Weeks in the mountains

Ok, these halcyon days have been anything but! I really thought that I would work, weed, admire the hummingbirds and flowers and have a glass of wine at the end of the day. I also planned to wash all the windows (ha) and be a really well read person by the end of the day.

The wine thank goodness has been plentiful. The hummingbirds are loyal (all about 200) as long as I have the feeders filled. They are in fact mad right now because their favorite feeder, which they drain in one day, is now nearly empty and they have to stick their little beaks way down to get the nectar out. How troubling is that for these birds, perhaps I will not feed them today! Sadly, the daylilies are nearly past, but the other flowers are happy with all the rain.

Stella Doro Salmon Fragrant Late Daylily

Black Eyed Susan Butterfly Bush and moth

Bee Balm

The other aspects of the summer however have been time consuming and not much fun. First, it was the "copperhead" in the basement. John happily took care of that snake, and the debate is on about its' true identity. Most people are agreeing that it is a rat snake but all have the peculiar question about "did you look at its' eyes to see if they were round or slitted. Hmm, that would not have been in my mind as something fun to do.

Next, I found a small snakeskin in the loft and it was lying right next to the folded up crib of my beautiful young granddaughter. Horrified, I threw it out, but made the mistake of telling daughter Chrissy about it and swearing her to secrecy. Immediately she put the picture on her blog and her terrified sister saw it and pondered the wisdom of visiting grandma and grandpa in the mountains with the afore mentioned beautiful granddaughter.

A few days later, a bat suddenly started flying around the INSIDE of the house. I opened the doors and hoped that it had flown out. But the next night around and around it flew. I took a broom and tried to encourage it to go out, but it would have none of the doors. It seemed to want to alight at the highest place of the house. I managed to budge it but that only meant that it flew with greater flurry around and around. Doors open, lights outside on. Perhaps it left.

The following day, I was talking to my sister-in-law and she told me that I should look at the beams to see if there were a sign of the bat. What I found instead was a very long snake skin hanging from the beam (still in the loft where the granddaughter had been). I really felt that my tolerance was being tried for some unknown past indiscretion. I called the pest control man who came a few days later and began to instruct me on all the holey places that we have in the cabin which let mice in, lady bugs in, snakes in, bats in, birds in, and whatever living creature should dare to enter in. He gave me a list of things to purchase and fix. I purchased, caged, covered, pushed steel wool in, and satisfied that I was no longer in impending danger, bragged that the house was tight.

That very night the bat returned. He was clearly in good form. He made lots of noise, flew all over the house, and looked for a way out. I turned on the outside light, locked the kitty in my room, and opened the door yet again. The day had been stormy and cold so no windows were open. The bat kept flying for the windows, so I opened them and suddenly it flew into one of the open windows. Quickly I closed the window but there I was. Daughter Chrissy helpfully said that I needed to get the screen open, but that would have required opening the window and the bat had now turned over to look straight at me. Chrissy was helpful in telling me to get something flat and push the screen open. A spatula partially did it and when I went out and pulled the screen off (in terror I might add as this particular bat looked just like a draclea). The bat fell to the porch with its wings fully expanded. Within seconds it flapped up and away into the night looking exactly like all the draclea's (Chrissy's pronunciation) I have ever seen in movies.

Am I free? I hope so. This has been an eventful few weeks.

Uncle Walter

Indeed, the world must be a little quieter, a little more peaceful for a moment tonight. The whole world knew Walter Cronkite, and the whole world knew that he would report to us Americans, the truth, the way he saw it. And he did. He saw it. He was one of the dying breed of news reporters who went where he reported. He didin't decide a side of the news, he lived it. People talk of the Kennedy assaniation-I lived it. They talk about his reporting of Nixon...I lived it. But I remember the Prudential News Hour, when we all learned the theme song for a little piece of the rock, and what was going on. It was sort of National Geographic, sort of news, sort of history.

Though my father was an American Historian of some worth, I looked to Walter Cronkite for the truth. If he didn't repeat dad's words, well then...how could dad, who had researched religiously for primary sources for some of the same information, be right. Fortunately there were seldom differences. We were allowed to watch the "Piece of the Rock" news, and that meant something in our house. It meant that dad believed in it, and so did mother; therefore did we.

As I look back on these times, I feel old. I still feel that "Uncle Walter" is an aging confident. I look to him for truth on the evening news. I forget my own age and the tumultuous years through which I have lived. Vietnam, Nixon, Kennedy, McCarthy, the Eisenhour years; Sleep well Walter.

Post Fourth Happiness in the Mountains

Happiness is Fishing with Friends. With hope in our hearts and knowledge that another fabulous evening with the Beaver-Whites was about to occur, John packed his fishing gear (as well as his new fab fishing vest) into the car and we headed for Trade. After Steve and John had taken a fly fishing lesson and had caught several small fish in various lovely settings around the mountains that we love, this was to be a crowning achievement. Alas, though the fish were biting, Quail was the lucky fisher, but ever the gentleman, we came home with two beautiful Rainbow trout, and an evening of wonderful memories. Since I personally don't mind being the observer, and photographer, this evening of friendship and fun with Pat, Quail and Susannah was just perfect. Friends!

Most of the people that I know truly think that I am insane for one reason or another. In this case, the hummingbird mania is quite real, and this summer has reminded me of one of the main reasons that I love living here, and being able to travel the mountains. The hummingbirds are out and they are happy. I sweeten the pot, and they eat, and they bring all their so-called friends. I saw a pair kissing yesterday though I would guess that it was more of a frontal attack. But they are all around and seem to have made a pact to drink and be merry. These pictures were taken without any zoom. Unfortunately with the camera at my eye, none of the little devils looked me squarely in the eye right at my fingertips like they do when I don't have the camera, but they were so close I could have touched them. I wish I could have.




One of the lesser known music festivals is 2 miles from our mountain cabin. The Sugar Grove Music Festival is a secret that we shouldn't hope to cherish, but it none-the-less is. Food from the 3 dirty old men, Sweet Tea and lemonade, crafts a plenty and good old Bluegrass. This music festival has been put on for some 12 years now to raise money for the old Cove Creek School. Elizabeth, Steve, John and I went, and we ate and drank (non-alcoholic beverages-yes thank you very much) watched children play with their daddies on the soft green grass, and listened to some good music. Our favorite group of the day (other than the Kruger Brothers of course) was a group called Southern Accent. They had a beautiful sound, close harmonies, and some great songs. Camping in Canaan's Land was our quick hit as we picked up on the words and chorus and were singing away (hopefully not to disturb the others around us). We bought CD's and really want to make a pitch for this group Southern Accent. They sing mostly gospel, but it is good, and the other's are good too. And the summer isn't over yet. So, stay tuned.

Families and the Fourth

The week of July 4th was loaded with family, friends and the beautiful granddaughter. Really, what more could you have wanted... Well it was really cold and no one was quite prepared for it. What happened to swimming, racing around the yard in shorts and barefeet? Windows open, fans on? No, there was little of that. The sun was out, sort of, but the wind was howling and the occasional rain reminded us that in Boone, you just wait a little while and the weather changes. In addition, the cold winds can come anytime. I guess it was better to be cool than to be boiling. Certainly, the flowers loved the weather, the hummingbirds were all out, and we had a full house. Katrina road with me (after having been traumatized by the dentist), and we found a wonderful consignment store where a great stroller, and hoodie amongst other cute baby items were found.

Michelle, Lexton and Lyriella were the first to arrive.

Grandma had to get her time in quickly because I knew that as soon as Auntie Chrissy arrived would be the end of my baby time.

Chrissy came on Wednesday night, John and Dagney on Thursday, and Jan and Andrea on Friday. Fun times with new drinks, cigars, babies and some insanity

Here, mommy allows Aunt Chrissy to Head butt her daughter.

Auntie Chrissy and Auntie Kate settle into their jobs.

Grandpa John gets his chance (Headbutting is popular)

Dagney's grandchildren are growing up; thus, she has to adopt more! Lyriella helps Kate play Rummikub.

At the end of the day-and weekend, a great time was had by all! Unfortunately, the kitties were not impressed.

Washington DC

In Washington DC at a national meeting, I ponder the diversity of humanity. My job as an outreach coordinator and liaison means that I find some common thread, some linkage to such a wide breadth of humanity, that even I at my late stage in life am baffled as my father used to say. I am first baffled at the way that US citizens simply believe that everything is so available to them that surely it is available to the world at large. Here I am, mentoring a person whose English speaking skills are minimal, but who is trying really hard. He is in the midst of 200 (small group) 5,000 (large group) folks who speak very quickly, and who expect that he can find his way oh so easily. He is reading everything but ever so pole pole. The crowd has moved on. At each turn a person whom I sit next to says, "wow" I have learned so much from you. Why? well because I mention that computers at home where there is no electricity, running water or hard floor, might not be the best use of resources, but don't mean that the person cannot be a good community person. He and I wend our way through the crowd. He is given a check and we have to find the bank to cash it. We get to the bank. He has not endorsed a check before! And today, they required a finger print from him. Thumb. Right. What is the kiswahili? thumb? I don't know...right...Kulia. What is the money for he asks and wants to wire it to Tanzania..... No I say. You have to buy your food with this money. Oh. All this money? Yes. Save what you can and you can carry it back. Oh, he says.

We find that Obama has read about our program in Tanzania. Does he love it like we do? Does he care? Does he know that this man is here, in a new country, without a clue, trying so hard to understand what is going on around him. A man whose wife deserted him, who won't let him see his two children, who was fired from his job, who is trying soo hard. I don't know. Obama cannot care about everyone. But surely says Thomas, he cares about us. Oh I hope so.

father's day

Father’s Day 2009

Another Hallmark weekend. Father’s Day, Ted’s arrival at basketball camp, 100 degrees in Durham, 64 degrees in the mountains, hummingbirds, Charles, Angie, Kate and Mama Angie visit, and John picks cherries. Bouna runs a 10 year old tape on Bonjour Africa of Dad and John Hope talking about father’s day. What an amazing thing to hear dad’s somewhat distorted voice, and to hear him say that “marrying for love is the most important thing!” And, saying that he was most proud of us children (children when the youngest is now 60?) and the partners we chose for life. It was bittersweet to hear him perhaps speak more openly about my mother’s death, and his feelings about us kids, and not to be able to call and say, “Thanks dad.” But there you go.

Mother and Dad, John and me on our wedding day



Julia John, Charles Kate, John, Kate


Even hummingbirds can be dads

Three Goodbyes

The Duke Chapel was full in 10 minutes from the time the doors were open. I struggled to
save a seat for my husband who was involved in an important planning meeting regarding a possible Global Health collaboration. I watched the people file in, especially the VIP’s. Some I knew, some I recognized. Several children piled in with me and the other “general admission” persons.

I saw more “general admission” persons being directed to Page Auditorium, as there were no more seats. I had securely selected the next to last row so that John could find
me. Right across from me sat former Mayor Howard Lee, the first African American Mayor (Chapel Hill) in North Carolina. He is a great great man of courage and conviction. I let my recollections of John Hope Franklin and Aurelia Whittington Franklin settle over me as the cool of the Chapel caused us to forget the blazing heat outside.

I remembered dad’s memorial service there in the Duke Chapel, and how a smaller but still large crowd walked in. I remember Joe escorting John Hope along with the History Department to their assigned seats in the front of the Chapel. I remembered how happy my mother was that John Hope and dad’s friendship brought her an enduring friendship with Aurelia many years earlier and how sad it was for her to lose that friendship to Aurelia’s Alzheimer’s disease. I remember my dad’s undying love for his younger “twin”, and his happiness when all the negotiations worked out and John Hope and Aurelia determined to return to Durham, John Hope to teach at Duke and Aurelia to join LINKS, a service agency that has not only been a great opportunity for friendship but has completed service projects of great worth all over the world, including my beloved Tanzania.

The waves of memory that passed over me were more the personal ones within the context of
these two great people. My daughter’s visit to the Franklin’s house to interview John Hope about his life for her 7^th or 8^th grade school history project, the way John Hope treated her with respect and dignity as if she were one of his own students, and even though Aurelia was
suffering from the early stages of her disease, she graciously welcomed Kate and me to her home, and sat with us as Kate asked her questions.

I loved my wonderful ride on the airplane with John Hope and our conversations about nearly ever issue that could possibly be discussed. There were serious conversations and funny ones. John Hope had that funny comedian side that just made you hold your belly! There were other meetings, but the crowning one was Chrissy’s performance of Syringa Tree as a birthday gift to me and John Hope coming with my brother Rick and sister-in-law Kay and his congratulations for her moving performance. Every time after the performance that I saw him, he would ask how she was doing, and tell me, “give her time, she will make it one day in whatever she endeavors to do.”

I also remember my mother showing me a beautiful simple vase that Whitt and Karen had
given mother and dad, and their profound gratefulness for this thoughtfulness.

I listened to the speeches, many of the stories I knew, some were new. Of course, everyone knew about John Hope's passion for orchids, and one sorrow I had was that he was unable to cure my over watered dying orchid that he sent when my father died.

I let the beauty of the Fisk Singers roll over me and let all those memories wash over me. I was totally surprised by the way in which former President Clinton captured the essence of John Hope with his comments about John Hope being a happy/angry man and an angry happy man. John Hope’s speeches always had a component of hard work, dedication to scholarship
and sacrifice. Hard goals to follow, but definitely a shared belief between the “twins”.

In no way diminishing the greatness of John Hope and Aurelia Whittington Franklin’s celebration, is my goodbye to my beloved golden retriever Cody. Miss Cody B. was assisted into death on Wednesday by her fabulous vet Jim. The hospital staff said their goodbyes to her, and John and I held her as a very peaceful death occurred. My last memory will be a picture of her
lying there looking just like a puppy. That is not a bad memory.

Cody’s uniqueness was measured in her capacity to defend, to be loyal, to be sneaky, but as all golden’s to love. We all knew that she probably wasn’t a pure breed, even though she had the best papers you could hope for. Her black tongue and rowboat look as she walked along in
front or behind were dead give aways for the insertion of some other type. Indeed, her ferociousness if Kayak (her “step-brother”) were threatened, or she perceived that one of the family was being challenged were always startling, yet, her totally gentle nature that
increased over time were seemingly contradictory. Her loyalty is not unusual for a golden retriever, and she certainly could make friends with anyone, but she always leaned against one of
our combined family members and looked at us soulfully as if to say, “don’t leave me.” Cody had a love for travel and adventure. Racing off into the mountain in search of cowpies, dead animals in which to roll, and other wonderful sites and smells was a triumph to her, even when she came back stinking and coated with some disgusting mess.

She was a water dog (another less golden characteristic) and would leap into any body of water available. Casually leading us to a pool of water on the fitness trail and suddenly hurling herself into it, lying in the stream that flowed down the mountain and into the drain pipe, finding that one puddle on our walks to tramp through in delight and even swimming in the Watauga Lake just like the rowboat that characterized her appearance was always a surprise and resulted in dramatic shaking of her long blonde fluffy hair. She even loved lying in a kiddie pool that we occasionally set up for her in the mountains. Just like a child, she would climb in, climb out, climb in, climb out until the pool was ridiculously dirty. She didn’t care.

We always said that it was Cody who lured Kayak into his
dastardly deeds, like eating pagers, electrical wires and racing off, because
she was smarter and more cunning, and always looked contrite as if to say, “I’m
sorry but Kayak is not.” After Kayak died, Cody found new life and probably
relief at no longer having to defend him.
She relaxed on her walks, loved to go to the Latina Taquiera on the
corner where the lunch crowd loved her and wanted to feed her snacks. “No” I said vehemently as Cody wagged
her tail and moved ever closer to the delicious looking food. People would stop us to chat, to ask
how old she was, to exclaim over her sweetness and beauty and comment that she
certainly did not look 13. Cody
agreed with all of this.

Cody worked hard at the end. She tried to get well, she continued to love, to wag, and to
cuddle, even when it was clear that we could not keep her, and she probably knew
that, too.

So, so similar to John Hope and Aurelia, yet so different,
Cody worked hard, she had her own scholarship and job-to protect Kayak, to love
us, to keep the family together, and to quest for more life, more freedom, more
knowledge of the world. How she
will be missed.