Appalachian song

On my last library visit, I was too dizzy to make coherent choices, so I let the books choose me. I got lucky with The Songcatcher by Sharyn McCrumb.

It starts in present day Appalachia, then travels back to 1751 where a nine-year-old boy, Malcolm McCourry, is abducted from his island home, the Isle of Islay, near Scotland. The tale chronicles McCourry's life and his descendants, moving ever closer to our time frame, while jumping forward intermittently to reveal the present day drama unfolding in yet another McCourry's life. Binding the story from beginning to end is an old Scottish ballad, "The Rowan Stave".

I didn't know (or had forgotten I knew) that George Washington had his troops inoculated against small pox. Of course, during the Revolutionary War, vaccinations were not what they are today. A scratch with a bloody needle contaminated with weakened smallpox germs had to be a scary prospect. Some got sick, some died, and some carried the contagion back home to their families. Still, a potential epidemic was avoided.

McCrumb adds interesting vignettes from the Civil War as she moves us forward in time with Malcolm's descendants. She, also, taught me about cosmic possums. I'll let you look that one up. I don't want to spoil all the fun.

The best part of the book for me was found in the Afterword when McCrumb revealed the main characters were real people she found while researching her genealogy. Yes, the amazing life of Malcolm McCourry actually happened! "The Rowan Stave", however, is not an authentic Scottish ballad, but was written for the book. I guess that would have been too perfect, altogether too much to hope for.

McCrumb corrected my outsider's pronunciation of Appalachia. I strongly believe that names should be pronounced as their owners wish. "Appalatcha" just doesn't roll easily off my tongue. I've heard and said "Appalaysha" far too long. I remember meeting a family whose surname was Taliaferro. "What a beautiful name!" I exclaimed, only to be met by puzzled stares. This family pronounced it "Toliver". Okay, their choice, but Taliaferro--Toliver? Some things are beyond my understanding.

For an interesting weekend read with a little history thrown in, try The Songcatcher.

Toads

This is Toadie, our resident porch toad. He's been hangin' out here this summer along with Jade, our porch kitty. Thank god, Jade doesn't see him as prey. Perhaps, she had a bad toad experience earlier in her life. I talk to him, but I can't say that he gets much out of our conversations. If I get too close, he hops away. My presence can't be good for his hunting. He probably just wants me to leave him alone, if he's even aware of me at all. O.K., he must be aware or he wouldn't hop away. Toads don't perceive objects the same way that we do. Their brains aren't set up like ours. They see what they need to see and react accordingly. I wonder what's out there that we're not seeing. Hmmm . . . .

This is one of our many back-yard toads. I haven't given him a name, but I guess I could use the same nomenclature for all of them. I do that with squirrels. All the squirrels in my yard are called "Charlie". Anyone care to suggest a toad name? It would have to be more original than "Toadie". Unfortunately, the dogs aren't as smart as Jade. I've had to wash Gracie's mouth out several times after she tried to catch toads. When I see puddles of drool dripping from her mouth, I know she's caught one. That hasn't happened in the last few weeks, so maybe she has figured out that toads just aren't as much fun as snakes. Anyway, I do love our toads.

All creatures are precious and beautiful in their own way. Look closely. Amazement and awe are guaranteed.

With love,
Serena

My Beautiful Day

I'll start with my visit to a new doctor, hopeful of starting a collaborative relationship which would lead me to a renewed state of health. This was not to be. Instead, I perused slick magazines in his waiting room for  two hours, then after a brief consult witih the man himself, I cut the interview off and walked out. It was an amicable parting. I apologized for wasting his time, my money was refunded (amazingly!) and I drove home feeling a bit shocked at things the doc had said, but proud of myself. It seems that I have learned something over the years. If a relationship isn't working for you, especially one that involves your money and your health, it's best to nip it in the bud. Just walk away.

The best part of this day was spent at home. I planted my grapefruit tree in the yard. This tree began its life as a sprouting seed I found inside my afternoon snack two years ago. The planting was sorely overdue, as she has been feeling sad in her oversized pot these past two months. I'll have to be diligent about watering her until she adjusts to the new locale, even as I imagine her roots spreading and rejoicing in her new-found freedom. Her old pot I filled with a peace lily rescued from work (while our porch toad kept a watchful eye). May they lead happier, more fulfilling lives.

After cleaning the bird bath, I was ready to head inside for a much needed shower when inspiration struck. I was holding a water hose, right? I tried to talk my hubby into some wild waterplay, but ended up dancing alone in my undies under the cold spray. For a few minutes, I was 8 yrs. old again, reveling in the magic of sunshine and waterdrops. Yes, there are advantages to living in the woods and thankfully, no photos were taken to capture the event.

There was more magic to this day--
I watched two lectures on The Brain from The Teaching Company, started a new book, walked my dogs, etc. A male hummingbird came to my window, alerting me that the squirrels had emptied his favorite feeder yet again. Just what we need--more squirrels hyped up on sugar water. Geez! As the day was dimming, I refilled all the feeders and heard geese honking their way across the sky above. What an altogether glorious day.

Happy to be,
Serena