Tuesday, July 23, 2019


The dream catcher
hangs on my window,
Midas' touch turning
the cornfield into gold.

Two sunflowers volunteer
their span of time,
heads lift toward
the light shimmering
over sapphire hills.

The honeysuckle races
across the split-railed fence,
a Wind Song fragrance
fills the Brasstown Valley,
Queen Anne's lace spins doilies.

A dozen wild geese
resound over the Groves' farm,
they splash on Hiwassee River,
ripples catch the sunset
like a cathedral window.
             --Brenda Kay Ledford

Tuesday, July 2, 2019

Rondy's Pondering

Rondy's Pondering

After US Poet Laureate, Joy Harjo's, "Remember"

Ponder growing up in the shadow
of Shewbird Mountain.
Ponder the rain crow cooing
in the poplars,
drinking ice-cold water
from the spring at Hyatt-Mill Creek.
Ponder plowing the field
with 'ole Buck and Beulah,
rows of corn blades waving in the wind.
Ponder the Harvest Moon,
coon dogs resounding on Joe Knob.
Ponder the double hollyhocks decked
with ruffled dresses beside the log cabin.
Time has made a change
in the Matheson Cove.
Ponder the nine R's:
Rondy, Reba, Ralph, Robert, Rena,
Robenia, Reuben, Ray and baby Robbie.
Ponder the calling,
the calling on your life.
The torch passed to your grandson.

by:  Brenda Kay Ledford

This poem is about my father, Rondy Ledford.  He grew up in the Matheson Cove section of Clay County, North Carolina near Shewbird Mountain.  He and his siblings had names that began with the letter "R".  My father was a Baptist preacher and his grandson, John, has also received the calling to preach.  I just wish my father could have lived long enough to see his grandson enter the ministry.  Without sounding like I'm bragging, John is attending Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, Ky working on his Ph.D. in Divinity.  Last year he was ordained to preach.  Also, he and his professor, Dr. Fredrick Long, published an advanced Greek Reader with Translation:  "Dio Chrysostom's Kingship Oration 1," and it is available on Amazon.com.

This is a mourning dove.  Back in the mountains of Western North Carolina, old timers called this bird the rain crow.  Whenever they heard it cooing, it was believed that rain would soon begin.

This is a photo of our family.  My father is in the center , my sister , mother, brother, and the little one is myself when I was about 4 years old.  We were dressed and ready to attend church. When I grew up, church was central in our lives because my father was the pastor of many churches in Western North Carolina during the 1950s-1980's.

Saturday, June 8, 2019


The morning light ricochets
through the poplars
echoing with birdsong.

Native orchids peek
through the pine needles
on the woodland trail

and huddle in the hollows
of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
They lift their cups

to toast a new day,
dozens of Lady-slippers
dance on a breeze.
                 --Brenda Kay Ledford

I attended a program on Orchids at Moss Memorial Library.  There are over 20,000 different orchids around the world.  Here in Southern Appalachia, you'll find these beautiful wildflowers in the forests, on roadsides, and even growing wild in yards.  This reminds me that God is indeed a master artist who loves beauty.

Friday, May 31, 2019

Tiger Lilies

The first day of June,
tiger lilies splash
orange juice across
the mountain roadsides.

The first day of June,
a wild turkey struts
through my front yard
and bathes in sunlight.

The first day of June,
bluebirds lift praise songs
in the poplar trees,
an azure sky watching.

The first night of June,
fireflies flicker like lanterns,
Queen Anne's lace spins doilies,
a Monarch butterfly sips nectar.
             --Brenda Kay Ledford

Image result for monarch butterfly photos free

Tuesday, May 14, 2019

A Wildlife Sanctuary

A wild turkey
high steps through the rain,
his head bob, bob, bobs.

A funny creature,
he circles my backyard
past two brown bunnies

jumping over each other.
A groundhog wobbles
by the knockout roses,

two babies trailing her.
Five deer appear like ghosts
and nibble verdant grass.

Fog lifts from the mountains,
fireflies flicker high in poplar trees
and put on a night show.
       --Brenda Kay Ledford

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

The Mule

Image result for Mule photos

Way back in Fires Creek lived a mountain man.  He was raised on moon pies and RC Colas.  Didn't hurt him a bit.  Garnet Johnson was healthy as a contemporary weight lifter.  But Garnet worked out raising gigantic vegetable gardens.

Early each spring he plowed his fields with a mule.  Garnet had no desire to own a tractor.  He joked that he had a four-feet drive.  "While everybody else is pumping air in their tractor tires, I'm plowing with my little mule.  I reckon I'm way ahead by having a mule."

He named the mule Kit because everything's there.  If you can't put the mule to a sled and work her, or snake wood, or whatever there's to do with her, why we'd have to name her something else.  She'll work to anything.

Garnet admitted that Kit was more of a pet than a work animal.  "She's the best mule I ever saw about kicking or anything else.  She's not a bit of trouble.  Never has offered to kick nobody."

It appears Kit was sort of a celebrity.  Charles Kuralt featured Garnet and his mule on the national CBS show, "Sunday Morning."  Garnet thought it was just a rink-dink station and didn't fix up.  He just wore an old straw hat and demonstrated Kit plowing the field.  Over night the mountain man and Kit, the mule, became famous.

But it shore didn't go to their heads.  They just kept on being themselves plain as old shoes.

by:  Brenda Kay Ledford

This story appeared in:  Mountain Places,
                                       an anthology by Old Mountain Press

Tuesday, April 9, 2019


On Easter morning,
a sunrise service:
pink clouds turn crimson,
burning above Cherry Mountain.

The ridge line bursts forth
with new life:
purple phlox spreads
a tapestry on verdant grass,

the Brasstown Valley echoes
with a chorus of robins
lifting praise songs,
three rabbits hopping

through the dandelions
that sprinkle sunshine
on the banks of Hyatt-Mill Creek.
Crystal clear water bubbles

over smooth river rocks
baptizing the mallard ducks,
the hillsides washed with snow;
thousands of white crosses

blooming on the dogwoods.
From winter's dark tomb,
tulips pop up with rainbows,
earth celebrates the risen Lord!
           --Brenda Kay Ledford

I wish all my blogger friends a very blessed and happy Easter!

The tomb is empty! He is risen indeed!


The dream catcher hangs on my window, Midas' touch turning the cornfield into gold. Two sunflowers volunteer their span of tim...