October days slide by smoothly, one golden day after another, as cooler weather moves in slowly. The nights are becoming a little nippier and a warm blanket feels good. After the morning fog burns off, the days have been warm and sunny with drifting . . .
Yellow leaves are falling in the slow-moving creek while yellow-eyed wild asters peer over the bank as if watching them float lazily along. Their long blue eyelashes reflect the blue of October’s sky, while the golden rays of the sun fall upon the . . .
The Full Harvest Moon shines in golden splendor as the first day of autumn fades away into the night shadows. Summer weather is still hanging on, but these cooler nights are a blessing. Thick white mist shrouds Pilot Knob at morning, but the rising . . .
A lone crow calls from the hillside above the camp, the only loud sound on this drowsy day. The low hum of crickets makes background music, while an errant breeze blows through the pines. There is change in the air.
Premature brown leaves drift . . .
When purple ironweed lines the roadsides, and the underbrush begins to turn yellow, it is time for the school term to begin again. Each year the yellow school buses begin their appointed rounds, up hills and hollers, across ridges and bridges, to pick . . .
A lone cricket chirps outside the kitchen door, a song of longing and sadness and foreboding. He knows his days are numbered, and summer is on the wane. The withered and dry grasses tell him so, while a cooler breeze is threaded though the yellowing . . .
The dusty-pink blossoms of the Joe-Pye weed droop over the road banks and warn us of summer’s passing—very, very soon. In the meadows and along the road the fragrant blooms of wild pinks (dianthus) decorate the scene and add their perfume to the . . .
Yellow and black swallowtail butterflies hover above the Rose of Sharon bush which is so loaded with double blossoms that the boughs are drooping downward. It does resemble a giant rose bush, with a mass of heavy, deep pink blooms. Although it is mid . . .
Dog days came into our hills hot and dry, with searing heat and crops begging for rain. It is a 40-day period which runs from the third of July until the 11th of August, with the hottest temperatures of the year. According to folk lore, . . .
Summer has exploded in our hills like a Fourth of July firecracker, with searing heat and high humidity. The widespread daisies are giving way to Queen Anne’s lace, bright blue chicory and showy orange butterfly weed. It already looks like midsummer, . . .
Twilight shakes a soft blanket of mist about the shoulders of our hills as night approaches at the close of this delightful June day. It has been a perfect day, with gentle breezes and warm sunshine—a tantalizing prelude to summer.
The fields and . . .
Light raindrops are slowly dripping down on the lacy white ash bush, which in turn scatters the drops on the peony flowers underneath the bush. The red and white peonies hang their heavy heads, while the continuing rain drenches them.
We are having . . .
Day fades away as evening shadows deepen, and white mist shrouds the side of Pilot Knob. Night is falling in the hills once more and the rain has ceased for now. The trails of vapor up the hillsides promise more rain in the offing. “Fog on the hills . . .
Mild and gentle May has spread her green skirts over our hills, and ushered in a delightful season of budding springtime. I recall Mom reciting a charming poem that I also learned in school. It was amazing how her mind retained many of the old poems.
. . .
Out in the forest, the May apples are unfurling their fairy umbrellas in anticipation of April showers. They have been scarce so far this month, but the grass grows greener and more lush each day. It is a thrill to meander through . . .
Minnie and I went out looking for spring yesterday. We knew she had arrived; the calendar said so, and the spring peepers had been announcing it for several days. We found a sign of her in the yellow Easter flower that Minnie sniffed, her little bobbed . . .
LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING
By William Wordsworth
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul . . .
March may have come in like a lamb, but he was wet, cold and sort of disgruntled at being sent out into the hills where snow still lingered. By the end of the week, however, we can expect him to return to his sweet, sunny nature. We may hear more growls . . .
Snow has become the dreaded word that shouldn’t be uttered in polite company, but it is a definite fact that it is going to be with us for awhile. My mind has been drifting back to my childhood and reminiscing over the things we used to do during . . .
Weak sunshine tries to warm our hills today, but is thwarted by bitter wind that sways the birdfeeder to and fro, while a bright red cardinal hangs on for dear life. There are scattered patches of snow in the shady places, and covers the fallen leaves . . .
After a spectacular snowstorm which tested our endurance and pioneer fortitude, the good Lord has sent us a few days of mild weather and some sunshine to brighten our days. Only a few isolated clumps of slushy snow remain to remind us that it is still . . .
MY CREED
To live as gently as I can;
To be, no matter where, a man;
To take what comes of good or ill
And cling to faith and honor still;
To do my best, and let that stand
The record of my brain and hand;
And then, . . .
The oldest of seven children; born on Big Laurel Creek in Clay County, West Virginia in 1935. Mother of six children; grandmother of 22, and great-grandmother of 23.
Born and raised in the country, and still lives on the same farm where she was raised. . . .
Dear Cousin,
The sun came up this morning, rising as always over Pilot Knob. It’s benevolent rays shone down upon our hills, burning away the misty fog that blanketed the deep hollows. The songbirds began their early morning greeting to . . .