AZALEAS

Our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Carter, have a lovely rhododendron garden.

They graciously allowed me to photograph their flowers.

I hope my blogger friends will enjoy these azaleas.

I hope my blogger friends have enjoyed these flowers.

MOTHER'S DAY

Many times after working all day, Mama's head hardly hit the pillow, when she jumped up to care for a crying baby.  Sometimes she stayed awake all night.  Her child came first.

Mama sacrificed a lot for our family.  Many times she gave her Baby Ruth candy bar to one of us kids, claimed she didn't want it.

She also ordered us to rest under the shade of the old oak tree when we worked in the garden.  We dug dirt, snapped beans, shelled peas, and shucked corn--the fruits of our labor on the farm.

I recall often when I washed the dishes, Mama said, "Let me have that cloth!  I'll wash the dishes.  Do your homework."

Additionally, Mama made my sister and me clothes on the treadle sewing machine.  I asked why she didn't make herself a new dress.

"Oh, I don't need a new dress.  I want you girls to look pretty," she said and her cornflower blue eyes sparkled.

Mama demonstrated the love of God by caring for our family.  She worked hard.

One of her favorite sayings was:  "You need to put a little love into your work."

Now Mama's hair is white as apple blossoms, and when she smiles, it's like the fragrance of roses wrapping everyone around her.  She's a mother figure to many people at our church, and to our community.  Her love has never failed me.

A mother's love is something that no one can explain.  Only God could fashion a mother's love.

I wish all my blogger friends a very Happy Mother's Day!

TULIPS

TULIPS


After William Wordsworth’s The Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud
over the mountains and meadows,
when I saw a cluster,
a throng of tulips;
beside an old rock chimney,
pulsing on a breeze.

Continuous as soldiers marching
together in a platoon,
they kept time with
the robins trilling in pines:
dozens caught my attention,
a rainbow lifting praise.

The trillium beside them swayed,
but they out-did the wildflowers:
a poet could not be sad
beholding nature’s display:
I drank the beauty before me.

When I gazed at the television
in a bored state,
their faces came to mind:
my heart filled with joy
and I waltzed with the tulips.
--Brenda Kay Ledford

SPRING PRAISE SONG

Praise the yellow bell bush
ringing a song in dawn breeze,
the woods alive with wildflowers,
white-tailed deer leaping over fences.

Praise to the heavenly scent
of fresh-turned dirt,
sowing seeds in the garden,
bringing hope, a new life.

Praise to the bluebird
gathering twigs for a nest,
sheep clouds flocking
cobalt skies above Cherry Mountain.

Praise to the spring morning,
the tickle of fresh green grass
against bare feet. Bradford
pear trees offering ice-cream cones.

The Bradford pear trees are blooming here in the Blue Ridge Mountains.  They are beautiful and look like snow shimmering on the mountaintops and along the country lanes.  It's beginning to look a lot like spring!

RESURRECTION

Renewal resounds from
the hills and hollows,
spring kept her promise.
Robins flock to the poplars,

swoop over my yard
like a tapestry, whoosh
to the pond echoing
with frogs. Newborn calves

frolic in fields dotted
with daffodils planted
by a pioneer woman
decades ago beside

the Hyatt Mill Creek
gushing from the Matheson Cove.
Clay dirt calls my name,
time to sow vegetable seeds.

Tulips spring forth from
earth’s tomb. The chains
of darkness broken—
a place to renew faith.
--Brenda Kay Ledford

BARN QUILTING

Winding around Shooting Creek,
crystal water gurgles over rocks.
Off Eagle Fork Road,

the steeple of a church
graces the azure sky.
Jonquils blooming in the pasture,

a patchwork quilt
dazzles in the light.
A cheery floral pattern

pieced together on boards.
“Grandmother’s Flower Garden”
hanging on the old barn.

--Brenda Kay Ledford

Jack and Audrey Anderson of Shooting Creek own the 1900’s barn
pictured above. Jack’s mother, Myrtle Anderson, quilted “Grandmother’s
Flower Garden,” and many other patterns throughout her 102 years.
Reba Beck, retired art teacher at Hayesville High School, is spearheading
the quilt trail project in Clay County, NC.

For information, call: 828-389-0129.

FEATHERBED

Snowflakes twirled like confetti and covered the ground with a featherbed this weekend. It was a winter wonderland.

I grabbed my camera and headed outside excited as a child to take photographs. No cars roaring on Swaims Road to break the serenity. I felt alone, but soon discovered others had invaded my corner of the world.

A hound dog charged out of the woods and cut across my front yard. I called him to take his photo, but the dog had more important things on his mind. He was trailing a squirrel and disappeared with a howl into the pine thickets.

Just when tranquility returned, a flock of blackbirds landed in the poplar trees. Their feathers flicked snow off the limbs. Raucous twittering echoed across the Brasstown Valley.

Smoke from my neighbor’s chimney swirled like India ink to the sky. I continued to take photographs until the sun broke through the clouds. A painting was unveiled—magnificent snow-capped mountains reflecting like a mirror in Lake Chatuge.

As the day waned, the mountains transformed from pearl gray, pale blue, sapphire, to plum. The strawberry blush of dusk faced the stars, and a crescent moon glowed like a slice of muskmelon on the lace-trimmed earth.

This morning a crow’s loud cawing awoke me. I peeked out the window and gasped at the awesome sunrise bleeding across the Blue Ridge Mountains. I took a photograph before the beauty faded and faced another day. Maybe I’ll jump on the featherbed of snow in my front yard today or make some snow cream. The possibilities for adventure beckon me.