we’re sharing
the joy of cooking
one night at a time
one bite at a time
celebrating
family ties
in magical aprons
In the Kitchen in the Great Smoky Mountains
How To Pumpkin
In one weak moment in the grocery store on the way to Tennessee, I spotted them. Those little pie pumpkins that would be perfect for each of the six younger grandchildren who would be coming on this trip. The idea was to decorate them with Sharpie markers so that they could take them home and start decorating for Halloween. I carefully picked six and placed them gently in the buggy. In my perfect Hallmark movie vision, the family would gather at the table that I would cover in rolled paper and we’d stand in awe as our little artists went to work, safeguarding the permanent markers to be sure the creative flair stayed at the pumpkin table and not on a wall. But first, we’d draw a large pumpkin patch with colored pencils to set the mood and bring on the Halloween chill-in-the-air vibes. We’d draw a fence, bats, cats, owls, ghosts, leaves, and, of course, pumpkins.
It wasn’t ten minutes after covering the table in the rolled paper for drawing our pumpkins that I noticed a stray Sharpie marker cover without the pen on the table amid the color pencils. It sent me into panic mode for every white wall in this place. I’d accidentally left one Sharpie in the bag, and one of the grand young’uns had found it and gotten a head start on the pumpkin decorating, a lot like finding the Christmas presents and having a private gift opening session unto themselves.
It was Beckham, better known as Buckey, only spelled differently from the famous all-in-one gas station chain he loves. He’s the one who is always a step ahead of everyone else, keeping us all on our chess game strategy of which move he’ll make next so we can try to guard our Queen. He’s the checkmate kid of the bunch.
Then there’s River, who still wears his yellow and black Transformers robe every day. We got it for him for Christmas in 2023 with a little room to grow, and here he is in 2025, still rocking the robe. He’s usually leading every outdoor adventure and thinks like a scientist, always experimenting in the physics of things. He led the final pumpkin activity that happened all in the same day and was never planned – at least by me.
And then there is Saylor, who wrapped her pumpkin in pink Washi tape and called it a day. There are still Sawyer, Noli, and Silas, whose pumpkins remain ready and full of possibility for pie or carving. Safe from the plans River had.
Out on the porch overlooking the valley with the mountains in the distance, I noticed Noli, the youngest granddaughter, along with Sawyer, the second oldest grandson, and my son Marshall, their dad, watching something off the side of the balcony. Sure they’d spotted a family of young bear cubs with their lumbering mother tumbling in play, I rushed over only to discover that two of the perfect pie pumpkins I’d gently placed in the grocery cart were now part of a full-on science project as the kids hurled them down the steep hill on the side of the house we’re renting for the week in the Tennessee mountains.
I was scared a kid would go tumbling down the hill next, but my instinct to holler for them to come back inside was quelled by my son, who reminded me that they are used to scaling mountains barefooted and all since their other grandparents have a mountain house they visit regularly and run just as wild there. “They’re okay. Let’s watch what happens,” he assured me.
And sure enough, everyone is safe, even after two of the pumpkins split wide open, revealing fleshy pulp, pumpkin slime, and seeds. Saylor came in, wanting to know if we could roast them. So here was yet the actual final pumpkin activity that she stretched out and made fun. We spread single layer onto parchment paper and revved up the oven.
Thirty minutes later, we had roasted pumpkin seeds.
I thought back to the careful selection of the pumpkins and the gentle placement of each in the cart. How my vision was so limited and idyllic, and how much further the kids stretched the whole pumpkin experience – – from drawing them to decorating them to rolling them down a hill to roasting the seeds and feeling the stringy insides to eating the seeds, all salty and nutty and warm.
And in these moments, I realize how much more I can learn from my children and grandchildren than they will ever learn from me. To stand back and watch them discover. To let it all unfold outside my own vision for how I see it happening – because my ideas are limited, and theirs are boundless.
To savor each
moment take it all in
for under the surface
are delicious seeds
I never imagined,
just waiting…..
Revealing the Theme: Haynes Family Fireside Stories 2025
On the first night of the trip, I got Sawyer to share the theme of this year’s trip since the gathering we had in June was sad for everyone. We wanted to shift the grief of our Dad and Papa to togetherness and fun by telling old stories by the fire and making new memories as we get out and go adventuring. And so our theme is……
Sawyer revealed our
family mountain trip theme:
Fireside Stories! (Shirts)
for this year’s trip: Haynes Family Fireside Stories 2025
Reunion!
cousins reunite
in the most logical place:
on the kitchen floor!
Packing for Family Togetherness
We leave today for Tennessee. Rewind to the part back in June where we were all together when Dad died, and two of the kids didn’t make it in time to see him one last time. We were all too sad to enjoy the time we were spending, and one said, “Mom, can we wait until we’re a little happier and get a place together in the fall?”
I said yes. Fast forward to now, and here we are – packed and ready to go.
We’ve got the door code to the VRBO, and we’ve got a full tank of gas and 75% of the groceries we’ll need for 14 people for the week. We’re taking turns cooking dinners and we’ll forage for breakfast and lunch whenever we feel like getting up and shuffling to the kitchen unless someone feels like getting up and cooking big. With 6 of the 7 grandchildren and our 4 children and two of their spouses, we’ll spend time swimming in the indoor pool, watching movies in the home theater, and playing games in the game room. It will be good to be in a place to enjoy togetherness rather than trying to figure out where to go and what to do each day. A ride through Cade’s Cove and a picnic may be the most exciting thing on the list, and it’s about our speed. Slow.
And I’ll reveal the family theme, on t-shirts, sometime tomorrow evening. The kids left it to me, and I think we’ve got one that we’ll all enjoy as we hang out by the fire this week. Stay tuned for that!
We’re Packed…..
dominoes and cookie dough
puzzle mat and all of that
decks of cards, Scrabble, too
all the things we love to do
camera, phone, and PaperWhite
family shirts and pumpkin bites
groceries and snacks galore
there’s no way we could need more
all of us, a week together
snuggling in October weather
heading up to Tennessee
us and them and you and me
October Tricube
I love writing tricubes! In a tricube poem, there are three stanzas. Each stanza has three lines. Each line has three syllables. The rhyme scheme is a,b,c,a,b,c,a,b,c. Try your own today, and feel the fun of writing a poem!
mist veil floats
home fires burn
witches' hats
eerie notes
tree leaves turn
sleek black cats
sweater coats
earthlings learn
vampire bats
Living
I want to be like
Patricia Routledge: brave, strong
always living full
She was a staple in our home as my children and I watched Keeping Up Appearances each week on British TV. We knew all those flower sisters- Rose, Daisy, Violet…….and, of course, Hyacinth. We called our Ansley “Onslow,” a twist on vowels, so popular was this show that we adored. There was nothing like an episode watching Elizabeth rattle that teacup at the mere presence of Hyacinth. And it’s nice today to reflect on Patricia Routledge’s real life and how she lived it. Here is something she wrote a year ago, and I think her message is one that we all need to hear as we age.
One month before turning 95, Patricia Routledge wrote this. She died earlier this week at 96. I thought it was worth sharing.
“I’ll be turning 95 this coming Monday. When I was younger, I often worried I wasn’t good enough—that I’d never be cast again, that I’d disappoint my mother. But these days begin in peace and end in gratitude.”
In my forties, my life finally began to make sense. Before that, I’d performed steadily—provincial stages, radio plays, West End productions—but felt somewhat lost. I was searching for something within myself, a home I hadn’t yet found.
At 50, I took a television role that many of you would later know me by—Hyacinth Bucket from Keeping Up Appearances. I thought it would just be a minor role, a brief moment. I never expected it to become beloved across the globe. That character taught me to embrace my quirks and quietly healed something deep within me.
At 60, I started learning Italian—not for my career, but simply so I could sing opera in its native tongue. I learned the gentle art of living alone without loneliness, reading poetry aloud each night—not to perfect diction, but to soothe my spirit.
At 70, I returned to Shakespearean theatre, a place I once thought I’d aged out of. This time, there was nothing to prove. I stepped onto those legendary boards with calmness. The audience felt that serenity. I had stopped performing; I was simply being.
At 80, I discovered watercolor painting. I painted flowers from my garden, nostalgic hats from my youth, and faces glimpsed on the London Underground—each painting was a silent memory made tangible.
Now, at 95, I write letters by hand. I’m learning the simple joy of baking rye bread. I still breathe deeply each morning. Laughter remains precious, though I no longer feel the need to make others laugh. Quietness is sweeter than ever.
I’m writing this today to share something simple and true:
Growing older isn’t a final act—it can be life’s most exquisite chapter if you allow yourself to bloom once more.
Let the years ahead be your treasure years.
You don’t have to be perfect, famous, or adored.
You only need to be present—fully—for the life that’s yours.
With warmth and gentle love,
— Patricia Routledge
Cheers to blooming once more! As we face each decade beyond the prime 30s, there is pruning to be done and living to do as we bloom.
October Gift Basket
One type of poem I’ve been writing this year is a gift basket poem – – what would I give a recipient in any given month of the year? For October, the choice is clear: it’ll be filled with orange things.
If I were giving
you a gift basket
I’d go flame-up orange!
you’d receive
a smokeless tabletop fire pit
to light up your night
a pumpkin spice candle
to liven your autumn senses
and a copy of
Ada Limon’s Bright Dead Things
to snuggle your poet’s soul
a basket sure
to awaken all spirits!
Dirt-Strong-Willed Dogwalking: My Favorite Sport
This month, I continue writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. I’m continuing this month so that I can experience the entire deck of prompts. Today’s post asks about a sport we love -or hate.
My favorite sport is dirt-strong-willed dog walking, and if it ever becomes a competitive sport, I’m going for gold. I’ve been competing against our dog Ollie for several years now, and though I have yet to win, I think every time I hook up the leash that I’m getting close. We have a double leash for two of our boys, and the other is allowed to walk off-leash. Not Ollie. He and Fitz share a double-ended leash, and Ollie pulls on one end while Fitz pulls in the opposite direction on the other end, leaving me as the midpoint referee. My poem today is a nonet, which has nine lines with that many syllables on each line, in ascending or descending order.
Dirt-Strong-Willed Dogwalking Nonet
taking Ollie on a walk involves
sheer tenacity as he pulls
doing his Ollie thing, hard
headed, clumsy, stubborn,
falling in every
grass-covered hole
climbing out
dirt-strong-
willed
The Most Impactful Moment in History
This month, I continue writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. I’m continuing this month so that I can experience the entire deck of prompts. Today’s prompt asks: what moment in history affected you the most?
Once Upon Forever
I wasn’t here for that moment
in history that affected me the most
but that empty tomb
means certainly I’ll be here
for that moment in the future
that will affect me most
Common Threads 