Category: Fundamentals

Redbuds bloom on the Dogwood Trail (click on any image to enlarge) 

 

I am delighted to submit this post from April 2020 for this week’s Sunday Stills Challenge. Please use this link to view Terri Webster Schrandt’s blog Second Wind Leisure Perspective.  Her post on plant life features some amazing photographs of flowers and plant life in the upper northwest.

In March, we decided to cancel an RV trip to the west coast. It was well-planned and eagerly anticipated, but suddenly overtaken by the virus pandemic. Helen and I were (and remain) very disappointed, but we were not alone. RVers all over the country experienced the same disappointment.  Some RVers, particularly full-timers, lost their camping spots when campgrounds closed and left them to seek sites elsewhere.  Hopefully, those poor souls managed to find a port in this storm.

At the time, I vowed to make the most of the circumstances and pledged to do several things—some inside the Corona Cave, but most away from it. First, I promised to continue toward my goal of losing 25 pounds. I accomplished that goal last week and will stay on a maintenance program until the chocolate cravings subside.

Second, I promised to dedicate at least two hours a week to exercise.  Our classes at the local YMCA shut down, which was almost as disappointing as canceling our trip, but there are numerous ways to work-out, and a few of them made it into my daily routine.  My bicycle left the attic for the first time in over a year. I put it to good use and had a delightful time on a lovely spring day.

Because I am determined to improve my camera skills, I made a third vow to use this time to learn as much as possible about the equipment I have and the tools available to novice photographers like me. Suzanne, of Picture Retirement, sent me a link to an immensely helpful video and got me started. Ingrid, of Live, Laugh, RV, suggested another series of videos that proved very useful in learning more about my new camera, a Lumix DMC-FZ300. As a result, I have devoted time to study and learn almost every day since we canceled our trip. 

Oh, I also promised to clean, stain, and seal our woefully neglected deck, but Helen helped me with that.  Thanks, Honey!

Every year at this time, our region comes alive with blooming flowers, shrubs, and trees, and we celebrate the arrival with our annual Dogwood Arts Festival, an event that began in 1955. Artists from this area and beyond come to have their works judged and showcased for all to see. Musical artists are featured as well, and performances take place in almost every venue in Knoxville. In addition to art and music, our blooming plants take center stage on the many Dogwood Trails across our city. Festival officials encourage visitors to drive along the designated trails and view the blooms.

Unfortunately, the Dogwoods Arts Festival is primarily a virtual event this year, but the Trails remain open.  I decided to combine a couple of my recently pledged pursuits and spend a day walking the trail for exercise and taking pictures of the gorgeous spring flowers on display. I have shown a few of them here, both above and below. Some pictures are better than others, but, hey, I’m still learning.

Helen and I walked one of the featured trails, the Sequoyah Hills Trail, several times in recent days. We maintain proper social distance from other visitors since we’re on the endangered species list.  The flowers are astounding and made for a beautiful experience on each visit. I love azaleas, and they did disappoint this year. The tulips are as beautiful as ever and, the cherry trees have so many blossoms, the limbs bow under the added weight. A beautiful Wisteria also fluffed up its purple stuff for us.

As the name suggests, Dogwoods also live on the Dogwood Trail, and ours are out in abundance. We have had some warm weather recently and some of the Dogwoods are past their peak.  This makes for some tricky timing for Dogwood Festival organizers.  Helen’s Dad once served as chairman of the event and he felt that if the date of the festival was  around the 15^th of April, festival-goers would always have Dogwoods in bloom.  This year’s festival is scheduled to begin April 24^th, and finding blooming trees could pose a challenge. Nevertheless, the Trails are open, and I’m happy to be walking them.

We observe Easter this Sunday and I am reminded of the Legend of the Dogwood as I stroll along the Trail. Most readers know this story but I want to post it here.  Dogwoods are a species that grows primarily in the south and some may not be familiar with the Legend.

The Legend of the Dogwood Tree

Author Unknown

When Christ was on earth, the dogwood grew
To a towering size with a lovely hue.
Its branches were strong and interwoven
And for Christ’s cross its timbers were chosen

Being distressed at the use of the wood
Christ made a promise which still holds good:
“Not ever again shall the dogwood grow
To be large enough for a tree, and so

Slender and twisted it shall always be
With cross-shaped blossoms for all to see.
The petals shall have bloodstains marked brown
And in the blossom’s center a thorny crown.

All who see it will think of Me,
Nailed to a cross from a dogwood tree.
Protected and cherished this tree shall be
A reflection to all of My agony.”

With all that’s going on around us in this most unusual time, the Dogwood, and the cross represented by its blooms, reminds us of where to look for hope, strength, and brighter, better days ahead.

Happy Easter everyone. We’re on the trail…just Easin’ Along.

 

 

Author’s note: One of my New Year’s resolutions was a pledge to send a letter to one of my four grandchildren every week. Last week, I mentioned a reply from my granddaughter about how excited she was to meet Smoky, the travel trailer we would be bringing to her and her brother.  I mentioned her letter in last week’s post and received a comment from Mary who authors Reflections Around the Campfire, a well-written travel blog I follow.  Mary suggested that I send our grandchildren on the West Coast a letter from Smoky, who would not be making the trip now due to the COVID-19 pandemic.  I took Mary’s suggestion.  Here is a reprint of the letter from Smoky to our granddaughter. This was her week.

February 23, 2020

Dear Big Daddy’s Granddaughter,

First, let me introduce myself.  My name is Smoky, and I am the new trailer that BeBe and Big Daddy planned to bring to California and give to you and your brother.  Trailers are made to travel and I was so very excited that I was about to go across America to meet you and take you camping.  Big Daddy tells me that those plans have changed and that it might be a while before we get to meet.  When I heard the news, I told Big Daddy that I would write this letter and let you know how disappointed I am.

Big Daddy spent a lot of time getting me all dressed up and ready for the trip.  He peeled all of the stickers off of my sides and then rubbed and rubbed until all of the glue came off too.  I have to tell you that all of that rubbing tickled my sides.  I tried not to laugh, but that is hard to do when someone has their fingers in your ribs.  Have you ever had someone tickle your ribs? I bet you have. After all of the glue came off, Big Daddy spent a lot of time putting a fresh coat of wax on me too.  I put a picture of me for you to see.  Don’t I look great?

Although trailers don’t get sick, I will have to stay at my home in the storage lot until BeBe and Big Daddy can take me out again.  That makes me very lonely.  Sometimes, I turn on the new TV that Big Daddy put in my kitchen so I can watch cartoons, but I get bored after a while and find myself wishing I could go camping with my friends like Timmy Trailer, Carla Camper, Teddy Truck, and Vickie Van. Here is a picture that I took on our last big camp-out. We had a great time until Teddy had a squirrel get under his hood and started running around inside. He cracked up and stuck a roasted marshmallow in his windshield.  Most of us laughed at him, but Teddy doesn’t like to get laughed at and he pouted for hours.

There are other trailers in the storage lot, but most of them are a lot older than I am and all they do is worry that their grandchildren are ok. BeBe and Big Daddy worry about all of their grandchildren constantly.  I’m too young to have grandchildren, but I really hope and pray that you and your brother stay well, wash your hands often, and stay home until all of this passes.  I’m sure it will pass soon. BeBe and Big Daddy are using a lot of hand sanitizer after they go to Trader Joe’s or the drug store.  I think that is a very good idea. 

I will close my letter now.  Once again, I’m sorry that I won’t get to see you for a while, but I promise that when we do go camping, we will have a wonderful time. When that happens, I can truly say that Smoky will be a very Happy Camper. 

Until then, I will think of you often.

Smoky

 

 

 

P.S. BeBe and Big Daddy love you and miss you muchly and can’t wait until we are all Easin’ Along together!

 

The story I am about to tell to you is not the whole story because I was only on the periphery for most of it.  In the beginning, I was a babysitter; in later chapters, I was just a facilitator on the way to becoming a strong advocate.  Forty years ago, six lovely ladies went on a special trip to a happy place and have returned every year since. Their most recent trip wrapped up last week.

What I know about the story is limited to what is shared with me every year—most of what happened in Hilton Head stayed in Hilton Head.  Nevertheless, I can tell you that the framework of the story centers around six busy ladies wanting to get away from the demands of making life easier for husbands and young children and go to a place where life moved at a slower pace.  I am confident that they let their hair down a bit, but, as you can tell from the pictures, they are mostly a short-haired bunch.

 

In 1980, Anne, one of six young Moms living in the same neighborhood, was offered the use of a beach house in Hilton Head, SC, owned by her parents.  Her mother said she would babysit Anne’s three children while she and her husband, Ralph, went away for a long weekend.  For reasons long ago forgotten, Ralph didn’t want to go and, Ralph never got another chance. Not one to waste an opportunity (or anything else for that matter), Anne invited five Moms to share the house, and, thus, a tradition was born.

I remember well that first trip.  The moms gathered in Posey’s driveway all a-twitter with excited anticipation.  Anne’s well-traveled Volkswagen van was filling quickly with luggage and “supplies” (code for wine). Standing alongside were several husbands and young children, some not yet informed that Mom was about to disappear for a few days.  The Moms moved quickly lest a disgruntled babe cast a pall over the departure. Husbands held their breath—cancellation was not an option. The van pulled out.  I’m not sure I even got a wave goodbye. I do remember what happened next.  Within ten minutes, my youngest fell and received a cut requiring stitches.  I spent the afternoon in the pediatrician’s office with a three-year-old screaming for Mommy. As a footnote, the van died every time they stopped and the ladies had to push it off before they could continue on their merry way.

After that first trip, I learned that Hilton Head was declared an annual event. I asked if this was open to discussion.

“Only among the six of us,” came the rapid reply.

Since that first pilgrimage, the only decision was not if Hilton Head was on, but when. The hard and fast rule was that the departure date became established once every participant had a clear calendar in the same week, usually in the spring. Over the years, many girl’s nights out were necessary to nail down the date of this event. The trip dates ranged from October to April. 

There was one constant in all of those trips—lots of fun and lots of laughter. One of the stories I’ve heard often concerns the time that a generous soul paid for dinner at one of their favorite restaurants.  Suddenly, there were funds in the budget for another bottle of wine. I learned many years later that it was Helen’s turn to drive home that night and mistakenly drove down and through a grassy median instead of the proper access to the other side of the highway. Howls of laughter filled the rear of the van. Thankfully, Uber has taken Helen’s place at the wheel.

There was the day when all rode bicycles to lunch. A sudden downpour threatened to soak everyone to the bone on the way home, so the restaurant owner gave them each a plastic bag to wear in place of a raincoat. I have a picture as evidence.  They still comment on how cute they were.

Many birthdays were celebrated on those trips. One year, they celebrated Conni’s birthday by hiring two young, handsome, kayak guides to lead them on a kayak expedition through open water to a house owned by Anne’s brother. When they arrived, Brother met them with a tray of glasses filled with champagne.  Hours later, the float trip home was a lot more fun.

This year, they decided to add a small amount of levity to the seriousness of the coronavirus situation and decorate face masks should they be necessary. Here’s the picture of that undertaking—cuteness reigns.

There have been many changes in forty years.  At first, the event took place over a long weekend. Not surprisingly, it has now stretched to a full week. A new rental replaced the Volkswagen van…still filled with luggage and supplies. Husbands are not required to babysit any longer. In the beginning, they always rented bicycles. This year, they rented tricycles for the first time.  The word is, the trikes were a hit.

The changes didn’t affect every aspect of Hilton Head. Helen continues to take a jigsaw puzzle every year. Anne paints and shares her skill by giving classes to all who want them. Posey and Beth keep everyone in good spirits, and Priscilla remains the resident authority on sports and sends out an alert if a game or tournament is on television during the stay. Everyone contributes their favorite recipes and demonstrates their cooking skills on nights spent in the beach house.

I don’t know much more than what is shared here except that as soon as one trip ends, planning for the next one begins.  I consider that a beautiful tribute to friends and friendship and the love, regard, and respect that each has for the other. Forty years is a long time, even for the happiest of habits, and I think each would agree that time sure does fly when you’re having fun.