My Mother Earth

I have come away to the mountains to take some time for myself. I need it. Being alone gives me some time to think, pray, and consider what my next step should be.

I grew up in the Catskill Mountains so I need to go back to the high places at least once a year to get grounded again. These are not the Catskills, they are the Blue Ridge. They are part of the Appalachian Mountain Range, as are the Catskills, so when I am here I am connected to home.

There is a deep thread that runs through these mountains. It was not placed there by man, but by the Great Creator. It ties me to the trees, the stones, the plants, and the stories that sail on the wings of the winds in the high places. It takes a quietness of heart to hear the stories.

When I leave, I know all of the living beings of the mountain; the trees, flowers, plants, and yes even the stones, will say to me, "We will miss you while you are gone. Come home again, won't you? Come sit in our lap again, listen as we tell you another story, and please share your adventures with us that we might add more volumes to our collection. Come back again, won't you?" I wave and say, yes, of course... the mountains are truly my mother earth.

Fire trucks, doughnuts, and cider

I LOVE the Fall!! Always have!! The cool fresh air, crisp apples, cider, sweaters, scarves, and, of course, the colors of the leaves! Love it, love it, love it!!

I grew up in a tiny community, Richmondville, New York. There are still only about 2,000 people in the village. The school, Richmondville Central School, was one main building and it housed K-12, less than 500 students in the entire school district. The brick structure had three floors and the high school was on the 3rd level. There were a couple of extra buildings for shop class and a house for home economics. 

Every Fall near Halloween, there was an evening when the Volunteer Fire Department would open and they would serve powdered doughnuts and apple cider for free to the community. The big thrill, though, was the ride on the back of the fire truck. We would step on the landing and climb up onto the heavy fabric of the hoses. When there was no space left for anyone else to get on that big red machine, the driver would clang the bell and run the siren and we were off. The air was cold on our faces and nearly everyone on the ride wore a jacket with a hood and gloves. It only took about 10 trips for every child in the community to get a ride. I participated in the tradition even through high school and college. It just wasn’t Fall without powdered doughnuts, cider, and a ride on the fire truck.

It’s a simple memory and it comes back to me every October. I live in Charlotte, NC, now and although there are no October fire truck rides (that I know of), I do have to have at least one powdered doughnut and cup of cider to welcome the season!! It just wouldn’t be Fall without it.

Here are a few pictures I took on a summer trip back to Richmondville.