Throughout my childhood, I was obsessed with one particular book. I spent hours on end reading it – – even took the flashlight into my closet so I could read it in there too and not be bothered while I was mesmerized. I not only fell in love with the words in the book, but also with the pictures – they were enchanting. I studied every detail of the pages in Childcraft Volume 1 – Poems and Rhymes – with the pink band on the gold-numbered spine.
One poem in particular was my favorite among favorites.
Overheard on a Saltmarsh by Harold Monro (14 March 1879 – 16 March 1932).
I lived near salt marshes in those days, on a coastal island in Georgia. I’d never seen any nymphs and goblins in the marshes, but I wondered – – could they really be there? How had I missed them?
Overheard on a Saltmarsh by Harold Monro
I fixated on the goblin and the nymph in the illustration. That’s a water nymph – – they often have plants growing from their heads, I learned. She’s not afraid of that ghastly looking goblin, either. She is confident in herself there in the moonlight, wearing her green gown and green glass beads.
That’s what I’d wanted to be when I grew up – a beautiful nymph with a shapely figure, wearing a flowy gown and green beads, telling my goblins NO.
And so to celebrate this St. Patrick’s Day, I will not sport a shamrock. I won’t wear a green flowy gown or drink a green beer or flash a Kiss Me, I’m Irish t-shirt or paint my face green. Or get a tattoo.
Instead, I have framed my favorite childhood poem and will nymphatically wear these green jasper beads.
Hush, I stole them out of the moon.
A framed childhood favorite poem, with green beads
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers!
Please join us at http://www.ethicalela.com Saturday through Wednesday for the March Open Write. We’ll be writing poetry for the next 5 days. Come write with us!
I was shopping in Senoia, Georgia (home of The Walking Dead) when I noticed all of the plants in one of the stores had names. I took photographs of the name tags and noticed a pattern – – they were all named for famous black women. I struck up a conversation with the owner behind the counter and learned that this shop was a local black-owned business. I enjoyed an added dimension of discovery as I thought of all the women who were being celebrated. It’s reassuring to see how far we have come as women over the past century, and I cheer minority women who have overcome obstacles and stayed the course all the way to success and smiles behind the counters of the businesses that they own today.
I’m taking this innovative idea of naming my fairy garden succulents, which will be the last picture in the lineup – with a fascinating history of the names that were selected for these tiny front porch gardens. First, here are 6 of the 17 pictures I took in the Greenhouse Mercantile, with links underneath to the women for whom each plant is named:
Earlier in the week, I shared my succulent garden and asked for help naming my new fairy gardens. Fellow blogger Fran Haley responded:
I would give one of these fairies a name from a baby’s gravestone I first saw when I was a child visiting my grandmother deep in the country (along the old dirt road, you know-). The name: Leafy Jean. I might name the other fairy Lacey Jane.
I loved the unique sounds of these sweet names with matching long vowels. I named the fairies Leafy Jean and Lacey Jane.
I wondered if I could find out a little bit of information about Leafy Jean, and so I looked on the Findagrave website and found the photo of this headstone for this baby girl “Gone Home”:
I’m betting this is the grave that Fran saw when she was with her grandmother. It’s located in Beaufort County, North Carolina in the Mixon Cemetery. Leafy Jean Wilson was born on a Sunday – Christmas Eve in 1916, two years after the Christmas Truce called between German and British Soldiers during World War II, when they set aside their differences and came together to play a game of soccer, wish each other Merry Christmas in their native tongues, and sing Christmas carols. The Christmas Truce came five months after the war began……and little Leafy Jean was five months old when she died on a Friday – June 22. I wondered at first if Leafy referenced an olive branch, a symbol of peace and goodwill, but looked it up and found that Leafy means “Relief.” In Hebrew baby names, the meaning of Jean is “Gift from God.” It’s a name of French origin, meaning “God is Gracious.” Leafy Jean had a brother named Leon Russell Wilson, who died when he was 1, one day shy of a full month after his sister, and less than a year prior to the outbreak of the Spanish Flu that started in February 1918.
My heart ached for these parents and these precious children.
I knew what I had to do.
I ran upstairs to the toy chest and fished out a few miniature figures. I explained to Lacey Jane that she would be moving to a different container, so we packed her fairy wands, her wishing well, and her other belongings for a journey to a new magical land.
We had to make room for Leon Russell to remain near Leafy Jean.
Thank you, Fran, for the creative names for these gardens. I will think of you as I water them and care for them! I’ll give an update on how they’re thriving on a Slice of Life Tuesday sometime this summer! Perhaps by then I will learn more history about these babies who now have a special place in my heart – and on my porch.
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers for giving writers voice and space
A couple of years ago, we had a full-fledged farm – goats, hens, roosters, dogs, cat, pig. Our pig ran off one day, and we sold our goats when I took a different position that would require more of my evenings for a time. When a developer broke ground about a mile down the road and began a dreaded subdivision waaaaaay out here in the country, we experienced an influx of displaced animals – food-freeloading foxes, cunning coyotes, and hungry hawks. One by one, our chickens started disappearing.
Don’t ever let anyone tell you that a hawk will not go into an enclosed space. That’s a myth. Even with chicken wire across the top of the coop, a determined hawk got in our coop and killed some of our birds. We ended up giving the last few away as an act of mercy until the wildlife on the move finished their great migration through here.
Now that the dust has settled, we aren’t seeing nearly as many predators as we did before. We do have two Great Horned Owls who have taken up residence in our trees and hoot back and forth at each other in the early mornings, but those are the only threats we have observed lately, other than the red-tailed hawks who swoop through to check in from time to time.
“Do you think we could spruce up the coop and try again?” I asked my husband a few weekends ago.
We got attached to our chickens in a way that didn’t happen with our goats or our pig, and we’d found ourselves sitting outside just watching the entertainment unfold every afternoon when we got home from work and would let them out for a few hours. Chickens are funny, and they have definite personalities. Pecking order is no joke.
My husband is a man who loves farm-fresh eggs, Smithfield original bacon, rustic potato bread toasted with butter and elderberry jam, and Eight O’Clock coffee two or three nights a week for supper. So when I’d asked about getting more chickens, I wasn’t surprised by his answer.
“Absolutely,” he replied, without hesitation.
“I’ll call my friend Laura with the Zoom-famous rooster and see if she has any chicks. We can build back from scratch.”
I wanted highly socialized chickens, and I was hoping she’d have some young chicks or some eggs ready to hatch soon. One of Laura’s extra-friendly roosters likes to come into the house and sit on the back of her chair as she is having Zoom meetings, and he is greeted just like he’s a voting executive who has read all of his minutes from the previous meeting and is ready to entertain a motion.
Turns out, Laura had eleven eggs in a brooder, ready to hatch within the week when I called her. She and her husband were going to be candling that weekend to see which eggs would produce. Nine of them hatched on my late mother’s birthday, February 19th. The other two never did.
There are seven hens and two roosters in this group of nine, and Laura texts me weekly updates on them. We can’t wait to bring them home later this month to introduce them to their new coop. For now, they are staying on Laura’s farm while they get a little size on them and we move into warmer days.
Meet our new babies! We can’t wait to bring them home to the Johnson Funny Farm! Get ready for picture overload and naming them once they come home to roost.
The first day I met the chicks at Laura’s houseLaura sends me updates on the chicks from time to time, with pictures to show how much they are growing. !
We’ll post plenty of pictures on homecoming day in about a week and a half, so stay tuned!
Throughout February, I worked on a plan to involve others in my blogging experiences this month. Today, my sister-in-law, Dr. Bethany Johnson, is my guest blogger on the benefits of Ecotherapy.
Dr. Bethany Johnson
Dr. Bethany Johnson is a professor of Sociology and Cultural Anthropology. She is a writing contributor for several online magazines, including Prime Women and Honey Good. Last summer , when working with @beginningisnow with actress Brooke Shields, she was selected as one of the 40 Most Influential Women Over 40. Currently, she is in the beginning stages of writing a book about losing unnecessary social expectations and rediscovering oneself. Please welcome Bethany today!
Mother Nature’s Healing Ability – The Benefits of Ecotherapy
Have you ever been feeling down, stressed, or just overall not feeling good and then gone outside for a bit only to begin to feel better? It isn’t a coincidence that being outside made you feel better. The answer to many of our physical, emotional, and mental lows can be found right beyond your door.
Ecotherapy is known as the practice of therapy that focuses on being outdoors and in nature. It is also known as nature therapy or green therapy. The term ecotherapy arose in 1992 when Professor Theodor Roszark used it in his book The Voice of the Earth. Many doctors (mostly functional physicians) are now using the connection with nature as part of protocol for getting healthier. Multiple studies have shown the benefits of being in nature. Many may say there is not enough research to validate this theory, however, there are enough examples of it working to make a reasonable connection.
A Dose of Nature a Day: Helps lower blood pressure Helps control diabetes Lowers stress and anxiety Rises energy levels, fights fatigue, and increases the quality of sleep Reduces depression Reduces the levels of ADD and ADHD Increases mental focus
Since I began studying the practice of ecotherapy, my experiences outside are so different. Each trip outside brings something different – even when I am in the same place. I now am very purposeful in slowing down and connecting with what is around me. Today, for example, on my walk I saw the bright white dogwood trees, I felt the sun warm my skin, especially my toes (which must have been cold from being inside and I hadn’t noticed until my walk), and off in the distance I heard a woodpecker. While walking, I first smelled something burning … wood. However, the wind shifted and then I smelled fresh cut grass. This is one of my favorite smells in the world and immediately took me back to my childhood living on the farm in Illinois! My walk tomorrow will be a whole new experience, and I can’t wait!
Gaining the benefits from ecotherapy is not difficult. You simply need to make time to get outside! The important aspect of ecotherapy is simply being outdoors and connecting to the natural elements. No matter what you are doing outside, be conscious of the fresh air you are breathing in, the wind or breeze blowing across your skin, the sounds that surround you (this is better if it is sounds of nature and not of human life). Make certain to acknowledge the colors that surround you. Look at the greens of the trees and grass, the vibrant colors of the flowers, the different textures such as the roughness of tree bark but the smoothness of a flower petal. Make certain to engage all four senses: touch, taste, smell and hearing. So, get up and get out!! Enjoy nature and heal your tired body, mind, and soul. Love to all of you!
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers for giving writers space and voice!
So I did. I’d purchased a shirt in November 2022 while in Anaheim for the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) Convention – royal blue in color, with a red heart and white lettering that says Your Story Matters. I took a picture of it and wrote a simple index card poem, 3×5, three lines with five syllables each:
Your Story Matters
you're a child in God's
great universe so
your story matters
Last week, I shared a post about the serendipitous steering currents of spirituality – those moments of confirmation along the way when we realize fully, without a fraction of a percent of doubt, that He is on the path ahead of us, beside us, and behind us, directing our footsteps and assuring us that He is at work in our lives and all around us, holding the pen, guiding His children.
In my travels this week, I was given the unique opportunity to visit one of my daughters and her friends who attend a devotional and women’s Bible study each morning as part of the continuing recovery and restoration of their lives. They rise early, get coffee, and come together for a time of meditation and devotion. After about 20 minutes of quiet time, one opens in prayer, and then shares insights from the devotion and quiet time, along with an I AM statement.
My daughter opened the devotions on this particular day. She had read a devotion about being a child of God, and how being born into a family of Christians didn’t buy her salvation any more than someone born in a garage made that person an automobile. Her place in the family of God comes only through her belief in him, confession of her sins, and desire to follow Him. She shared her focus verses for the morning – John 1: 12-13.
We went around the table, each sharing our thoughts, and when the last woman shared, she talked about the power of our stories in shaping others and encouraging them.
After the closing prayer, I opened my blog post and showed my daughter the poem. “Did you write that today?” she asked.
“No, I wrote this earlier in the week, ” I explained.
I wish I had a picture of her expression – a perfect photo of the serendipitous steering currents of spirituality.
As I was paring down my book collection (one of my goals this year), I discovered a surprise hiding behind a row of books. Last Christmas, Dad brought me a banker’s box full of family heirlooms wrapped in old towels – carnival glass, books, an antique milk glass lantern, silver napkin rings collected over the years, and a wooden cigar box. He’d wanted the towels back, so in my haste to get everything out of the box and return the towels, I’d set the items on the table to dust and polish later. Somehow, the cigar box ended up behind the row of books and managed to remain there for over a year untouched.
Imagine my surprise when I opened it to discover an assortment of Mom’s jewelry, along with my own beveled crystal earrings I bought as a teenager! I no longer have much of the sentimental jewelry that was given to me over the years, so these pieces from my past are pure treasure.
Angel Aura crystal earrings purchased when I was a teenager
The same week, one of my daughters sent me lepidolite and terahertz bracelets for their healing properties. Lately, she’s been learning a lot about crystals and gemstones from the rock hounding hobby she’s taken up in the Mojave Desert. Mom’s beaded jade necklace was among the cigar box treasures, and I can’t wait to explore the benefits of wearing these various stones alone and in combination with others.
Terahertz, Lepidolite, and Jade
I’ve asked my daughter to chime in on her unique hobby sometime in March, so stay tuned for more information about rock hounding and the benefits of using stones for healing and balance!
My dad, a pastor, frequently travels back to former churches to officiate at weddings or funerals or to serve as a guest speaker. Sometimes in our early morning conversations, he shares updates about people and happenings along his always-interesting encounters. Recently, we got on the topic of the serendipitous steering currents of spirituality – – those seemingly innocent coincidental moments when you realize that divine intervention has put you exactly in the right place at the right time, where long-awaited answers or answers to questions you never asked come when you least expect them.
Throughout his career, Dad collaborated with his own preacher father on a number of sermons, including one about Joseph of Arimathea. He’s recently been going through his files, deciding which hard copies to keep and which to let go. He’d set this one aside, pondering all its possibilities.
Later that same week, he’d returned to a former church for a funeral when a member asked if he remembered that particular sermon on Joseph of Arimathea he’d preached two decades earlier.
“Yes, Charles, ” he answered, “I do remember that sermon. I’ve preached it probably ten times in my career, and it’s interesting you’re mentioning it – I’ve had it on my mind lately to become part of a series I’ll be preaching in the coming weeks.”
Charles paused briefly, then shared, “It changed my life.”
The serendipitous steering currents of spirituality come when we least expect them, whether we’ve searched the clouds looking for answers to burning questions in words written like skywriting from airplanes or whether we never even got as far as asking the question and felt only the gentle nudge that caused us to set aside an idea to return to it later.
And no matter how they establish their presence, we recognize these divine connections and welcome them as guiding lights along the path.
It may seem strange to have so many One Little Word reminders in my life. Remembering to pray should come naturally and not require all the visual nudges I have placed strategically in my sights. I find, though, that my word permeates my life more when I am constantly face to face with it. Pray. An action verb that bears repeating. Again and again.
To some, I may look like a Holy Roller. Anyone who knows me well will assure folks I’m not.
I wear a bracelet with a prayer verse on my arm, place a small prayer card over my visor, have a painted rock on display at my work computer and a sticker on my laptop, have a black wooden word cutout in my kitchen windowsill, and a painted tile in my bathroom window. Despite the high visibility of my word, there are days I need it to flash like Swarovski-studded Christmas tree lights to remind me to engage in conversation with God – to listen, to ask, to seek direction, to ask forgiveness, to beg for an attitude adjustment or for Him to help me hold my tongue in this phase of 56-year-old-female life when what comes up comes out in hormonal hot flash bolts of venomous scorpion-stinging lightning.
When my phone rings in the early morning hours, I don’t panic and wonder what in the world has happened. A feeling of calm prevails. Things are as they have always been. There’s Dad.
I have a story I need to tell while it’s fresh on my mind, before I forget, he tells me. I grab my pen, the closest piece of paper, and listen, feverishly writing all that he shares.
It was back in the old days in rural Georgia when I was preaching at Ohoopee, he began. This was down around Highway 19, where you’d go through Wrightsville, meander over to Tennille, and then on out to Sandersville, where there were cotton fields everywhere and all the roads were red clay. And Ohoopee was a church of miracles. A cured drunk who loved the Lord led the singing, and the first time I stepped in there, they were singing “On Jordan’s Stormy Banks,” only he pronounced it Jurdan’s. And, as they say, “he weren’t wrong.”
There was a fellow by the name of Noah in the church, married to a lady named Nora, and Noah was having trouble finding where to dig his well. He needed help finding water. And back in those days, people were people and folks’ existence was all about helping their neighbors out.
Another couple in the church, Elvis and Helen, heard about it.“I’m coming over to hope you out,” Elvis told Noah, and when I heard that, I went over there too.
It wasn’t uncommon in those days to hear regional idioms and think of them as words misspoken, but these weren’t misspoken words – this was intentional language packed with meaning. Elvis was coming to hope his neighbor out.
Elvis said he had a divining rod – a hickory branch – that he could use to help him find water. Now Kim, believe what you will, but Elvis walked the grounds with that stick, and suddenly it tremored. I saw it with my own eyes. Right there, he said, was water. They marked the spot for the well and dug right there.
“Where exactly was this spot?” I was curious and had to know.
They called this area Possum Scuffle, he explained. It was back over in Harrison by Raines Store where they called it Deep Step and Goat Town, where a lady named Margaret Holmes had a cannery for black eyed peas and collards. They were the best you could get then and still are today.
“I believe you, Dad,” I assured him. “I’ve read about this. It’s a real thing.”
I had flashbacks to visiting the Foxfire Museum in Clayton, Georgia at the foot of Black Rock Mountain last April, where I saw in the holler the ways of a simpler way of life with a harder work ethic and more relying on God to bless the land – and people depending on each other – and wished that part of the world still existed.
Who am I to doubt a divining rod?
Now, I’m telling you all this because I’ve had one of those mornings where I’ve been playing with words, and I know you do the same thing, he continued. I’m still dwelling on the shipwreck passage in Acts 27, and there’s a Biblical connection I’ve discovered. Luke is the most likely author of the book, and he describes the ship being in a storm out in the Adriatic Sea near Malta. They used stabilizing ropes. In mariner’s terms, these are called hawsers. Today, we also call them helps, or help ropes.
I began to see where he was going with all of this. “Ah, I see. So hoping someone out is like using a help rope. Help is a hope rope.”
Exactly, he confirmed. Hope ropes tie it all together and make things possible. In Acts 27, the imperiled ship could have been dashed, save for the hope ropes.
That’s exactly what we need today in our communities – – to hope our neighbors out. We need to adopt the mindset of rural Georgia thinking back in the good days when folks extended not just a hand, but their whole selves – – divining rods and all.
Dad holding my brother Ken, with me (blue dress) and a friend (yellow dress) on the steps of Ohoopee Baptist Church, 1972
Today’s guest blogger is my father, Rev. Dr. Wilson Felix Haynes, Jr. Pray is my One Little Word for 2023, so I asked him to share several of his favorite volumes on prayer.
The oldest biblical book in our canon contains key questions about life. From Job, we hear this question: “What profit shall we have if we pray unto him?” (Job 21:15). The topic of prayer has been explored by almost every great saint, theologian, and author of the great Christian books. I have procured many of these books, read, and reflected on them. They have left a deep imprint upon my life and thinking. Four of these volumes are particularly noteworthy.
First, I think the single best is The Meaning of Prayer (Association Press, 1916) by Harry Emerson Fosdick, the well-known “liberal” preacher whose pulpit was the Riverside Church of New York City (built by John D. Rockefeller). I read this volume during my Seminary years after the reading of his autobiography The Living of These Days. The book followed a period of depression in Fosdick’s life. Beyond those days, the impact of his life was incredible. This well-arranged book is the best purchase anyone can make to enhance biblical knowledge and provide the very best instruction about prayer. Harry Emerson Fosdick, I am proud am proud to say, has been a vital mentor in my life of continuing education.
The second is The Prayers and Meditations of Samuel Johnson. The first edition was in 1785, and it has been published subsequently in many other editions. The striking thing about this volume is that this testy old doctor was so honest and self-revealing in his “diary” parts of the book. These written prayers may become guiding forces for us in our own journeys. Incidentally, Fosdick quotes Samuel Johnson in the first sentence of his book on the meaning of prayer.
The third volume is The Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence (Nicholas Hermon). Brother Lawrence was born in poverty, served as a soldier, and thereafter joined a community of Carmelites in Paris in 1666. He died at age 80, and his letters were published in 1692. The primary essence of Lawrence’s thinking was continued awareness of God. I offer a couple of quotes to whet the appetite to read his letters:
“The most Holy and impactful practice in the spiritual life is the presence of God-that is, every moment to take pleasure that God is with you.”
And this:
“I have abandoned all particular forms of devotion, all prayer techniques. My only prayer practice is attention. I carry on a habitual, silent and secret conversation with God that fills me with overwhelming joy."
Lawrence’s main job in the monastery was in the kitchen, where the lyrical sounds of pots and pans only elevated his communion with God. He said. “I turn my omelet in the pan for the love of God.” Whenever I’m in the kitchen, I try to model what Brother Lawrence did.
A forth book is Thomas a Kempis’ The Imitation of Christ. Matthew Arnold said, “Next to the Bible, this is the most eloquent expression of the Christian life ever written.” A classic. Mark Twain once said, “A classic is a book everybody talks about, but nobody reads.” Change your mind on this thought. You can find an audio version of The Imitation of Christ, which greatly enhances the reading process. This is not a book to read from cover to cover, but more of a daily vitamin. Read a portion, percolate on the thoughts, and perhaps journal your impressions. The Imitation of Christ is a compelling meditations journey which prompts prayer – a searching call to imitate the way of Christ, to learn to embrace His virtues, and to stir reflection.
Common Threads 