I’ve been reflecting on the Route 66 trip we took with my husband’s brother and sister-in-law in June 2023 and all the amazing memories. So much of it was food-related, and the relaxed-paced time we spent with each other around tables telling stories and sharing life is what I enjoy so much about travel without a strict itinerary. John Steinbeck got it right in Travels With Charley – “we don’t take a trip; a trip takes us.” At my favorite little cafe in Adrian, Texas, I had a piece of pie that I think I’d pay a hundred dollars for if I were offered one right now. The Midpoint Cafe is one of those places with a distinct authentic cultural flair and retro furniture that awakens a back-in-the-day vibe. Our server, whose aunt makes all the pies from scratch, told us stories of growing up right there on that land with its windmills and vastness. I wrote a reverse nonet poem today in reflecting – nine lines, with syllables of the line number on each line counting down to one.
I love hearing others’ stories of slow-paced travel, memorable moments, and food. Please share a favorite in the comments if you’re reading today.
We had a local poet come to our town square coffee shop to talk about his collection of poetry in his book Dust. Ethan Jacobs, a graduate of our high schools and Auburn University, shared his inspirations and writing processes, and he held an audience spellbound for a half hour with his poetry. What a gift! Ethan majored in Education but chose to follow his passion of woodworking as his career path. We are so proud of Ethan.
I’m especially proud of him because one year prior to his reading, I sat in this very room with him to record several YouTube shorts of him reading his poems when his book was still a dream coming together. It was a glorious moment to see him holding his published book in his hands as he shared with his audience of 16 people ranging in age from teenagers to attendees in their 80s. I’m sharing a couple of those clips at the end of today’s post (we made QR codes of the videos and placed them in small frames around our county so that people in restaurants or places of business could scan them and discover a poem; and a few were even hidden in plastic Easter eggs!).
We’ve decided on our town theme for National Poetry Month this year.
Awakenings.
It goes with our coffee shop, the hub of our sharing, and the rural spring buds and blooms and greening of the world waking from winter.
And, perhaps, it calls to the inner poet.
Ethan reads from his book Dust
We gave attendees a time to write at the end of the evening. Here is my elfchen:
Awakening
awakening sunshine streams coffee brews ~ I leap into life......caffeinated, ready
Saturdays in 2023 are still savory. We begin the day with coffee and a bite to eat somewhere before spending the day together. We are blessed that our jobs allow us to have some common weekend time to get out and enjoy life, and we don’t take that for granted!
Smitty’s in Woodbury, Georgia was our choice on Saturday. Our friend Bob Oxford owns this restaurant, and his brother Mike helps out on weekends. Their mother, “Miss Jewel” Oxford, was the oldest living member of Concord Baptist Church, where we attended years ago. Her fried pies were delicious, and Bob still makes those pies from time to time, taught by the best! When I served on a pastor search committee with Bob, he’d bring those pies to the meetings, and they went lickety-split!
I enjoy rereading some of my rural life go-to books occasionally as we wait on our breakfast to arrive. Yesterday’s choice was Stillmeadow and Sugarbridge by Gladys Taber and Barbara Webster. Their exchange of letters from the 1950s between their homes in Pennsylvania and Connecticut describes country living at its finest. I like to feel part of that, particularly when my biscuit is made from scratch that very morning, and with each bite I think of the simple joys of rural life not afforded in big cities.
We also made a rare discovery: Georgia peaches! Most of Georgia’s peach crop was lost this year, so coming by Georgia peaches has been close to impossible – – until yesterday! We stopped at a produce stand in Woodbury and found them. I bought two large baskets to slice and eat with our yogurt this coming week. It’s breakfast today, before tuning in to You Tube to hear Dad preach at St. Simons Island First Baptist Church. Our son and his family, home waiting on Baby #5 to make her appearance, will be watching, too!
Our time yesterday was spent driving and birdwatching. My husband is a former deputy in the county where we live, and as a current elected official, he also enjoys time to get out and ride the roads to check conditions and washouts on the dirt roads. We both love this quiet time for different reasons, but it works all the same. He reminisces about the experiences he’s had here throughout his life, and I watch and listen for birds.
Way back in the day, Flat Shoals was filled with hundreds of people on weekends (“mostly drunk,” my husband added, thinking back on the times he had to respond to calls out in this area). It was a popular place to bring a cooler and an inner tube or raft and find a spot in the rock shallows on the shoals to stay cool all weekend. Today, you might see a few fishermen angling to stock their freezers for the next fish fry.
We were there for the birds.
I logged seven new species in the county yesterday along the waterways here at Flat Shoals. Through birdwatching and long Saturday drives followed by coffee together in the morning, I find that I get through the stress of the work week better when I know I have the weekends just around the next corner.
While others are packing our local air-conditioned movie theater to see Barbie, we have a front-row seat to the birds!
Many moons ago, I taught with a colleague who drank coffee from the most unique mug I’d ever seen. Aside from her coffee mug in the shape of a Zoom lens that proclaimed her love of photography and led to conversations about her sideline photography business, she had one even more intriguing, but she only drank from it during the winter time.
The mug had no handle. Instead, it had a nestled crook, much like a ceramic mitten. It was made of pottery, and she called it her handwarmer mug. My English classroom at the high school had erratic heating and cooling. I’d sweat and shiver in the same class period all year long, so I made a mental note to pick up a handwarmer mug the next time I saw one.
Trouble is, I never saw one.
I forgot to share it as a gift idea for all those Christmases that have come and gone.
Imagine my surprise when we stopped in to have a glass of wine in Ball Ground, Georgia at the Feather’s Edge Winery, where there is an art gallery connected to the tasting room. There on a display shelf was a sign proclaiming The Original Hand-Warmer Mug, and several variations of pottery mugs to choose from – and there were mugs for right hand mug holders and left-hand mug holders. You slip your hand into the crook of the mug on the side of your handedness and nestle your other hand around the mug on the opposite side. These are made by Clay in Motion Pottery Studio.
Instant warmth! Rustic beauty! Inviting aromas, inspiring the desire to put on a sweatshirt and sit by the fire in a pair of woolen socks, watching snowflakes pile up on the windowsill of a woodland cabin.
Oh, yes. Winter has just finally finished all its antics, but already there is the promise of the next one waiting in these spectacular mugs, where visions of campfires outside the Little Guy Max are also taking center stage in my daydreams.
The first of the three bluebird hatchlings; one did not hatch.
I’ve spent the months of March and April writing among friends, celebrating the Slice of LIfe Story Challenge and #VerseLove – – and spiffing up my bird and butterfly garden. Each year, we discard any cracked feeders and add a couple of new ones so that we maintain the work that began in spring 2009, shortly after we moved to the Johnson Funny Farm on New Year’s Eve 2008.
I caught butterfly garden fever from my mother. Throughout her years, she planted fennel as host plants for butterflies to lay their eggs. Every summer, her fennel plants would sag with the weight of the caterpillars, each happily munching away to becoming a chrysalis before emerging as a black swallowtail. She also threw out rotting fruit for them to feed on, and taught me to do the same. She had attended a butterfly gardening workshop with one of the leading butterfly garden experts in Georgia and learned that butterflies like to feast on urea. So if you ever see an upside-down garbage can lid with rotting oranges and a wet sponge in a garden, you can bet that someone knew to invite their little grandson to go tee-tee on the sponge to make the butterflies happy. Mom grew nectar plants nearby, such as butterfly bush, azaleas, lantana and coreopsis. Every once in a while I can keep a flower alive, but it takes a modern-day miracle to make it happen.
A miracle. That’s why a week ago Thursday for the Open Mic, I changed up my whole reading plan less than an hour before the long-awaited event started. I’d stepped outside to toss a lemon rind out and to fill the bird feeders and birdbaths and check the bluebird house (again) to see if the eggs had hatched. I could see a tiny notch in one egg, and I knew the hatchling’s head would emerge within the hour if all went well. I waited awhile, watching from the front porch, and when I could see that no parents were coming and going, I returned in time to capture the moment of wonder! Watch the video at the top, if you haven’t already.
I headed out to the poetry reading, leaving my own poems at home, selecting one by by Mary Oliver instead. I stepped onto the stage and readThis Morning.
Reading poetry at the Open Mic, 1828 Coffee Company, April 2023
Sarah Donovan is our host for Day 30 of VerseLove and our host of this space each month for writers who crave togetherness each month as we come together to celebrate our words and thoughts ~to share the joy of writing. She helps meet a deep need in each of us. I adore the prompt today, and I ran for my journal from 2019 when I saw the topic. I thought back to the first year I participated in VerseLove and looked for that first prompt that changed the trajectory of my life from grief over my mother’s death to connection with others whose pain shone through their heart holes, too, who showed me how to use the sunspots to write and heal. To every writer who shares the journey, thank you for all of the inspiration you bring. This morning, my grandson writes along with me as I revise my first-ever VerseLove poem, Blackberry Winter.
Blackberry Winter, Revisited
It’s a Blackberry Winter I wrote in 2019 beginning a poem about all the good things
later this morning, my first grandson will make elderberry jam toast plus cheese omelettes on the Lodge cast iron griddle wearing my apron (he doesn’t know about the apron yet)
but first: raindrops on rooftop, fresh coffee, wi-fi (stronger than coffee, finally), computer charged, comfy chair, whisper-soft pajamas,
thoughts ready to materialize three schnoodles tussling on grandson’s sleepover mattress as we write together in the living room
words forming on pages: his pen, my keyboard to the first #VerseLove prompt of 2019 from Sarah:
….the good things in our lives….
there are those who bring more warmth than raindrops and coffee, more comfort than chairs and pajamas, more joy than words ~ ancestors whose cast iron presence and apron strings linger in kitchens hugging us tight about the middle
and those we ancestor ~ grandchildren who write right next to us about all the good things in our lives on this elderberry toast and cheese omelette morning.
– Kim Haynes Johnson, April 2, 2019 and 4/30/2023
Today, I've written a riddle-type poem (Haiku two lines short of a Haiku sonnet), open-ended, to invite readers to title this poem AND to add two seven-syllable lines to the end to make it a true Haiku sonnet if you wish. I'll add my title after the photo at the bottom so you can see what my initial title was. It's subject to change :).
never have I met
anyone who on first taste
liked its bitterness
sipping piping hot
aromatic wakefulness
swallowing its truth
ah, but sip by sip
its addiction is for real~
can’t live without it!
A lavender latte from my local coffee shop, where I’ll be reading poetry tonight – YAAAY!A book of poetry
The title I initially landed on was Coffee and Poetry – original, I know! Perhaps you can figure out a better title for this poem! Leave ideas in the comments, please.
Common Threads 