect”… and it truly does! The Cherokee gave up this incredible land in the Treaty of Holston in 1791, but continued hunting and trapping this rich farmland.
This place is one of the most serene places in the Great Smoky Mountains. Green meadows, sharp trails that climb upwards, 1 1/2 lane wide gravel roads, historic homes to explore that show their age through not only structure, but in the newspapers and wallpaper glued to the walls and ceilings. I could have stayed on the bright yellow back porch for hours just listening to the branch flowing and enjoying daffodils that have grown in the valley since the Palmers arrived there in 1854 to set up a farm that included cattle, sheep and various gardens that grew heartily in the dark rich soil.
Game was plentiful and they traded turkey along with an abundance of fur they trapped for luxury items such as indigo, salt, powder, lead, etc. The trading post used to be where the Ranger Station is now.
They were friendly with their Cherokee neighbors, who they protected and hid during the Trail of Tears around 1836. Because the area was heavy with wildlife such as panthers, bear, the Cherokee people taught them how to stalk and trap them for the skins. In turn, the settles traded tobacco, cotton, and vegetable crops with the Cherokee.
As for Me …
Me on the front porch of the cabin …
As for me, I’m quickly finding me feet and enjoying my new life here in Maggie Valley and the Cataloochee Valley … amazingly where my Davis ancestors first settled when they left Europe. It feels as though I’m living “in the family” circle in a way … retracing their steps and realizing my dream is not much different from theirs.
All About Ingles …
Each day I drive over to Ingles and buy a small plate of freshly created Sushi from Richard … “Rich” … who was a fisherman before he settled here. His stories fascinate me and his sushi is the best I’ve EVER had! He and his sidekick Freddy keep me up to date on local news and make me feel as if I’m a native here.
A card from my Dear friend Nessa who is a barista at Starbucks on Barber Blvd … just two miles from the cabin.
Nessa reads my blog but has become a dear dear friend. She remembered how the very first time I saw Waynesville, it was covered in snow. I fell in love with the town at first site and described it here on my blog. Sweet Nessa remembered that and tracked down a painting a friend of hers did of Waynesville in the Snow and picked it up.
Yesterday, she gave it to me and it was as if I was looking back at that moment when I fell in love with this beautiful place!
The beautiful painting Nessa found for me! ❤
This Starbucks is located right inside Ingles … lucky for me! These people have become like a family to me. I started off with coffee, and then one day I was asked to try a Strawberry Acai. That simple suggestion changed the essence of my day! This one drink filled me not only with bounds of energy, but gave me a reason to revisit Starbucks day after day.
Even in the dead of winter when the snow was so piled up I’d have to crawl over it to get in the car, I’d be heading to Starbucks for this amazing iced drink! Then one day, I was offered something that one of the girls there actually crafted. It was a Peach infused Lemonaid/White Tea with just a bit of sweetener but loaded with ice! This is THE drink! I have one every day and it’s absolutely the BEST cold drink I’ve ever had in my life!
Me and Nessa ….
Now Nessa is one of the most precious souls I’ve ever met! I’m so blessed to have met her and know that I am blessed just to know her! It was just a lucky happening when we just struck up a conversation and realized how alike we are. She is a HUGE fan of the baby Hippo, Fiona at the Cincinnati Zoo in Ohio … and I’m an April the Giraffe fan. We both watched for hours during labor … I’m trying to get her interested in Ben Folds … and we have so much else in common!
It’s been a dream for a long time, to live in the Blue Ridge Mountains in a log cabin … and after 58 years, it finally came true! This morning I sat in the living room and drank coffee while I watched the birds warming themselves in the bright sunshine on my porch railing.
The Chrstmas Tree is up …
The tree looks so jolly and happy in the living room! The birds on the tree look as if they just flew through the front door to warm themselves! Once again, I have added the vintage ornaments inherited from family members!
Table and stockings up the stairs …
The table has never looked more inviting with the stockings behind it going up the stairs. I’ll have eight people here Christmas and wanting a stocking for each person, the mantle seemed crowded no matter how I arranged them. It was Eric’s idea to run them up the stairs.
Yesterday, I made a quick drive up to Serenity Mountain to see the property in Plott Creek where the permanent house will be built. It was so peaceful and quiet that I didn’t exactly want to leave. I walked down by the creek and looked up to where the house will be and couldn’t believe it all was coming into fruition. In my imagination, I could almost see the house sitting there in the trees … the noisy creek babbling at my feet.
After I got back home, I had some homemade rustic soup and called it a day. ❤
It’s started. The first phase of moving to Waynesville has started … packing up the stuff that will go into the storage building at the rental place in Hazelwood (what they call Old Town, Waynesville).
Hazelwood houses some of the most charming shops in the two square blocks the “downtown” Hazelwood area comprises … and I’m lucky enough to have bought property just up the road from it. Yep … I’ll be the one in my hiking boots tromping into Hazelwood on a snowy day just to buy French Onion Soup and a bar of soap.
Hazelwood will be sort of the home base once in the house. There’s an old fashioned pharmacy, my favorite place for soup and ice tea … The Bourbon Barrel Beef and Ale, and across the street is the Hazelwood Soap Company The soap company is my favorite scent shop EVER … the entire house will smell like HSC’s version of Vetiyver … the scent of Sandalwood and Patchouli, musk and vetyver. So basically the house will smell like a fresh clean hippy! If Waynesville wasn’t enough to get excited about alone, I get to live a short hike to Hazelwood!
Now about the packing …
I’ve never packed for a storage building before, so all this is new to me. Taping my precious books up in a sealed box was the most heart wrenching part of the ordeal. Books, as most of you already know, are my friends, and knowing that I can’t reach over and grab a Ray Bradbury, Bill Bryson, or Flannery O’Connor off the bookshelf until I restock the new bookshelves in Waynesville in approximately four months, is a heart stopper. I did keep out a few “EMERGENCY” reads in case I need a quick fix and all of them are by my three favorite writers … my Mountain Moms (Nancy Simpson) Poetry Books, “Farewell Summer” and “Dandelion Wine” by Bradbury, and Bill Brysons “A Walk in the Woods”. I admit, I’ve read all of these at least ten or twelve times each, but these are the kind of books I never get tired of.
I also packed up all my rocks, that friends (and a few strangers) have given me … stuff from the kids … boxes of photographs … art supplies, and a world of other stuff that when I finally unpack it, I will probably hear the theme song from “Chariots of Fire” as I behold my lovely lovely things again!
So, the first batch is loaded and ready for transport during the next trip up to Waynesville, With that trip is a search for a rental house or condo … and my second trip in to see my new boss at The Mountaineer , Vicki Hyatt.
Oh, did I not mention THAT yet?
Well, it’s happened. The thing I set out to do from Blog Day 1 has happened … and I can’t be more excited! Once relocating is completed, I’ll start my first assignment … outdoors and “Through the Lens with Lynn” … a challenge to all our readers to find and recreate the photo I post. The idea is to get people out of the house and looking at Waynesville from a new point of view! I can hardly wait!!!
It’s been the longest, hardest Winter I can ever remember. Truly. Bronchitis hung on to me almost the entire season, so believe me when I say I’m THRILLED to see it go.
On Cherry Mountain there is a tiny little spring … so tiny that if you were hiking through the woods across the mountain a week ago, you would step in it and scarcely realize that you had just crossed one of the most charming features of the mountain. But if you were to pause for a moment … really pause and breathe in the surroundings a bit, you would realize you were standing between two upward slopes. At your feet you would look down and see that you were standing on rock, and perhaps then you would hear the faint, ever so faint, dripping of water. Watercress and moss lay like carpet at your feet, and the only other sounds you would hear are the chattering of birds and perhaps the scurry of squirrels in the trees.
Up until yesterday, my life felt very much like that spring … dripping, tired, and unseen in many ways. I felt as if I had little more to offer, for that is what being shut up all winter can do to you. The world around me had buried me … covered me up … and nearly made me feel invisible. I knew I had potential … I knew that somewhere inside myself, all I needed was a little dose of Springtime and I’d feel myself burst back to life. But Spring always seemed just out of reach … always a week away … another frost … another cold front … always coming and coming, beating me down and down until I was even LESS than a drip.
I was stagnant.
All this talk in metaphors brings me to this:
Yesterday, for the first time in a while, I talked to my Mountain Mother. To my surprise, she and I have shared this metaphor all winter. It has been as if we’ve been walking side by side all winter long, scarcely aware the other one was there. You cannot know the immediate comfort I felt in knowing that when looking back on my long lonely Winter, I was never really as alone as I felt. My Mother was walking with me and our closeness carried the two of us through the hardest of winters.
Then, yesterday afternoon after we talked, she took a walk down the mountain for the first time all Winter. It was as if something was pulling her along … one foot in front of the other down a path she had walked a million times before. Across the road, down the drive, around the bend and through the deep Cherry Mountain ground cover she went. I can close my eyes and see her … her heart thumping … her eyes on the greenest spot in the woods. I can see her stepping determinedly … her hand firmly clutching her walking stick … I can hear her breath quickening.
Squinting her eyes, she takes a closer look … then opening wide at what she sees! For years it had only been a lingering drip, and now, there it was a Spring Branch … flowing freely over the rocks again! The Spring head was alive and somehow Cherry Mountain worked it’s magical spell and she, as well, felt herself coming back to life. She breathed in deep … so deep that her lungs filled for the first time all winter.
And I, a hundred miles away at my home in Atlanta, felt it as well! It was as if she breathed in enough for the two of us and slowly I felt a gentle sigh flow through me. Winter was nearly over … tomorrow it would be Spring!
So I just realized while I was putting this blog together how “ungirly” of a little girl I was. My most memorable Christmas gifts, except for maybe one of them, are not the average “little girl gifts”! Maybe it’s because as a child I was mostly surrounded by boys … rough neck, frog-in-the-pocket boys, who were pretty much my only choice of play-mates in the neighborhood!
I had a few girly friends, but I’d much rather be playing in the ditches and building forts in the woods with the boys instead of sitting in the front yard brushing the hair of some bug-eyed baby doll. There were, I mean, only so many sub-plots you could play before the “Mommy and Daddy” game, got utterly boring. Kimberly whatever-her-last-name-was, took her Baby Alive and went home when I suggested we see who could throw our dolls further up on the roof of the house.
I never saw Kimberly again and that stupid Baby Alive was still on the roof when we moved away.
Never in a hundred years would I have suggested throwing my all time favorite Christmas gift EVER on the roof …
#1 GREEN TONKA TOY TRUCK WITH WHITE WALL TIRES
I got this for my fifth Christmas and I remember circling it in the Sears and Roebuck Christmas Catalog like it happened yesterday! I’ve no idea where I originally saw it … if it was on TV or if someone in the neighborhood had one, but I made SURE Mom and Dad knew I wanted it. Don’t ask me what else I got that Christmas because I can’t remember a single other thing … but that Tonka truck … I LOVED that toy! And yes, I slept with it! It went everywhere with me and even as a teenager, it sat on my dresser and held lip-gloss and necklaces. Today it’s wrapped in newspapers and in my basement. Not even my son was allowed to play with it. Once I’m in Waynesville I want to have a special place for it so I can show it off! To this day, that Tonka Truck is one of my most prized possessions.
#2 THE EASY BAKE OVEN
So most little girls played with their Easy Bake ovens until either their cake mixes ran out or the bulbs burned out. Not me. I loved mine so much that my Mom would mix up little sandwich bags of cake mixes for me to bake! But that isn’t all! I remember taking left-over pre-cooked spaghetti, some sauce and cheese and baking tiny casseroles! I made tiny little biscuits … tiny cookies … and my favorite – a hot open faced Oreo with a tiny scoop of ice cream. I was wildly inventive and my Dad, ever the guinea pig of the Easy Bake Chef, always smacked his lips and would say “delicious” … even though it probably wasn’t so great. After all, there’s only so much you can to do to food with two 100 watt light bulbs.
#3 THE TWISTER GAME
As an only child, this game was incredibly boring for me until my Dad figured out that the three of us (me, Mom and Daddy) could play together if one of us held the spinner in our mouth and we all took turns spinning. It was actually more fun doing it that way than having someone sit on the side calling out the moves, because it always required someone to spin the spinner with whatever appendage was available and the spinner was passed along to the next person …. teeth to teeth. Yeah yeah … germs were shared, but the laughter was ferocious and some of the best times with my Mom and Dad was spent watching my Dad lift his toe up to my Moms face and them working together to try and spin the spinner!
#4 MY SPIROGRAPH and GREEN PEN
Of all my toys, this one both fascinate and frustrated me the most. Actually, my Dad enjoyed this toy more than I did, but we would have “doodling” contests to see who could “doodle” the longest before our wheel jumped the track. I think every Spirographer ran out of green ink first because it was such an unusual pen color at the time and boy did I covet my green pen!
But alas, I got caught by Mrs Wall “doodling” in class with my green Spirograph pen and a couple of gears and wheels, and my green pen was confiscated. Spirographing was never the same after that.
#5 MY LIONEL TRAIN SET ♥ …. AND THE YEAR SANTA WAS ‘OUTED’
If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never EVER forget the year I got my Lionel Train set, because that was the year I found out the truth about Santa.
It was 1967 and we lived on East Court Street in Hinesville, Georgia in an Antebellum home with beautiful beveled glass doors between the hallway and living room. My Aunt Lila and Grandma Hamilton were spending Christmas with us that year They were sleeping in my room and I was sleeping on the roll-away bed in Mom and Daddys room. We had all had a traditional cup of hot cocoa before bed Christmas Eve, but since Aunt Lila was there, she made mine “special” and put a peppermint stick in it (and more than likely a hefty dose of Peppermint Schnapps as well so I would fall asleep quickly).
I’ve no idea what time it was when I woke up and heard muffled talking in the living room. I timidly crept down the hall to the closed glass doors of the living room, where I saw Dad and Aunt Lila on the floor playing with a train set and Mom putting a T-Set out.
My cousin, Mike, was right. My parents WERE Santa.
I was mortified! So I did what any kid in their right mind would do …. I kept my mouth shut and crept back to bed just in case they took it all back once they knew “I KNEW”.
Christmas morning when they came in and “woke me up” … yeah, right … I’d lay there all night wondering what else was fake … would my ears really fall off if I didn’t wash behind them? … would my nose REALLY grow if I told a lie? …. were there REALLY Mommy spies everywhere I went who would tell her everything I did when she wasn’t around? These were things I was doubting now. And the Tooth Fairy … and Easter Bunny … and the “President of the United States” …. was HE even real?
Anyway, I played it cool, and my Daddy and I ended up playing with that train set all day. Aunt Lila crocheted an afghan, Grandma snoozed in the easy chair, and Mom folded up all the used wrapping paper into neat smooth squares. As for me, I just suspiciously watched them all for the first time in my life.
I don’t suppose I need to go into a long dissertation on how very proud of my son I am … how many times I looked at him yesterday and went “Wow …. that was my little boy!” I sat and wiped tears through the entire thing … happiness, sadness, pride, but most of all relief for him. He did it.
Both my kids went to school full time and put in over forty hours a week at work. They already know what their careers are like, and I believe they’ve both found the perfect place.
But back to Alex, he loved every moment … looking back every couple of minutes and smiling. I could see the happiness all over him!
My poor kids. Both grown and off on their own, each with their own particular style – but both simple, clean, artsy and bright.
For a couple of years now they have been avoiding the subject of who will INHERIT what … usually it’s in the form of “Alex can just have that” or “Just will that to Aly”. I’m thinking there’s a motive behind all this generosity. Neither want to be the one to be stuck with the stuff that I, myself, inherited. And I inherited a LOT!
You probably already know I inherited a ton of rocks which will be used in some way or another when I build the house on Serenity Mountain in Waynesville, NC. But I was also left stacks of vintage books from my parents, two Aunts and a cousin, a cloth clown that my mother made (its locked in my china cabinet – BTW, I’m TERRIFIED of clowns!), china from a Great Grandmother by marriage, and a blue stuffed spaceman from my husband,
Both kids want the Spaceman. The SPACEMAN!
Some things were easy to will away. My cousin LaWanda wants my mothers buffet, Granny Morris’ sewing machine cabinet, and if I’m ever found mangled from falling off a cliff, the china cabinet will go to her as well … along with my lifeless body stuffed inside (unless the kids change their minds).
Many of the things we’ve acquired over our 32 year marriage will have to be re-homed and upgraded … so my beautiful bedroom suit that will be MUCH too big for the Waynesville house, the dining room suit, living room suit, bonus room furniture and the rest of the occasional chairs will go to a local organization that helps displaced family’s in need.
My parents beautiful cherry wood bedroom suit will become a guest bedroom suit, the mahogany birthing/mansion bed I inherited from Grandma Hamilton will go in my study, and the china cabinet will be placed on it’s own wall in the country kitchen! A friend of mine, Mary Leslie, is painting a big guinea fowl to hang on the dining area wall. It will quickly become one of my new most prized possessions. The mirrored bowl and pitcher stand (or commode table that once held a slop jar) will go in the entry-way.
All of these things will someday need a home along with my parents journals, my own journals, photo albums, Bibles that belonged everyone in my family all the way back to Grandma Hamilton, movie films, and all of my Fathers memorabilia from his time in WWII. Who would want all this stuff? If I were the kids at their age and just starting life, I’m not sure I would be willing to take it on either.
They may not realize it, but I certainly don’t want to guilt them into taking on stuff they don’t have any desire to have. As a Mother, it’s one of the worst things you can heap upon your kids conscience. So, every so often I suppose I’ll be parting ways with something that means a great deal to me … but has the potential to mean at least a little somethingto someone else.
I came by it naturally … my obsession with rocks, shells , acorns, buttons from shirts, and so forth. My mother had the obsession is well. Everywhere we would go, she would pick up small rocks as a memento that we had been there – sort of like prehistoric Polaroids.
When I was just a little kid, we would be driving down a country road when Mom would suddenly holler for Dad to “Stop the car Cecil”, so we could all get out and haul a rather gigantic rock into the trunk. Sometimes it took all three of us to move the occasional boulder, but Dad was always so good natured about it. He loved Mom enough to let her bring home any rock she desired because she loved them so.
I don’t know how genetics work, but somehow, I too, am famously obsessed with them. All around the house stuff like seashells, rocks, acorns and old handkerchiefs have a special place. I even have a small box of buttons. But rocks … those have become my true hearts desire. Some are on display …. some are tucked away.
These days, when people go on vacation, they ask me what they can bring me back as a souvenir. My answer is always the same … “Just go find me a rock!”
Rocks are one of the things I truly enjoy the most in life! I love feeling of the rocks and sometimes I’ll actually smell them to see if they carry a bit of their homeland with them … like Pakistan or Germany! Both of those had a unique t scent. And while I won’t readily admit to it, a few people have accused me of sticking my tongue to a couple. But what I enjoy most about the “getting part” … is the story that’s always attached to it: how they got it, where they got it, sometimes there are photos .. but the “rocks story” is always lovely to hear.
My friend’s know me well and they tell me they actually enjoy going out and searching for the most perfect rock for me! One friend and his family searched the shoreline of Iceland for hours until they found one of the most interesting ones in my collection. All five of them were picking up rock after rock on the beach and his kids were arguing about who had found the best rock. It was getting late and suddenly there was a bright flash on the shoreline that got everyones attention. The Northern Lights were lighting up the evening sky! One small rock at at the waters edge caught the eye of his four year old grandson as it reflected the glow of the glistening Aurora Borealis! THAT was the rock they brought me back. Dan said his grandson held it in his hand all the back from Reykjavik!
I’ve been mailed rocks from some of the most beautiful places in the world! Friends send the rock and later post photos on their social page of the rock on the ground, a photo of them picking it up, and usually a photo of them with the rock standing in the beautiful scene! It’s become a “THING”! Friends online will pick a rock up from their yard and send it to me and do the same thing! Then there are those who include me in their incredible travel adventures and bring rocks back from places I dream of traveling …. like the Holy Land, the pyramids of Egypt, Stonehenge, the Vatican, the high mountains of Peru, the deep caves of Mexico, and the peaks of the tallest mountains in the world! (I have rocks from 8 of the top ten peaks … and yes, Everest is one of them!)
So do you understand why I love rocks yet?
I have a THEORY about my rocks. Each rock that is being picked up and given to me has more than likely stayed in that general spot for millions of years … but in my theory, it has a destiny. It, by destiny, is selected out of all the other rocks and picked up just for me. The fingers that touched it and handed off to me, may be the only figures in history to ever have touched it. Some of my rocks are from the other side of the Earth but yet they end up here with me and placed in a very loved collection with other rocks from all over the world. That part I know. The “destiny theory” … well, I’m still mulling that one over.
As for the acorns, I place them in soil and watch them grow. Oak trees from the Middle East and Russia grow side by side in my yard, yet no one would ever know at a glance. But I know … and the people who gave them to me know.
On my property in Waynesville, I’ve buried over two dozen oak acorns from all over the world. I can hardly wait till spring when they wake up and poke their tops up through the soil!
In my basement I have a lot of my mother’s things.
Among those things is a ream size paper box and four metal coffee cans filled with thousands of small adorable rocks. A friend of mine suggested I go to a specialty mill and have a large sheet of Plexiglas poured and put part of my collection in it, that way I could see it them from both sides. She said it would make an incredible looking room divider or shower doors and frames.
I’ve also thought about doing one of the many rock designs you see on Pinterest. For now though, I take comfort in the fact that I’m simply obsessed with them. Each one, MILLIONS and MILLIONS of years in the making …. and I and only a tiny part of its story.
So Lynnish ... 