Patchwork Prose and Verse
Not Twitter: An Etheree
they’re tweeting amongst themselves this morning
in the best way nature intended
none of this electronic stuff
redbirds, bluebirds, house finches
from their treetop branches
chirp praise harmonies
welcoming sun
singing life
into
day
wonder-filled wildlife
sightings, up close and first-hand
driving through Cades Cove
Everyone who joined in this family gathering in Sevierville, Tennessee had their things they wanted to do – – the Smoky Mountain Nascar Speedway, Anakeesta, family game night, dinner out at a special restaurant, and movie time. Mine was visiting Cades Cove, a nature sanctuary that is part of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, where on any given day you can see bears (most hoped-for sighting), wild boar, river otters, deer, foxes, bobcats, snakes, raccoons, wild turkeys, and all kinds of other birds and small mammals.
I was among the throngs hoping to spot a black bear when we entered the eleven mile one-way driving loop through the park. We were blessed with weather every day on this trip, with clear skies and morning temperatures in the upper 50s and afternoons rising into the upper 70s.
We drove past countless creek beds, where we took time to look extra-close for thirsty wildlife out for a morning drink.
And although we didn’t stop at any of the historic churches or homes in the area, we did make a quick trek through the visitor’s center for a souvenir sweatshirt and time to stretch our legs.
The rustic vibe of the cabins and the outdoor beauty created the perfect mood to set the stage for all of the surprises ahead. First, we saw a murder of crows and tried to say murder as many times as we could. October’s spooky chill and the turning of the leaves cast a charming spell on us as we wound through the park, my window down and Zoom lens ready to snap photos of anything that moved.
I never knew this rule, but being in the car kept us safe from any mama bears that might get protective – – if we were fortunate enough to see one.
Songbirds sang and perched on limbs overhead, and we spotted a doe in the clearing. I wondered whether I, if I were a doe, would choose this place to raise my family. Surely it has its more elevated risks, or at least I predict that it would.
Next, we noticed cars slowing and barely creeping in the line. Up ahead, there was a rafter of turkeys – about ten or twelve, out in the field to the left of us. They crossed right in front of us as we approached. I said a prayer, “Lord, I loved seeing those turkeys, but if you could arrange a bear crossing right in front of us, I’d like to put in a request. Thank you.” And onward we drove.
Up ahead and around the bend, my daughter saw a rustling in the bushes just feet from her passenger door in the back seat. We slowed down, and there in the thicket was a black bear, ambling along the shrubs. We gave it some space as it stepped out directly in front of the car to cross the road.
If you’ve never seen a bear in the wild, its beauty will leave you spellbound. It’s a sight like no other, and its lumbering walk hints at playfulness and strength all at once. I imagined that if it had seen a rabbit at that very moment, we’d have seen the speed and agility of a breakfasting bear. It was, after all, 10:18 a.m. as it stepped out from the trees onto the paved loop.
We sat back, in awe, as it made its way into the woods on the other side, my camera set to click-click-click its every step of the way.
And then, my daughter announced another was behind it – – a little black bear cub, following its mama. Maybe a yearling – – it was a sight to behold, its ears not quite as perked and its steps much lighter and less lumbering. There it went, right behind her, disappearing into the dense woods. We started to move ahead, hoping to catch sight of them walking along the edge of the forest.
But wait.
There’s more.
Another little cub ran across, trying its best to keep up with the family. It was so cute, and looked to be a bit smaller than the first cub.
We pulled over at the place to stop and watch, and we got caught in the line of traffic approaching to see what we’d witnessed. A wildlife viewing traffic jam happened, but for one moment we had a front row seat to the wonder and excitement of a family of bears.
We watched for a while as the cubs played at the foot of a tall tree, with mama off in the distance pausing just ahead of them in a dip of a hill. They tumbled and tossed like two little kids would roll around in the floor, putting on a show for all who were watching.
And then we drove on, leaving our space for others who wanted to catch a glimpse of them.
We decided to take the loop one more time, jockeying off down Sparks Lane instead of exiting the cove. And while we didn’t see another bear, we did encounter a wild boar off in one of the meadows. A park ranger was stationed there to keep the cars moving in that area of the park. We learned that the boars are fairly common in Cades Cove, but that this was a rare sighting because the boars are generally nocturnal and secretive in nature.
We forged ahead, keeping watch for other wildlife, and I thanked the Good Lord for the front row seat to the bears I got to see. I’m as thankful for that wild hog, the turkeys, the crow and other birds, and the deer as I am the bear and her cubs, but the bears added a special layer of joy and happiness to the adventure. And God knew they would!
We’ll be back again. This is a treasure of a drive, rather like the Yellowstone of Tennessee. It’s an unforgettable excursion, and one I’m glad I could share with family!
Our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for the third day of the July Open Write is Jennifer Jowett, with guest Ann E. Burg. They invite us to write poems about moments in nature. You can read the full prompt here and check out the poems throughout the day.
Bat Crap Crazy
it’s okay ~
go ahead, think it ~
we all know
the better title
for this poem
and how that expression
originated out of bats
in the belfry and rabies
from the droppings and I
still Googled to see if
anything had changed but
it’s all still the same
kind of crazy it always was
where here on the
Johnson Funny Farm at
33°8’42″N / 84°25’33″W
in Williamson, Georgia
at 6:10 a.m. with clear
skies at 77° with the
moon cradling its
own light and winking at
Venus to its 5:00 position
due East of my front door
I stand on the
porch listening to the calls
of the Eastern Wood Pewees
from all the dead trees
that used to be their homes
now lying like corpses across
the acres and see our
one single solitary bat that
flies in endless circles
overhead
as it always does
from dusk to dawn
and I’m not sure
which of us
is the
bat shit crazier
…..oops
I came to love birdwatching when, as a child, my mother pointed out every bird and called it by name. Wherever we were, she’d point to cardinals, chickadees, bluebirds, and tell us about them. On drives from our home to visit our grandparents, Mom spotted every hawk and announced it – Cooper’s Hawk, Red-Tailed Hawk, Red-Shouldered Hawk, and so on. She knew them all. My mom’s mother was known for her landscaped yard with flowers and shrubs of many kinds – – along with her bird feeders and bird baths. There was never any doubt that I’d take their legacy of their deep love of birds into future generations.
It’s also why I feel their presence most closely where birds are concerned. And it’s why sometimes I wonder if birds are angels, of a sort. It’s why my heart has been so heavy since they clear cut all the trees on our farm, save for a few hardwoods – after putting out specific seeds to attract specific birds over the years and then celebrating when they showed up. We will replant, but tall trees are years away.
I doubled down on my hummingbird feeders for that reason, and was delighted to see that my favorite hummingbird from last summer has returned. I cried when she left last year, lingering longer than all the rest, and I’d know her anywhere. She’s the only one who gives thanks for her food, looking me straight in the eye with sincerity. She’s back.
one little hummer
hovers close, looks me in the eye
expressing thanks for her sweet nectar
a fighter jet on gratitude pause
hovers close, looks me in the eye
just as she did last summer
a fighter jet on gratitude pause
this ruby-throated hummer
just as she did last summer
she was the last to fly south
this ruby-throated hummer
turning my tears of grief to joy
she was the last to fly south
expressing thanks for her sweet nectar
turning my tears of grief to joy
one little hummer
Better Shows
after these night walks
seeing a toad eat a worm
and low-flying planes
we wonder just what
better shows we’re missing while
we’re watching TV
Brittany Saulnier, our host for Day 15 of VerseLove2025, is the author of the short story LIGHT OUT in the anthology Just YA: Short Stories, Poems, Essays & Fiction for grades 7 -12. She is the co-creator of Read to Write Kidlit, a podcast dedicated to improving writing craft by talking with authors about their books.
She invites us to think of a recent memory where we were “in nature” and write a poem that highlights the three colors from our memory. You can read Brittany’s full prompt here.
All the Colors of Sunset
what do you call the shade of sunset?
sometimes it’s 14-carat gold
other times, it’s tangerine
or pink cotton candy
sunflower yellow
or lilac storm
….the best nights,
ruby
red
long walk after work
out on the farm with the boys
we love exploring!
I come home tired at the start of the work week, which almost always starts out in high gear. All day, I look forward to returning home with the dogs and being able to put on a pair of sweatpants and go for a walk with them. More and more, my heart stays right here on this farm even though my mind and body go to work.
I gather Fitz’s leash from the basket by the front door – the only one of my trio who will chase a critter into the woods and completely lose his way back. Boo Radley and Ollie only lose their minds with excitement to get out the door as we prepare to take to the trails my husband keeps cut back just for us. It’s my slicing time today, my 31 minutes between 5:48 and 6:19, just before dinner, and the boys and I step out into the still-chilly damp air and hear the birdsong. Except for the occasional airplane, it’s all we hear other than our own footsteps.
It’s peaceful. So peaceful, in fact, that I could take the rest of the school year and just take walks instead of going to work, where the phones forever ring, the meetings never stop, and even the delightful sounds of laughter are still…..well, noise.
I signed my contract for another year, and by December of this year I’ll know whether I will pursue retirement starting 26-27 or hang in there for another year on the heels of the coming one.
So much is changing in the world of education, and at times it seems overwhelming to keep up. It seems there is no “staying ahead of the curve,” as there used to be.
The more I take long walks and feel the inner joy of the peace it brings just being home, the stronger the chances of retiring next year. I want to read more than I have the time to read as it is now. I want to take long walks with the dogs in the late morning. I want to press plants and decoupage them onto candles, to sew soft flannel rag quilts in light pastel patterns, to visit grandchildren and have lunch with retired friends…….to bake, to work the crossword puzzle every afternoon, and to get started on some writing projects that work leaves no time to enjoy. I want to think less each night about what I’ll wear the next day based on which meetings are on the calendar.
How does one know when it’s time to turn in the keys and sign on the dotted retirement line? If you’re retired, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this one. On one hand, I feel ready – – even past ready. On the other hand, it all seems so final to walk away from a career in education when that has been my life.
I would love for you to share your perspectives with me. What are your best tips and pointers, and your best advice for someone considering taking the leap?
checking out campers
our three Schnoodles have their say
each wants his own way
We sold our 2022 Extreme Outdoors Little Guy Max Rough Rider camper on March 2nd to a couple from Nashville, Tennessee after two years of enjoying the most exciting adventures in it. We knew we wanted to replace it with something slightly bigger but still small enough to get into state park campgrounds. I didn’t cry, but I have had a hole in my heart since we watched it drive away.
We like being able to take jaunts on weekends and spend time away from the demands of work and home. Our 3 schnoodles stay ready to go, too. They’re campground dogs, through and through. Each asked us to look at one particular kind of camper that they say they’ve had their eye on after chatting it up with the other dogs in our favorite campgrounds, so we dedicated a part of yesterday afternoon to starting the search.
Fitz likes Airstreams. He’s a classic dog with an old soul, very traditional, and he likes the Flying Cloud, the Globetrotter, the International, and of course the Classic models. He’s not picky – – he just wants one with those wraparound windows so he can sit up there with his sunglasses on and watch the girl dogs trot by with their blingy pink collars. He’s a lofty dreamer, to tell the truth.
Boo Radley is more technologically progressive and likes the InTech Aucta Willow Rover model with its aluminum chassis, all-composite woodless materials, and wind-sensor automatic awning. He’s a little more particular about what he likes and doesn’t like, and he’s got his eye on the openness of this camper so he can stay all up in everybody’s business the way he always does.
Ollie is a far more futuristic dog and likes the InTech Aucta Sycamore Rover model with a longer body so he’ll have plenty of room to chase his ball around inside. He likes the spacious seating area so we can all pile up onto one couch and watch movies and eat all his favorite snacks.
We located an Aucta Willow Rover about an hour from our home, so we made the drive over to Southland RV in LaGrange, Georgia during my slice of blogging time to take a look at Boo Radley’s camper pick. (He especially likes it because it is all light gray and white so he can blend right in). We were impressed with the comfort of the seating around the table – and the amount of light and number of windows.
The storage space looks minimal, but that’s how we roll. We don’t take a lot of extras or all the bells and whistles. Two of each type of cutlery, two plates and mugs, a toaster and coffee maker and only small sizes of the things we need suit us fine. Years into this journey, we’ve learned that less is SO MUCH more.
The table turns to allow ease of getting into the U-shaped dinette, which is nice, but we weren’t impressed with the lack of counter space for our coffee maker and toaster. We’ve become modification dabblers too, though, and there are surprising ways of making things work in small spaces that at first might not appear that they could.
For now, though, we continue to compare and shop and look and research.
And dream, along with Fitz, Boo Radley, and Ollie.
Last week, I heard them before I saw them – which is rarely the case. Usually, they’re perched up on a tree limb or on a wire watching for the slightest rustling in the underbrush below, looking for living snacks. Not last week, though. The house was quiet, when out of nowhere the familiar cries came nearer. Soon, they seemed right overhead – and sure enough, I stepped out onto the front porch, glanced up, and saw them.
I feared for our families of rabbits and our raccoon (which may actually be one of a pair with little ones) that has just checked in to live among the wild critters at the Johnson Funny Farm. We have a revolving door for all kinds of furry and feathered and scaly and armored friends, from armadillos to foxes to possums to raccoons, to rabbits, field mice, bobcats, fox-squirrels, chipmunks, owls, herds and herds of all-day-deer, rogue donkeys and wayward cattle (even bulls, yes), escaped horses, dogs, snakes, skunks, coyotes, birds of all kinds, and feral cats. We have even had wild boar come through years ago, and a mysterious creature that my parents swear was a Florida panther back in 2010, even though I still question that. We believe we have had a bear, too, on the wilder side of the farm where hunters once took the back gate down and began dumping deer heads and wild hog carcasses like it was a regular landfill back there before we reinstalled a heavier gate and an old non-working camera with a No Trespassing sign.
Seeing hawks, though, as often as it happens, is always a bittersweet sight. I love the majestic presence, but even as I near the age of 60, I am still skittish about the brutal cruelty of nature. And so much of it goes on right here in the woods.
Just like the regular world we live in, where most of us feel more like rabbits right about now.
Red-Shouldered Hawk pair
circles overhead, seeking
unsuspecting prey
We live in the middle of a forest. These massive pine trees surround our home on all sides and shelter us deep in the woods, basically cut off from any form of civilization. We have to get dressed and venture into society to see other living, breathing human souls. What used to be a fully operating cattle farm has been, little by little over the years, turned from cow pasture to pine tree farm – which is why, when I tell my work friends that I must go home and walk the dogs sometimes at lunch, I am met with blank stares. They don’t understand that when I say I live on the Johnson Funny Farm, this basically translates to the Johnson Wayward Wildlife Jungle.
We never know what we’re going to see, and we can’t take risks that our pack of house Schnoodles won’t go chasing anything that moves. Two of the three must be on leashes at all times.
Except Boo Radley~
his dad gives him a leash pass
(doesn’t see the need)
He saw it last night, for the second time in two weeks.
I’d just gone to bed and gotten settled to try to figure out Wordle at the end of a long day that included a two-hour extension to help with registration at our high school when I heard my husband frantically yelling Boo’s name. I sprang up, careful not to slip down on the wood floors after just putting the magnesium cream on my feet to help me sleep better, making it to the closet to get my slippers. I knew instinctively this would require entry into the thicket.
Sure enough, Boo Radley had taken off and was marking territory at the bottom of a pine tree, where once again he’d treed a coon. This happened for the first time less than two weeks ago, but here we were again, another (or maybe the same) frightened raccoon staring down into the high beam of our flashlight, wondering what kind of dogs we are raising in this house.
He gets proud of himself and tries to sport the Alpha Dog swagger after a thing like this, but it’s all lies. He is not the alpha anymore, and he knows it deep inside. He’s just obnoxious.
Take this morning, for example. I’m generally the first one up, and so I take the boys out around 5:00. They usually go right off the edge of the walkway and do their morning business, and it takes less than two minutes………until Boo decides to go over by the gardenia bush and gets wrapped around the birdbath and pulls it over, completely full, right at my feet. I was grateful it was not the block of ice it was two weeks ago.
Still, I laugh at the comedy of it all. We’ve often wondered why Boo was abandoned, needing rescue in his younger years. He isn’t an easy dog by any means…….but we love him, and if it weren’t for him and his brothers and all the wayward wildlife critters who wander up and want to be a part of life here, we wouldn’t be able to call it the Johnson Funny Farm.
You gotta be a little sideways to end up here.
Common Threads 