Throughout her life, my mother loved birds. Songbirds, water birds, and birds of prey. She could spot a hawk from a mile off, as if she’d had some inner sensor alerting her to their presence.
My brother Ken and I often share pictures of hawks when they manifest themselves to us, especially on significant dates – birthdays, holidays, or times of concern. We often mention that we saw Mom sitting on a wire by the highway making sure our seatbelts were fastened and our doors were locked.
My children often share how much she meant to them – taking them to Dairy Queen for Cotton Candy Blizzards, making strawberry figs in the kitchen, taking walks along the beach. They called her Mimi.
Imagine the deep feeling of comfort when my daughter and I were leaving for the hospital from our hotel this morning and noticed, resting on the wire directly above the car, a hawk – seeing us off, assuring us that her spirit was right here with us in these tense moments of anticipating surgery. A tonsillectomy is rough surgery for an adult, but Mom’s spirit affirmed for us that we are on the way to better days ahead.
I’d parked the car with her guidance the night before. That inner voice told me, arriving after dark, to park near a light – not on the back side of the building, as had been suggested by hotel staff at check-in. I followed that voice. She is always steering me in all the right ways, right down to parking the car for safety and so she’d have a wire for a better morning greeting.
Even brief appearances and signs bring deep comfort to us! Mom knew how much this hello from Heaven would mean to us.
Today is my brother’s birthday, and I’m blessed to have him as my brother. He didn’t log in as me on my computer to type this – I’m writing all of this of my own free will.
One of the best gifts we can give our dad – and the best way to honor the legacy of our mother – is to get along. And we do, without any prodding or threats.
It hasn’t always been that way, though.
When we were little and played Matchbox cars, we fought a little bit over the purple car with yellow trim that we called Mrs. Wentworth. And once I accidentally knocked my mom and Ken as a baby off the bike by running into them when we were all out on a bike ride. Plus, there was that time he’d gotten a new roller donkey for Christmas, and he fell off and was crying in the middle of the Christmas festivities in the living room and no one was helping him up, and I was the closest in reach to him.
I think he’s forgiven me for all of that, and he’s turned out to be a wonderful person, despite the odds for Preachers’ Kids.
I’ll be on the road today, bound for the home of one of my grown children who did not have a tonsillectomy as a child and must have one as an adult – and who is also extremely limited in medication options.
The last time I was headed there for the surgery a few weeks ago, I got a call an hour into the drive. “Turn around, Mom, I have strepagain, so we have to postpone.” I could hear the tears and sheer frustration in this quivering voice – in this 8th case of strep since February.
So I did. I came back home to wait for the next steps.
Surgery was rescheduled for this week.
I’m praying for a smooth surgery, for a speedy recovery, and for this not to be so painful for my child. I hear it’s rough as an adult to have to undergo this particular procedure. We will, however, celebrate the silver linings – ice cream, milk shakes, and books. I’m bringing sketchbooks and art supplies, too.
All good vibes, thoughts, and prayers for safe travels, successful surgery, and for speedy healing are most appreciated. We’re looking forward to healthier days ahead, and we are grateful to live in the age of modern medicine.
We’d been camping one weekend a couple of years ago when we saw the most enchanting lights we’d ever seen on a neighboring campsite. They looked like little green fairies flying all through the trees.
“I wonder if I can find those on Amazon. I think we have to have those,” I told my light-loving husband.
“When have you ever not been able to find anything on Amazon?” he asked. “They’ll probably beat us home.”
Sure enough, we arrived home to our very own box of fairy lights.
My stepson says he thinks they’re the single most interesting purchase of all our camping equipment. He especially likes to see the lights stream through campfire smoke.
Fairy Lights
I can’t disagree. We use them in our own trees at home, and right now they’re upstairs shining down as a backdrop to the Christmas tree in our living room. In fact, I just ordered some for our grandchildren so that they can admire them just like we do.
We love white lights, colorful lights, and firelight. In fact, we’ve also recently discovered Campfire Colors, which take an average fire and make it like a box of Crayola crayon flames for about a half hour. It seems like only children might like these, but we’re two grandparent-aged adults who still love roasting marshmallows and admiring lights.
Fire with Campfire Colors on our Thanksgiving 2023 campsite at F. D. Roosevelt State Park
If you’re looking for that new item to add to your Christmas decorations and gatherings, these are two you may want to consider. You can find the fairy lights here on a Cyber Monday deal today, and the Campfire Colors here, also on a Cyber Monday deal. I do not profit from these sales, nor am I associated with these companies, but I wanted to share the fun we’ve discovered in two products that bring a sparkle of joy to our nighttime outdoor fun.
Boo Radley, Ollie, and Fitz hiking the red and white trails of FDR State Park in Georgia. I do not own the rights to this music.
Our time on this Thanksgiving getaway is coming to a close for now, but instead of starting the campsite breakdown as we normally do on the last afternoon of our camping adventures, we took an impromptu hike with the boys on the trails of F. D. Roosevelt State Park in Pine Mountain, Georgia. I’m sharing a video of their tail-wagging joy as Boo Radley, Ollie, and Fitz traversed the terrain.
We met another couple hiking, and the wife observed, “Looks like you have your own sled dog team!” I chuckled because I am always referring to them as our sled dogs. When my sister in law walked them with me this week, she was surprised by how hard they pull. I told her that if there were snow on the ground, we could put on skis and they’d pull us all around the campground. Truth.
Our Georgia State Parks offer different types of clubs for kayakers, canyon climbers, dog walkers, and cyclists. Tails on Trails seems like it would be a healthy challenge for the two humans belonging to these three canine trail enthusiasts for 2024, so already I’m thinking of working it into a yearly goal.
As we sat around the campfire last night, I turned on the green sparkle lights and watched them dancing like tiny fairies in the trees as I reflected on what I loved most about the week- being able to get away and enjoy time in nature with family, spending time with each other and with our dogs, and truly taking time to give thanks for our blessings. Time. Togetherness. Thanksgiving.
These are the parts of the week that meant the most to me.
I’m a fan of author Tom Ryan. My strongest reading personality is that of a non-fiction reader, where the reading takes me into the lives of people and places I may never meet or see in person. I also like fiction, but I believe that my life has been changed far more from the non-fiction reading I’ve ever done than from the fiction. Tom Ryan’s love of his rescue dog Atticus (a Schnauzer) in his book Following Atticus and his rich descriptions of hiking the White Mountains for a friend who was dying of cancer is just the type of book that grabs my heart.
The first question anyone asks me when I recommend the book is, “Does the dog die?” No, not in the first book. But the friend with cancer does, and Tom hikes and eats a vegetarian diet because he nearly did. Will’s Red Coatwas the second book by Tom Ryan, and of course this one holds a few more tears when he adopts an aging rescue dog and brings it to the summit – not just the mountain, but the summit of life itself. And if there were ever a beautiful dog death, Will experienced it.
I shared the books with my friend Jayne, but she’d had to wait a while to read them, since she was on the heels of a dog loss herself and couldn’t face the emotions. After a time of grief, she read them and loved his books so much that she subscribed to his Substack and also gifted me a subscription as well. Now we both follow Tom Ryan on his coddiwomples around the nation when he sets out on adventures with Emily and Samwise. I’m giving the gift subscriptions to the two of us this year – – we both find that his writing soothes us and gives us a sense of joy and peace – especially when he shares his videos.
I was reading a post a couple of days ago that he invited subscribing readers to make public after three days. You can read it here. As I was reading about the support for his Jewish readers by Christian readers who were requesting Hanukkah cards from him this year (he sends them out for certain levels of membership), I came to this sentence: “I’m right there with you, folks, and this non-practicing Irish Catholic will have my electric menorah in my window each night of Hanukkah.” He closed by stating he wasn’t sure whether this would help during such troubling times, but wanted to assure them that they were not alone.
That lit a spark in me, just like those Christmas eve candles that people light from flame to flame down an entire row until the whole church is glowing.
I made a decision right there to join Tom Ryan by doing the same thing. I ordered a menorah with candles that will sit on a table next to our Christmas tree. Let me make it clear that I’m not converting religions. Let me make it equally clear that I’m strong enough in my own religious beliefs that I don’t feel threatened by inviting another religious symbol into my home. That’s not who we are. Our roots of Christianity are firmly attached to Judaism with Abraham at the helm, and my belief system includes Father Abraham and his tribe as a part of the lineage so important to my own Christian roots. My arms and heart are big enough to reach out. We will embrace our Jewish friends, honor their beliefs, and pause to think of them and the injustices that they are suffering.
To set up a menorah with its candles that we will light beginning on December 7 is to embrace an entire culture of people under attack who cannot light their own this year. To light the candle each evening will be to hold sacred moments for innocent people who are under attack by those who are evil, who will never know the peace of a silent night.
I want to thank Tom Ryan for inspiring me to join hands with him and to be reminded that we are, all of us, able to make choices about how we respond to situations. In a world where we can be anything, we should at the very least be kind souls who stand by others, whether we practice their same beliefs or not. After all, I have to believe that Jesus, the King of the Jews, whom we serve, will be tearfully embracing us all as we share in the sorrows of mankind.
As I reflect on last night’s campground fire, I reflect back on Thanksgiving yesterday and the month of November with all its blessings, thinking of Gladys Taber’s Stillmeadow Calendar. Her books, many of them, are divided by month and season. To open November, she writes, “Teatime comes early at Stillmeadow now. I hang the kettle over the embers, bring out the toasting fork, and open the sweet-clover honey.”
The campground where we are staying is full. Driving through yesterday, we noticed a few empty spots, but as the evening progressed, campers slowly arrived and set up for Thanksgiving gatherings. It may seem odd that folks would choose to camp on Thanksgiving Day, but many of them may be going to feast with nearby relatives and prefer sleeping in their own space. Some may have dogs and find that travel is so much more affordable with pets when they can bring them along. Others, like us, feel a heightened sense of gratitude when we are close to nature.
So how does someone prepare a Thanskgiving feast at a campground, in the absence of an oven?
It takes a little prior planning, but the key is to keep the menu simple. We were cooking for 6 adults. My sister in law brought banana pudding from our favorite local restaurant, dressing she prepared at home, and a gallon of sweet tea, a half gallon of unsweet tea, and strawberries with dip. At the campground, we prepared the turkey, green bean casserole, rolls, sweet potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and cranberry sauce.
The turkey cooked all night on low. I purchased a Jennie-O Turkey Breast, 8.73 pounds, the largest size that would fit in my crock pot. I inserted a crock pot liner, then washed the turkey and placed it in the pot, skin side up. Next, I added about two cups of bone broth (not chicken stock, but actual bone broth) and then sprinkled half a package of dry ranch dressing mix over the top of the breast. Then, I closed the lid at 7 pm and set it on low to cook all night. We are inside a camper, so we do not have to worry as much about bears.
The turkey cooked all night, filling the camper with the great smell of a forthcoming Thanksgiving feast. Even the dogs could hardly wait!
The rolls and cranberry sauce may have been the easiest sides to prepare: King’s Hawaiian Rolls in a bag, and a can of Ocean Spray Cranberry Sauce did the trick. The sweet potatoes were steamed in the microwave in a bag. I purchased two 1.5 pound bags of Simply Perfect Sweet Steamers, which took 8 minutes per bag. We added a touch of butter, then sprinkled with cinnamon and turbinado sugar. The macaroni and cheese was also prepared in the microwave. We prepared a four-pack of individual microwave tubs and combined them in one bowl.
I brought an extra crock pot for the green bean casserole. Again, I used a crock pot liner and mix the recipe right in the bag, gave it a good stir, and set it on low for two hours starting at 10 a.m. I increased it to medium for the last half hour.
If you’re wondering how we run the microwave simultaneously with two crockpots, we pull extra power off the post outlet. Most campers can’t handle all that power, so we bring an extension cord and run it off the second outlet on the electric post. From there, we set up a small table and and outlet strip for the crock pots to keep doing their thing. This frees up the picnic table for us to gather and eat.
Thanksgiving Day was chilly, but we kept warm in the tent we placed over our picnic table, making our dining room! We used a small space heater to warm the area, and after dinner we moved outdoors to sit around the fire and talk before we had dessert. My sister in law plugged in her electric lap blanket to stay extra warm and snuggled in with one of the dogs.
I reflect on the day and count all of our blessings – family, health, dogs, food, warmth, and each other. And I look forward to closing my eyes and drifting off – the best kind of tired and happy!
Lately, I’ve been rereading Gladys Taber’s books, just for the sheer comfort they bring. I can slip through the veil of now and step back in time, to a day when things seemed simpler and more appreciated. My wish for you today is that you find a deep inner peace, full of gratitude for the simple joys on this Thanksgiving Day. Whether you share it with a multitude of people or alone, take time to reflect on the blessings!
This is from Stillmeadow Sampler.
Thanksgiving should be a time of prayer, of feeling humble, and of reaffirming our faith in God. When the grandchildren are propped up on the dictionary and encyclopedia and reach for a turkey wing, I look at them, and pray quietly that they may live in a world at peace.
***
But when I was growing up, the feast itself was more important. We never tasted turkey except at Thanksgiving, that was what turkey was meant for. We dreamed of it, rich, brown, savory with chestnut stuffing. The quivering cranberry sauce was only for Thanksgiving, too, and oh, the giblet gravy and the glazed onions and fluffy mashed turnips! Turkey for Thanksgiving was as special as the orange in the toe of the stocking at Christmas.
…
After grace is said, there is always a moment of silence at our table. What grave thoughts go through the minds of the younger folk I shall never know, but they have a quiet look. I think of all the Thanksgivings past, and of all the hopes for the future. Then the carving knife makes the first slice, and yes, the turkey is exactly done, tender, moist, rich. And pass the giblet gravy at once.
…
Later on, the table cleared and the dishwasher blessedly running, we can add an apple log to the fire and sit toasting our toes against the November chill, while the bowl of apples and nuts goes around and one of the family brings out the old corn popper. And I am always amazed at the fact that no matter how big the dinner is, around dark the younger members of the family get that hungry look again.
…
When the house quiets down, I have a glass of hot milk. Then I say my prayers and give my thanks to God who still makes Thanksgiving possible. On Thanksgiving night, I pray a long while for everyone all over the world who may not have a Thanksgiving.
***
These are words written on Taber’s farm in Connecticut 7 decades ago. I think of my own days of growing up, when grandparents came to our house and we ate at high noon, making memories with cousins and other family all afternoon. Board games, movies, desserts, and making Christmas wish lists (we did not wish for oranges).
Today, we are in a state park in Georgia and will later be joined by a few family members. We’ll eat our Thanksgiving feast in the early afternoon, hike a bit, and sit around the campfire sharing stories and sipping coffee and hot chocolate. And absolutely – we will roast marshmallows.
Be sure to check in tomorrow when I’ll share how to cook a Thanskgiving feast while camping, right down to a perfectly browned turkey. (And I don’t have an oven here).
Today is the final day of the November Open Write, but this is a fun form today. Fran Haley and I have enjoyed hosting this week. You can read today’s prompt at http://www.ethicalela.com here, or read below.
Title: Doggerel
Our Hosts
Fran Haley
Fran Haley is a literacy educator with a lifelong passion for reading, writing, and dogs. She lives in the countryside near Raleigh, North Carolina, where she savors the rustic scenery and timeless spirit of place. She’s a pastor’s wife, mom of two grown sons, and the proud Franna of two granddaughters: Scout, age seven, and Micah, age two. Fran never tires of watching birds and secretly longs to converse with them (what ancient wisdom these creatures possess!). When she’s not working, serving beside her husband, being hands-on Franna, birding, or coddling one utterly spoiled dachshund, she enjoys blogging at Lit Bits and Pieces: Snippets of Learning and Life.
Kim Johnson
Kim Johnson, Ed.D., lives on a farm in Williamson, Georgia, where she serves as District Literacy Specialist for Pike County Schools. She enjoys writing, reading, traveling, camping, sipping coffee from souvenir mugs, and spending time with her husband and three rescue schnoodles with literary names – Boo Radley (TKAM), Fitz (F. Scott Fitzgerald), and Ollie (Mary Oliver). You can follow her blog, Common Threads: Patchwork Prose and Verse, at www.kimhaynesjohnson.com.
Inspiration
We have enjoyed collaborating on this series of Open Writes inspired by the work of Poet Laureate Ada Limón! Next April, honor National Poetry Month with us by taking part in the discussion of Limón’s book, The Hurting Kind (you can join via Sarah Donovan’s new Healing Kind book club).
In the past few days we’ve written along many themes in Limón’s work: Family, community, belonging, nature.
Today we expand all that to include a celebration of our pets—in our case, dogs! We decided to end our Open Writes on a fun note.
Or should we say a punny note?
Time for some doggerel!
Process
Doggerel is intentionally bad poetry (what a relief)! Dictionary.com defines it as “comic verse composed in irregular rhythm…verse or words that are badly written or expressed.”
Many nursery rhymes are considered doggerel. Remember this?
I eat my peas with honey
I’ve done it all my life
It makes the peas taste funny
But it keeps them on my knife.
—Frequently attributed to Anonymous and Ogden Nash
Speaking of Odgen Nash, consider these lines of his:
I sit in an office at 244 Madison Avenue
And say to myself you have a responsible job, havenue?
Why then do you fritter away your time on this doggerel?
If you have a sore throat you can cure it by using a good goggerel…
Today, celebrate the pets (hopefully dogs) in your life with a short whimsical, silly, rhyming or non-rhyming verse. Perhaps a limerick…
or write some haiku
and if you don’t have a dog
—sigh. A cat will do.
Just have pun! Er, fun!
Fran’s Poem
A Bit of Doggerel in Honor of My Granddog, Henry
Time for a nap
time to recharge
if only for a bit
on a teeny-tiny pillow
that ain’t a good fit
this is what comes
of living large
Kim’s Poem
(Texts and verse written with Boxer Moon as he delivered wood and saw the dogs at my house – I asked if I could use our texts for doggerel, and this is what we wrote in our rural Georgia vernacular):
Fran Haley and I are hosting this week’s Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com as we prepare for April’s discussions on Ada Limon’s The Hurting Kind. You can read Fran’s prompt today here or below. Be inspired and come write with us!
Title: Birdspiration
Our Host
Fran Haley is a literacy educator with a lifelong passion for reading, writing, and dogs. She lives in the countryside near Raleigh, North Carolina, where she savors the rustic scenery and timeless spirit of place. She’s a pastor’s wife, mom of two grown sons, and the proud Franna of two granddaughters: Scout, age seven, and Micah, age two. Fran never tires of watching birds and secretly longs to converse with them (what ancient wisdom these creatures possess!). When she’s not working, serving beside her husband, being hands-on Franna, birding, or coddling one utterly spoiled dachshund, she enjoys blogging at Lit Bits and Pieces: Snippets of Learning and Life.
Inspiration
As previously mentioned in this series of Open Writes: Come April, Kim Johnson and I will be honoring National Poetry Month by facilitating discussion of The Hurting Kind, the most recent book by U.S. Poet Laureate Ada Limón(you can join us via Sarah Donovan’s new Healing Kind book club).
In preparation for this event, I came across a May 2022 interview with Angela María Spring of Electric Lit in which Limón speaks of inspiration for her book and the way humans search for community: “It’s the Earth and it’s the animals and it’s the plants and that is our community.”
What a glorious opening for birds today.
Over several summers past, I facilitated a writing institute for teachers. We spent a portion of one session crafting poems about birds, for, truth is, everyone has a bird story of some kind. Just as we went out for lunch, two doves flew into the building to land on the windowsill of our room. How’s that for symbolism?—and awe.
Process
Listen to or read the brief transcript of Episode 674 of The Slowdown, Limón’s podcast. Here she shares a poem by Hai-Dang Phan entitled “My Ornithology (Orange-crowned Warbler)”. Note Limón’s reflection: In observing birds and their world, we learn something true about ourselves. Experience Phan’s warbler up close and personal through every rich detail in the poem.
Now, consider what you’ve learned from birds in some way. Find a kinship. You don’t have to love or even like birds; you could contemplate the Thanksgiving turkeys sacrificed for your holiday table.You might go on a birdwalk or watch awhile through your window for birdspiration.
Explore birds and their lessons for your life in a short form like haiku, senryu, tanka, or a series of stanzas with the same number of lines. Invent a form! Phan uses three lines over and over. Consider how enjambment and varying sentence lengths can create bursts and phrases like birdsong. After all, poetry is about sound.
Play with form today. Let your lines sing.
What truths have birds taught you?.
Fran’s Poem
Harbingers
That Morning You Drove Me Home From the Medical Procedure
back country byway, winter-brown grass trees, old gray outbuildings, zipping, zipping past small pond clearing, wood-strewn ground bald eagle sitting roadside—too profound—
I thought it was the anesthesia until you saw it, too, before it flew.
And I knew.
On the Morning I Returned to the Hospital After Your Surgery
lanes of heavy traffic, day dawning bright our son says you had a painful, painful night dew on the windshield, fog in my brain all hope of moving past this gridlock, in vain but for the glory of autumn leaves, a-fire against cloudless blue where a solitary flier glides by, white head and tail gleaming in the sun…
Common Threads 