After Thirty-two Years

After Thirty-two Years

It has been a long time since I picked up an artist’s brush and painted just for the fun of it. 

Thirty-two years ago, I felt I had to establish myself as an accomplished artist. I do not know if I ever made that rank, but my name went out, won several first place awards at art shows, and received the recognition I sought. When my name got into the local paper the name of my new business, B&B Printing and Advertising, also made it. 

My pen and ink drawings became the sought-after draw for advertising in real estate brochures, and line drawings found there place on countless church bulletin covers. All were printed by the new printer in Bedford.

This, my first try at painting for years shows, if nothing else, that I’m stale at it. I set out to achieve a more impressionistic look. I found myself falling into a traditional style.

The wall above the fireplace, at the cabin, needed something big and dramatic.

During the day, the lighting from the sun, or cloudiness, makes the painting evolve and bursts into colors.

Some of the detail reveals my attempt at impressionism. The opposites are there, golds vs deep blues, pinks vs bright greens, but not loose enough.

I made the frame and plan to change scenes. I plan to paint a winter scene, and one of spring. Maybe even some of our favorite places Carol and I have visited. 

Retirement is good. Now that I have fewer building projects planned, I can now get back to painting.

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IT NEVER CEASES

It never ceases to amaze me when I see the workings and discipline of nature. I believe our Creator shows us, in many ways, how we should depend on Him rather than on ourselves. I know He gave us the ability to reason, react, and perform to help to sustain, and to make a living for ourselves. However, mankind, with its selfish nature, cannot rival the harmony and balance among earth’s living creatures.

What I’m about to show is what simple nature has so powerfully revealed to me.

To line our driveway to our house, we have growing six dogwood trees, each more than twenty years old. Two weeks ago they were loaded with seeds, covered with a bright red fleshy hull, very beautiful to look at, especially when surrounded with still green leaves. 

One morning, after the sun had risen to above the tree line, I slowly walked to get the paper from the box. A cheerful clamor of high-pitched chirps fill the air. In the tops of trees, fifty yards away, an enormous assembly of starlings had gathered, readying themselves to fly south. With the brilliant pink and pale blue morning sky behind them, they flitted, hopped, and jumped trying to occupy every available inch of exposed twigs.

I’m sure they passed along a warning to keep an eye on the dude walking in the driveway.

On my way back from the paper box, having passed the first dogwood tree, I heard a sharp increase of fluttering behind me. I turned, and  began to witness one of the marvels of nature. I continued to slowly walk backward not making any sudden moves.

A small swarm, maybe three-hundred starlings, had engulfed the first dogwood and was frantically devouring the red dogwood seeds. As if by command, no more than thirty-seconds later, they all left the tree and reunited with their bothers and sisters in the trees fifty yards away. The birds had stripped all the seeds from the dogwood to within four feet of the ground. . . . I wondered why? For safety sake I suppose; predators could be lurking!

As I slowly continued walking backward, a new swarm of starlings engulfed the second tree eagerly consuming the tree’s seeds in the same manner and timeframe as the first group. The second swarm returned to the  black mass in the fencerow trees, leaving the dogwood stripped of its red berries.

I continued to inch away, giving the birds their space.

This went on, tree after tree, until all the berries of the six trees were devoured. The massive squall of birds had perfectly divided itself into smaller groups so all could partake of the feast in a mannerly way. 

Who directed these birds? Who gave these birds the compassion and willingness to share? Would humans have behaved in like manner?
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THE HEADLESS SQUIRREL

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You remember the blog post about my son standing on his mattress with a stethoscope held to the ceiling listening to a beehive in the attic? ("That's My Boy," March 12, 2012.) Well, amazing stuff continues to happen in that family.

After having succumbed to a continuous weasel attack the last time they raised chickens, my son and his family again have decided to get another bunch of chickens. This time they improved the housing and feeding routine to a new level of scientific methods. However, a fox has decided to outsmart their dog and pluck a chicken a week from the flock.

All that said, the chicken feed is stored in a clear plastic washtub and stored in the henhouse. The henhouse fencing now may keep a weasel out, but not the squirrels.

Recently, when feeding time came, the simple activity turned into a backyard disaster. Lo and behold, the see-through feed container contained a squirrel that had chewed its way into the bin. It frantically scooted about inside that container trying to find a way out. As not to confront the varmint inside the coop, the girl feeding the chickens pulled the container into the backyard. This excited the dog into a frantic rage and the squirrel even more into an elevated panic.

When the plastic lid was lifted, the show escalated to a point I would have paid to see it.

The dog jumped into the bin and wrestled the squirmy critter, chicken feed flying in all directions, until the dog had a firm grip on the intruder.

Well, the dog having won the battle, wondered off, with squirrel in mouth, to gloat over his triumph behind the shed.

It wasn't until later in the afternoon, when the dead, headless squirrel appeared on the back deck. Our ever curious three-year-old promptly picked the critter up, and carried it inside the house to show his Momma. The boy, holding the thing by one leg, sashayed into the kitchen, tugged on Mamma's apron, and proudly held his find up for her to appreciate.

At that point a panicked, screeching scream reverberated through the house bringing all occupants to see the cause for the high alarm call. With shattered eardrums, the three-year-old boy dropped the squirrel onto the kitchen floor and ran from the scene.

My son held his wife to keep her from fainting. Their daughter fanned her to catch her breath, their other daughter offered a glass of water. Their son respectfully removed the headless varmint from the floor and pitched it over the backyard fence.

When things settled down, everybody was accounted for except for the three-year-old. Where did he run to? The search posse spread out; to the basement, to the backyard, to the barn, to the bedrooms. No square yard in house or yard was un-searched. Finally, the kid looked up, with frightened eyes, from the corner inside the utility closet.

Whew!

ATTACKED BY NATURE

ATTACKED BY NATURE

Being attacked by nature is a challenge. A challenge that has been present since the beginning of mankind. 

Insects attack plants. Plants die and replenish the soil; a good thing. Animals each follow their own cycle.

I consider myself blessed to having lived long enough to find being attacked by animals not only a challenge, but a joy. I’m not attacked by them personally, but in a way that makes me want to outsmart the critters.

I may be able to outsmart the critters, but I’m certainly not smart enough outsmarting the forces of nature. That part is the Almighty’s doing, and I respect that.

Nature bows down in gratitude for the blessings from above.

Nature submits to the One that directs all.

When the squirrels first chewed the lid of the bird feed barrel and shoved it to the side, I placed a rock on the lid. The mice said to the squirrel, “Hey dummies, look at my hole, I can still get my share!”

I smiled and let them have the little they eat.

Then spring sprung, the ground warmed, peonies sprouted. They sprouted just under the bird feeder. Turkeys came along and scratched for morsels that had dropped from the feeder. In their exuberance they wiped out most of the new peony sprouts. I smiled and placed a few stones around the shoots.

The deer not meaning any harm survived the winter’s sparseness by plucking a few morsels from the evergreens near the cabin. Do I really think the Good Lord wants those plants to die? Nah. I smiled and said to myself, “They’ll only get bushier. I may place a net over them next winter.

Then the neighborhood beaver wiggled itself into our pond. He perused the setup and decided that the two year old willow tree would make a good snack. I smiled and said to myself, “I’ll get another one and plant it in the same spot, but I’ll wrap it in chicken wire and see if he’s game enough to use the wire for a little dental floss.”

Well, we did see bear tracks before. That always makes one feel they're living back in the 1800s. 

First we saw the bird feeder on the ground. “Strange,” we thought. No high wind swepped the mountains since the last time we came to the cabin. I was sure I’d mounted the feeder high enough off the ground as not to get whopped by a bear, but there it was, spent, empty. . . .I smiled.

My smile turned to a gasp when I walk around to the deck. There was sprawled the smoker, (my birthday present) all over the deck. “Maybe we did have a little wind after all.” I said to Carol.

“Wind––my foot,” I shouted when I saw the paw marks on top of the grill cover. Good thing the pine pollen gave the culprit away. Without the pollen, no evidence of a bear would have been positively found. The grill stands four feet of the floor. The paw marks obviously showed the brute was taller than the grill; and also tall enough to smack the bird feeder. I smiled. Case solved.

At least we don’t have to deal with evil, rebellious, self-serving, man living in the woods.

This well known creature no longer has the guts to accept the challenges offered and directed by the Almighty. 

Ear Buds vs Tree Buds

In the past I've made statements like, "I remember when one could hear a bee buzz twenty feet away and could not see it. Today one can see a bee three feet away and cannot hear it."

It is not only the drone of incidental noise in the air that contributes to not hearing, but also loud music, home entertainment, and being self-absorbed in gratifications.

"Stop and smell the roses," has more than one meaning. I know one can bend over and smell a rose, but does anyone see it for its beauty. The same for running, stop, take a deep breath and actually commune with God's creation.

A jogger may run right past blooming dogwoods and simply say,"Ah, nice white." Then just keep moving on.

As we run through life we miss the beauty that is free to see and enjoy. We run with our head down afraid to make eye contact as not to be forced to engage in a greeting, and Lord forbid, a conversation.

Look what one can see if we only slowed enough to walk:

All of a suden we see a painting, a composition, hear a tune in your heart. You have switched from self to something outside of yourself. Realizing you say, "What about that!"

Gee . . . you've stopped running. Now you've made eye contact with nature, a non-threatening image. An image one can easily smile at. You feel free - at ease. You realize this is what is missing in your life. "Be still and know that I am God . . . Ps 46:10" The Scripture says.

Uninhibited, you will want to get close. You will absorb something into your soul that has not entered for selfish reasons. You are open. "Speak to me," you say. 

So is it with God. Quit running, dismantle yourself, and listen.

Beaver Attack

Carol and I have worked hard to settle the cold and stormy depths of our Floyd County woods. Our beautiful pond is man-made which apparently upset one of the native inhabitants.

As you can see, last year we added a dock, a ramp by which to walk into the water, a patio to sit around the fire pit, and a weeping willow to eventually shade most of the patio.

Two days ago, as we pulled up to the cabin Carol hollered, "Look, look! What has happened to our willow?" The trunk of the tree was chewed in half making the top topple over. Only the middle was still tied to the post that kept it steady when the harsh winds blew.

As I snuck up to the situation a large critter took off and swam under the dock.

The monster temporarily left its dinner behind. You can see the tree did well and had several nice branches, now just nubbins. The white stick in the water is part of the tree. Its bark was all chewed off. White sticks littered the water all around. The bark must have tasted pretty good to the pig.

Mad at me, the creature circled his fallen prey telling me to get lost. At one time he smacked the pond with his tail to send a sound like a shotgun blast.

I got a couple of movies of the beast before darkness took over.

The next morning the remnant of the tree laid on the ground. Obviously he wasn't happy with part of his catch still hanging in the air. It must have taken quite an effort to yank the thicker than two inch trunk of the T-post stake. He even chewed more of the branches before his gut filled.

Well we heard coyotes howl and yap during the night, seen bear track, saw red foxes, fox squirrels, a bald eagle, dozens of turkeys. Now a four-foot long beaver.

Never a dull moment in Floyd County.

Brr . . . Lets Go Back A Month Or More

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Even the nandina is bowed in prayer.

The pines are hushed, drooping to shrink from the cold.

All wants to return in time when late summer breezes tickled and fluttered leaves and blades.

To a time when color was king . . .

To a time when warmth invaded the bones . . .

Dreaming of cattails and broom sage . . .

But . . . the time has gone.

We dream to enjoy once more. . .  Let us not forget who has given us every day, as He sees fitting for us.

I thank God and His Son Jesus for every breath, every step, and every day.  HAPPY NEW YEAR!
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Only The Lord Knows

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During our trip to New Zealand earlier this year, we saw and witnessed many wonders of the world.

One of the more intriguing displays of nature was on a beach in the South Island. On the atlantic side, near earthquake prone Christchurch, NZ, were scattered these strange and eery boulders.

These boulders were not only round on top, but round all over. Like giant five foot marbles.

Someone suggested they were formed like pearls in an oyster. Give me a break! Were are these giant oysters?

You can tell they appear to be glued together, then rolled until round.

Several lay there ready to break apart, and some were broken.

Not only did they lay in the surf, but were also thrown up against the dunes.

This multi-ton monster looked like it was just flicked with someones finger after He got tired of playing with it.

I think I'll ask Al Gore about that one. . . .


They called the place:

Mysterious Phenomenon

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I have never seen or heard of anything like this.

It is like a mass suicide. Millions upon millions of gnats floating dead on our lake.

Almost the entire lake was covered in this strange looking scum. The dead gnats appeared suddenly.

This cloud on the water you see are all gnats.

My educated guess is, the gnats swarmed, formed a cloud, flew over the lake, got blasted by a downpour of rain and drowned in the water.

What is amazing, all that is in God's plan. Let me tell you why I think it is.

With millions of gnats floating on the surface of the lake, thousands of polliwogs, or tadpoles if you will, came to feed on them.

Naturally, as the polliwogs feasted, the fish in the lake feasted on them.

Quite a wonderful cycle of nature.

I feel sorry for folks who try to find peace in the ways of the world. I consider myself blessed by finding peace in the ways of the Lord. The Word states: "Be still and know that I am God."

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Coping with the Aftermath

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Coping with life's unexpected struggles and calamities should almost be a welcome part of living.


First it teaches that we are not in control.
Then it shows us exactly what kind of a sap we are by believing we have it all figured out.
When an upheaval disturbs our comfort we have choices to make. We can either whine and complain, or we can rig, improvise, engineer, contrive or cobble together a temporary solution. After all, we are Americans.


Being able to live in a country where we have the freedom to invent and expand our ingenuity is a blessing. Just think of the billions of people around the world that have been stifled so long by oppressive governments that their willingness to improve is replaced by dependency.


I'm deeply encouraged by the generosity and willingness of neighbors, friends and family to help one another during these last suffocating days. The power outage and oppressive heat has truly brought out the American spirit. We are a compassionate people, and I'm sure an improvising bunch as well.


Before the heat struck, Carol's blooms stood tall and glorious.

Then the power failure. Just like all our wimpy friends we "suffered" without air conditioning. We packed up the frozen stuff and dragged it to the cabin which reportedly had power.

Once settled in and in bed for the night, a vicious lightning storm hit the area. We got sapped. No power. After a day of borrowing a neighbor's generator, we dragged all our food back to Bedford, which had restored power.

While in Floyd, we toasted our waffles on the grill and brewed our coffee directly into our cups.

Then for sure, before heading back to Bedford with bags full of frozen food, I had to take a dip.

Ahhhhhhh . . . .
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