tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77726533306439005082024-03-28T20:29:44.669-07:00Blue Ridge PoetPoetry about the beauty, heritage and history of the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina appear on this blog.Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.comBlogger208125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-43489213233496389512024-03-16T08:00:00.000-07:002024-03-16T08:00:18.418-07:00CELEBRATE SPRING<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmBHtzYgfLJ5M6v7EATEjbOybnvQP2kk-t1kRJUbAtCh-b2wOm_YFnIwQj3VkVQZg06RGS7Rl3XDmvXTF4pwW29RW3zw-sNSO_kdV_bWIegdLjSTKMZhA8x3c0hSk2inzzJFhame90jWTE1oPgXmzgA8GSF3KHwPdaPsmKcmy5EfIlyy6JDOxC7-4aIGM/s2048/Tulips%20003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="565" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmBHtzYgfLJ5M6v7EATEjbOybnvQP2kk-t1kRJUbAtCh-b2wOm_YFnIwQj3VkVQZg06RGS7Rl3XDmvXTF4pwW29RW3zw-sNSO_kdV_bWIegdLjSTKMZhA8x3c0hSk2inzzJFhame90jWTE1oPgXmzgA8GSF3KHwPdaPsmKcmy5EfIlyy6JDOxC7-4aIGM/w503-h565/Tulips%20003.jpg" width="503" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This morning the sun rose like wildfire over Brasstown Bald. Hyatt-Mill Creek sparkled as diamonds at the Holcomb Farm.</div><div><br /></div><div>Black cattle dotted the verdant pasture and songbirds performed a cantata in the woods. Even the rain crow joined the chorus.</div><div><br /></div><div>The earth burst forth celebrating spring. Bradford pear trees licked giant ice-cream cones, the cherry trees danced with pink streamers, and maples wore strands of rubies. Daffodils popped up with lemon drops.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dogwoods could hardly wait to debut and explode with hundreds of blossoms like crosses. Tulips lifted weights through earth's dark tomb. They adorned colorful garments in adoration of new life. The fragrance of flowers filled the crisp, pure, mountain air.</div><div><br /></div><div>I savored the first sparrow tail butterfly of spring. She flitted through the purple phlox. I chased her across the emerald grass, but she retreated to the forsythia bush glowing like a pot of gold.</div><div><br /></div><div>The earth threw a party today. She celebrated new life, beauty, and the joy of God's creation.</div><div><br /></div><div>I grabbed a bottle of bubbles and blew through the wand. Dozens of delicate circles dazzled like rainbows and rode the wind. They rose to the bluebird skies, and still, we rise!</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: x-large;">Wishing my blogger friends a very happy Spring!</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-79207969573136184152024-03-13T09:47:00.000-07:002024-03-13T09:47:38.613-07:00HAPPY ST. PADDY'S DAY<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxgPLPz1W89og2oZhE66NnZ9P8LdpeTosB0X0j12D5AJb4DGJZb6sHzQtZVcfeBmZHQE1YzuRr_FvY1g6qpWBgXYou930icU_EnASe9453F_31ogyGiaaj2n1l165wGTHobiuQAfwxxqx9kJM9XMNGin96XsRSefUteDuj1NhDsSqiiRGwMqeBJW4wO6ZJ/s640/shamrock.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxgPLPz1W89og2oZhE66NnZ9P8LdpeTosB0X0j12D5AJb4DGJZb6sHzQtZVcfeBmZHQE1YzuRr_FvY1g6qpWBgXYou930icU_EnASe9453F_31ogyGiaaj2n1l165wGTHobiuQAfwxxqx9kJM9XMNGin96XsRSefUteDuj1NhDsSqiiRGwMqeBJW4wO6ZJ/w520-h418/shamrock.JPG" width="520" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>UNICORNS CELEBRATE ST. PADDY'S DAY</p><div style="text-align: left;">Jack Frost threw</div><div style="text-align: left;">a party last night,</div><div style="text-align: left;">thousands of diamonds</div><div style="text-align: left;">sparkle on my lawn.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Whipped cream covers</div><div style="text-align: left;">the limbs of dogwoods,</div><div style="text-align: left;">marshmallow clouds</div><div style="text-align: left;">float through sapphire skies.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My tea kettle hisses,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I sip spiced-apple cider</div><div style="text-align: left;">and hang a shamrock</div><div style="text-align: left;">on the frozen window</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">flickering with snowflakes.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Winter takes her last stand</div><div style="text-align: left;">and carves ice sculptures</div><div style="text-align: left;">as tulips shiver in the wind.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I huddle under bundles of blankets</div><div style="text-align: left;">and dream of unicorns</div><div style="text-align: left;">wearing emerald shamrocks</div><div style="text-align: left;">on horns glittering with gold.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> --Brenda Kay Ledford</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-size: x-large;">HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY TO MY BLOGGER FRIENDS!</span></h3>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-16416655430994708222024-03-05T10:46:00.000-08:002024-03-05T10:46:16.538-08:00Spring Bursts Forth<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVn68pQDN58NZoZ-9dD5Z-DAQ5Pzx8AEEnxs92AV5Y_d-0_20CtUXJhs8uge1d4Q_2xTZ8Etm_lVuqlw0sRqhI0_xpx-gb-kI4R6nAYr_xQlfMW9FBFWkcs9E16d93-5HnSoMMlqMzCw2YRe5toA8_lH8EwdPExIaaSx82IyoACV-Ga6bjIc_HNQrip6wH/s2048/Springtime%20Photos%20002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVn68pQDN58NZoZ-9dD5Z-DAQ5Pzx8AEEnxs92AV5Y_d-0_20CtUXJhs8uge1d4Q_2xTZ8Etm_lVuqlw0sRqhI0_xpx-gb-kI4R6nAYr_xQlfMW9FBFWkcs9E16d93-5HnSoMMlqMzCw2YRe5toA8_lH8EwdPExIaaSx82IyoACV-Ga6bjIc_HNQrip6wH/w631-h550/Springtime%20Photos%20002.jpg" width="631" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><div style="text-align: left;">The pine trees</div><div style="text-align: left;">with their green palms</div><div style="text-align: left;">have kept the faith</div><div style="text-align: left;">during a cold, bitter winter.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This morning bluebirds</div><div style="text-align: left;">lift melodies on a breeze,</div><div style="text-align: left;">jonqils pop up as lemon drops</div><div style="text-align: left;">through earth's dark tomb.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A white-tailed deer</div><div style="text-align: left;">sails over a greening field,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Hyatt-Mill Creek laughing</div><div style="text-align: left;">as bunnies tumble on dandelions.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A blood-red sunrise</div><div style="text-align: left;">sets the mountains afire,</div><div style="text-align: left;">dogwoods wear white crosses</div><div style="text-align: left;">and celebrate the risen Lord.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> --Brenda Kay Ledford</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ff00fe; font-size: x-large;">I wish all my blogger friends a Happy Easter and beautiful Spring!</span></div><p><br /></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-7983858389811968132024-02-16T11:45:00.000-08:002024-02-16T11:45:50.230-08:00Christmas in Matheson Cove<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlVhKQq2ihyphenhyphenJtITQRy8TwzB5NlbgF7IR0FliP0WuDijtFVoUjtN5DM_fNFI328yDT4PHgKMysoMgC8mkmhzmb0_WzS1G0wnzKVBC_mZrPuGp0UsIn_nO_Qkrpbs5_idNg_3wx44f9OkG47Bsigu1HVqR7YfZDs5ck9tncVvKbUS08b6wXU9lb35urHxnI4/s3032/Front%20Cover-Christmas%20in%20MC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2625" data-original-width="3032" height="435" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlVhKQq2ihyphenhyphenJtITQRy8TwzB5NlbgF7IR0FliP0WuDijtFVoUjtN5DM_fNFI328yDT4PHgKMysoMgC8mkmhzmb0_WzS1G0wnzKVBC_mZrPuGp0UsIn_nO_Qkrpbs5_idNg_3wx44f9OkG47Bsigu1HVqR7YfZDs5ck9tncVvKbUS08b6wXU9lb35urHxnI4/w604-h435/Front%20Cover-Christmas%20in%20MC.jpg" width="604" /></a></div><br /> My new children's picture book, <i>Christmas in Matheson Cove, </i>is at press now.<p></p><p>I'm very excited about the release of my family history story. Catch the Spirit of Appalachian is printing the book.</p><p>More information is upcoming.</p><p><br /></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-34603635938717908302024-02-14T12:18:00.000-08:002024-02-14T12:18:03.733-08:00Up the Walnut Tree<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-iO1Q57FWBw5KizdnvmnyMSg_XuyOptqc8MTv0zUx4z43K5YMnkD34re7ZOpCO-qQLfNdsnm4wBWOVHSGrVsEGQWr9fjr2S4GszXKUx5DE2j4xZeIm3gj243CZphS0vJlJHVEuxDzwAGme7IcO_cFSDleGnvFiMPILkuIw8-ADY1xcjaPBiK9XzkNacbW/s2048/Christmas%20decorations%20007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-iO1Q57FWBw5KizdnvmnyMSg_XuyOptqc8MTv0zUx4z43K5YMnkD34re7ZOpCO-qQLfNdsnm4wBWOVHSGrVsEGQWr9fjr2S4GszXKUx5DE2j4xZeIm3gj243CZphS0vJlJHVEuxDzwAGme7IcO_cFSDleGnvFiMPILkuIw8-ADY1xcjaPBiK9XzkNacbW/s320/Christmas%20decorations%20007.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>My sister,<b> Barbara Ledford Wright</b>, is the guest writer on my blog. She's an award-winning writer and has been published in many journals. Her story is about our family growing up in the Blue Ridge Mountains.</p><div style="text-align: left;">Up the Walnut Tree</div><div style="text-align: left;">Barbara Ledford Wright</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> Huck Finn explored the Mississippi River, but Reuben Ledford (our uncle) loped through the Matheson Cove barefooted. He was born in 1927 in Hayesville, North Carolina. This story takes place when he was ten years old.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> Reuben hauled his coon dogs in a little red wagon and he smoked rabbit tobacco in a corncob pipe.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> Bob and Minnie Matheson Ledford (Barbara and my grandparents) forbid their children to smoke. "I'll take you behind the corncrib if I catch you smoking," threatened Bob.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> Reuben snickered and swiped red hair from his freckled face. He took a pocketknife from his overalls and sliced a Black Ben Davis apple.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> "We want a bite," begged Ronda (Barbara and my father), Ralph, Reba, Rena, Ray, Robenia, and Robert.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> "If you want any apples, get'm yourself," said Reuben.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> Reba tattled, "Daddy, Reuben stole an apple from Ed Murray's orchard." Bob ordered Reuben to march to the corncrib.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> Reuben took off like a jack rabbit and climbed a walnut tree. It was near the spring. Minnie dropped her bucket of water.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> "Reuben, get out of that tree! You'll break your neck."</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> "Heck no! Daddy's going to tan my hide."</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> By this time, Bob reached the walnut tree. He heaved for breath and wiped his face with a red bandanna.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> "Get out of that tree! I'll whip the shirt off your back when I catch you!"</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> Reuben unbuttoned his shirt and slung it to the ground.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> Bob's face turned ruby. He skidded on a walnut hull and landed on Ole' Blue, the hound dog. It howled and Reuben laughed. The children held their breaths. They couldn't disrespect their daddy.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> Bob struggled to his feet and limped toward the log cabin. He shook a finger and yelled, "I'll get you, boy!"</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> Years later when Reuben was a grown man, he remembered that he got a good switching that day. His behavior improved and he respected his father from that day on.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This story is reprinted from: "Our Southern Memories," March-April 2024</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">If you like this story, please e-mail my sister. She's recovering from a knee replacement surgery, and would love to hear from you. Her e-mail is: bwright22441@gmail.com</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /> </div><p></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-62234228675571765622024-01-12T10:06:00.000-08:002024-01-12T10:06:57.991-08:00THE APPALACHIAN SERENADE<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQiCFjpIpKVHu5uP6YalGoW7C78STRncq5PSZRF2suS8tCG_5UdFzsc5WgrS01BD0lDl_Q1Xi0lu9durJB-7m7l3V7NWeoyUmAoWFw1d5jyedm4VNy3ZPHI4mu1OmmO_e9IWpk67ddiIKuFtZoqPKxvIUXscwMXQLDocPVmYEwSAtL2X0tu6UazW8hG_D/s1011/Rondy%20&%20Blanche%20Ledford.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1011" data-original-width="667" height="497" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQiCFjpIpKVHu5uP6YalGoW7C78STRncq5PSZRF2suS8tCG_5UdFzsc5WgrS01BD0lDl_Q1Xi0lu9durJB-7m7l3V7NWeoyUmAoWFw1d5jyedm4VNy3ZPHI4mu1OmmO_e9IWpk67ddiIKuFtZoqPKxvIUXscwMXQLDocPVmYEwSAtL2X0tu6UazW8hG_D/w389-h497/Rondy%20&%20Blanche%20Ledford.jpg" width="389" /></a></div>My mama and daddy when they were married on June 26, 1938 in Towns County, Georgia<p></p><p> ********************************************************</p><p>I grew up in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina. One mountain custom was serenading a newly married couple. This loud and upsetting event occurred during the night of their wedding.</p><p>Shivaree dated back to sixteenth-century France. A couple was teased on the wedding night. Appalachian folks called this raucous, spontaneous celebration <i>serenading.</i></p><p>The community serenaded the couple about a half hour after they turned out the lights. Neighbors circled the house, and made a loud noise. Folks banged on pots and pans, rang cowbells, and even shot guns. They shouted for the couple to come outside.</p><p>Sometimes the serenaders carried the bride in a tub, and the groom rode a rail. One custom including parading the couple to the country store where they were treated to snacks.</p><p>The community serenaded Mama and Daddy (Blanche and Rondy Ledford), when they married on June 26, 1938. Neighbors circled the red-plank house. They banged on dishpans, sang, and rode my parents across Swaims Road in wheelbarrows.</p><p>After the serenading, they held a shindig. The mountain women prepared tons of food for the celebration. Mrs. Lacey Groves, a neighbor lady, brought her delicious, made-from-scratch marble pound cake. The men picked guitars and sawed fiddles while folks danced the night away.</p><p>This old-time mountain tradition has passed away, but remains as a favorite memory how the community serendaded newly married couples.</p><p>by: Brenda Kay Ledford</p><p>This story appeared in: <i>Our Southern Memories Journal</i>; Volume 18, January/February 2024</p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-38818715754602143522023-11-29T10:28:00.000-08:002023-11-29T10:28:12.732-08:00THE HOLIDAY TOUR<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeyAixkDEt4VMxnYymH4KIj8wiP8_jPvBUwpW6y_egvSauw1dP2ajNeXzAbi53K9b6ovoTjZyruyp4_MQo0MSNESU_rvplWNBDGRT0RT36pXyIH5JNBy9ApUROKJFkVMnkJ-LnKzJKSEtP5Vr14Gl0BX6XFB40GcQetvvZzWcPeAflUMzrRmXMs6qoFNk/s2048/Hayesville%20Christmas%20Centennial%20Exhibit%20034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="547" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeyAixkDEt4VMxnYymH4KIj8wiP8_jPvBUwpW6y_egvSauw1dP2ajNeXzAbi53K9b6ovoTjZyruyp4_MQo0MSNESU_rvplWNBDGRT0RT36pXyIH5JNBy9ApUROKJFkVMnkJ-LnKzJKSEtP5Vr14Gl0BX6XFB40GcQetvvZzWcPeAflUMzrRmXMs6qoFNk/w574-h547/Hayesville%20Christmas%20Centennial%20Exhibit%20034.jpg" width="574" /></a></div><br /> The Golden Club was offering a holiday tour of Little Switzerland, NC. Mama and I donned our Christmas sweaters and boarded the bus. We were giggling like two children.<p></p><p>A merry group of senior citizens greeted us. Everyone was decked out in festive garbs. Some wore reindeer antlers, others were dressed as elves, and ornaments flashed around the necks of passengers.</p><p>Anticipation mounted as we crossed the Blue Ridge Mountains. We were making good time until two women delayed our trip. The bus waited 30 minutes in the parking lot at Ingles for the ladies. Finally, they looked in their rearview mirror and discovered the bus was already there.</p><p>Someone muttered, "Good night! Looks like they could have seen something big as a bus!"</p><p>Mama and I were so exhausted when we got to Little Switzerland, that we went straight to bed. At 2:00 in the morning, Mama headed to the restroom. She pulled, yanked, and banged on the door. She couldn't open it.</p><p>I was groggy, could hardly speak. "Mama, stop! That's not the bathroom. It's the door to the adjacent room. Those two ladies who delayed our trip are there."</p><p><span> Mama muttered something about "the old goof balls," and finally found the door to the bathroom. Despite the obstacles, we had a jolly, holly trip to the beautiful alpine village that was decorated and decked out like Santa's workshop.</span></p><p>This story first appeared in: <i> To All a Good Night, a poetry and prose anthology, </i>printed by: Old Mountain Press.</p><p> <span style="font-size: x-large;"> <b><span style="color: #444444;"> </span><span style="color: red;">PEACE, JOY and LOVE</span></b></span></p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b> to</b></span></p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b> You and Yours</b></span></p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b> THIS CHRISTMAS!</b></span></p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKeEpQvOMlG5__CWIhhQK83Uvo4MabIR5w8pKnBrY06upRHofIiyFsSUpoKNYuKQotMVyMHWA6wd70sjrEMN5ymz-Ov8XXlJBPw5PMGo4GG98i6qUwU4s1yvZX6j6syfG_JJ0eEb6nXcjFehXVYunTOY43ZA1yZul8qZwyBaZpLJlXRK0HDc6-Z_CW89C/s2048/Mama%20and%20Brenda.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKeEpQvOMlG5__CWIhhQK83Uvo4MabIR5w8pKnBrY06upRHofIiyFsSUpoKNYuKQotMVyMHWA6wd70sjrEMN5ymz-Ov8XXlJBPw5PMGo4GG98i6qUwU4s1yvZX6j6syfG_JJ0eEb6nXcjFehXVYunTOY43ZA1yZul8qZwyBaZpLJlXRK0HDc6-Z_CW89C/w428-h280/Mama%20and%20Brenda.JPG" width="428" /></a></span></div><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"> Mama and Me Celebrating</span><p></p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"> THE HOLIDAY<br /><b><br /></b></span></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-11896768525765702792023-11-01T12:12:00.000-07:002023-11-01T12:12:38.283-07:00November<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb9Z_E0yBLyDiAO__3lYqWknMO7U9bkN9fzXX89Kg25M0nfK5ycpZhZpooUzJHN5LMh3naD1jCcjnTT7MJ6kczEpli22BIS62JrWLQVDSEfypnrbiJguuddlMEfHofflPzZHPgrRRcWcQ0pWKCAr7ySAqWKTGUWP51NoeEUTrxlYmP9QpgA-DKCrOtxsDQ/s450/Thanksgiving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="339" data-original-width="450" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb9Z_E0yBLyDiAO__3lYqWknMO7U9bkN9fzXX89Kg25M0nfK5ycpZhZpooUzJHN5LMh3naD1jCcjnTT7MJ6kczEpli22BIS62JrWLQVDSEfypnrbiJguuddlMEfHofflPzZHPgrRRcWcQ0pWKCAr7ySAqWKTGUWP51NoeEUTrxlYmP9QpgA-DKCrOtxsDQ/w539-h375/Thanksgiving.jpg" width="539" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"> The golden glory of fall</div><div style="text-align: left;">retreated to the somber</div><div style="text-align: left;">season of winter's icy hands.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Trees gave up their garments</div><div style="text-align: left;">of bold, gaudy colors,</div><div style="text-align: left;">bronze leaves rode the wind</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">and spread a patchwork quilt</div><div style="text-align: left;">of brittle foliage across</div><div style="text-align: left;">the forest floor tucking nature</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">in for a long slumber.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I searched my attic</div><div style="text-align: left;">to decorate for November.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The pilgrims carried a cornucopia,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Native Americans wore deer skins,</div><div style="text-align: left;">orange turkeys bore salt shakers.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Outside my office window,</div><div style="text-align: left;">a flock of wild turkeys marched</div><div style="text-align: left;">to gobble grain scattered when farmers</div><div style="text-align: left;">harvested the cornfield.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> -Brenda Kay Ledford</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>I wish my blogger friends a very </b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="background-color: #ffa400;">Happy Thanksgiving Day!</b></span></div><p></p><p><br /></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-34568106541338388302023-10-11T11:20:00.000-07:002023-10-11T11:20:25.062-07:00In Memory of Mama<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZK66qEhlshW35FRp-ThXwK-526viroqBKjRqTevwLA3b4PkJFYLZ9PSnY3GgGmoIhC5D5lUR2ofjE7FYbGSYt4wBywKhZXsfxz16DNENpOUMsA3HUIfBQuziW7uFWoepb63ZPrp63oNV8SKBhPfO-lI4nFoPT7OV7a9riva4Qx6a__0yQ9kWSyrJBcwQ/s2048/Georgia%20Mountain%20Fair%20005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZK66qEhlshW35FRp-ThXwK-526viroqBKjRqTevwLA3b4PkJFYLZ9PSnY3GgGmoIhC5D5lUR2ofjE7FYbGSYt4wBywKhZXsfxz16DNENpOUMsA3HUIfBQuziW7uFWoepb63ZPrp63oNV8SKBhPfO-lI4nFoPT7OV7a9riva4Qx6a__0yQ9kWSyrJBcwQ/w630-h578/Georgia%20Mountain%20Fair%20005.jpg" width="630" /></a></div><br /> Today if Mama had lived, she would be 101. She passed away two years ago and I still miss her. We were best friends, took trips together, went to church together, we enjoyed each other's company. Some people may think I "should have" gotten over the grief, moved on with life. Sure, life goes on and I must go on, too. But today I grieve the loss of Mom. Of course, I believe she's in heaven, but I still miss her. Always will. I've written a poem about her and posting it in celebration of precious Mom.<p></p><p>Blanche, Blue Ridge Woman</p><div style="text-align: left;">I am from home-canned jellies,</div><div style="text-align: left;">from Ball jars and Blair food coloring,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I am from a log cabin</div><div style="text-align: left;">tucked away in the Trout Cove.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am from black-eyed Susans</div><div style="text-align: left;">pulsing in the fields,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm from pumpkins and squash</div><div style="text-align: left;">piled in orange and yellow heaps.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm from mountain dulcimers,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Granddaddy Shook sawing the fiddle,</div><div style="text-align: left;">clogging in the old red barn.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm from moss-covered rocks,</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">swimming in Brasstown Creek.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm from Shady Grove Baptist Church,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Richard Powers leading shape-note music,</div><div style="text-align: left;">and Daddy planting crops by the signs.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am from the Blue Ridge Mountains,</div><div style="text-align: left;">water-bath canning, jars</div><div style="text-align: left;">of peaches and garden produce</div><div style="text-align: left;">sparkling like gems in the pantry.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> --Brenda Kay Ledford</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p><br /></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-85743756323654253902023-09-20T13:12:00.000-07:002023-09-20T13:12:48.983-07:00FALLING INTO FALL<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwuMDejkRanrW1CT4wIEmd6X2TsQditD08lmhvTrFL8kWsJYFzxhq-zcgbaACAlWr7j1AJTqSgPRXyd2TyswoxGVto-XPPo-nc3OFbGvjCOkKjSBX6YKc0Prrb_hckgf7kN7WHZMT-OFjeTA0E4z0pNOxrQ-IZAZ11gFZ37jQuvVEQZCpXWJHpFd1U9va/s736/Pumpkins%20and%20mums.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="736" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwuMDejkRanrW1CT4wIEmd6X2TsQditD08lmhvTrFL8kWsJYFzxhq-zcgbaACAlWr7j1AJTqSgPRXyd2TyswoxGVto-XPPo-nc3OFbGvjCOkKjSBX6YKc0Prrb_hckgf7kN7WHZMT-OFjeTA0E4z0pNOxrQ-IZAZ11gFZ37jQuvVEQZCpXWJHpFd1U9va/w558-h397/Pumpkins%20and%20mums.jpg" width="558" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: left;">Gems glitter on grass,</div><div style="text-align: left;">royal-blue ribbons herald fall,</div><div style="text-align: left;">sunflowers drinking light.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A wedge of geese honks,</div><div style="text-align: left;">cornstalks rattle their fingers,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Joe-pye weeds dancing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Pumpkins dot the patch,</div><div style="text-align: left;">the old wagon is loaded.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Mama's pie baking.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ghosts fly through the skies,</div><div style="text-align: left;">stars sparkle on black velvet,</div><div style="text-align: left;">a barn owl resounds.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> --Brenda Kay Ledford</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8dYpW5BsQLvnmKSjeWDBjMU75BwZpMOcqVo9tqzMdBazwUABmjpfUDPXxNbiUf4Hi1ihhEUxK1g8bjv3qJG5mJfmbWYWC8-4Miji0Wmd6dU7GOU3wi3eUQdq09tRFW1wZH3NGhM85CwIVOELePg1k03d-LMTxYmO6U_PDx6CppwlQXKtXGb9U6n5iI_xu/s1024/pumpkin%20field.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8dYpW5BsQLvnmKSjeWDBjMU75BwZpMOcqVo9tqzMdBazwUABmjpfUDPXxNbiUf4Hi1ihhEUxK1g8bjv3qJG5mJfmbWYWC8-4Miji0Wmd6dU7GOU3wi3eUQdq09tRFW1wZH3NGhM85CwIVOELePg1k03d-LMTxYmO6U_PDx6CppwlQXKtXGb9U6n5iI_xu/w481-h273/pumpkin%20field.jpg" width="481" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p><span style="background-color: black; color: #ffa400; font-size: x-large;">Wishing all my blogger friends Happy Halloween!</span></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-53000431149700469762023-08-23T11:17:00.000-07:002023-08-23T11:17:17.266-07:00Signs of Fall<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmiRbEZl_Acs2GawR-gy2RlAXwtJMClEKqwy0X4L7EclrDLLuET3pC608n_5LjxCmB40SrD3r3tKpnZWs6Q5ktYVc25tsWK4Y13mkSfyxhMWYHy1S5XguO5H9iva6uHltUM2VntAheJ5aERTq67LikdkuQV0aduruFGixZiH06VWnLvqRESjQiW3lQh2t/s800/flying-south-16898587.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="542" data-original-width="800" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmiRbEZl_Acs2GawR-gy2RlAXwtJMClEKqwy0X4L7EclrDLLuET3pC608n_5LjxCmB40SrD3r3tKpnZWs6Q5ktYVc25tsWK4Y13mkSfyxhMWYHy1S5XguO5H9iva6uHltUM2VntAheJ5aERTq67LikdkuQV0aduruFGixZiH06VWnLvqRESjQiW3lQh2t/w527-h351/flying-south-16898587.jpg" width="527" /></a></div><br /> <span> It's beginning to look a lot like fall here in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Western North Carolina. There's no holding back autumn. The first trees to turn are the walnuts. Golden leaves flutter on the wind as the sunflowers lift their cups to drink light.</span><p></p><p><span><span> A wedge of wild geese honks over the cornfield that glitters like copper. Goldenrods waltz beside Hyatt-Mill Creek babbling past the Grove Farm. Shewbird Mountain wears a purple shawl in the distance. Cardinals spear red berries from the dogwood trees and lilac asters bring bouquets to Swaims Road.</span><br /></span></p><p><span><span> The evenings grow cooler and our Hayesville High School football team plays their rivals. Our local church holds a luncheon for the Clay County Schools and I wear gold and black to support the Yellow Jackets. I pick up a cake at the Ingles Grocery with the message: <i>Bless our schools!</i><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><i> </i>Each fall my heart is drawn toward the school. As a retired educator, I will always long to teach kids. I can almost smell the chalk, hear the kids treading down the hall, and standing at the door greeting each child to my classroom. My heart fills with love for my students.<br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><span> Fall is a beautiful season. I love the bright colors, the wildflowers, football games, pumpkin pie, apple cider, and the Fall Festival held in our mountain town.</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><span> <i>Some call it autumn, others call it God!</i><br /></span></span></span></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-35889933490516833502023-08-05T11:44:00.000-07:002023-08-05T11:44:13.907-07:00Sunflower<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHCTGT8RRtKg1h14Oyau1CPJkj36vU3p6HppPNU4eeTopTFFQkn7kjA7OqsgDcBI5s5twlzoHSq3vR6Ycf7Lx5Z9mSQXThE9opfc6Ad6X7o8VTlLSibP4lT-R5ZhKrtUpCaDOfuizk-xAOyphnBGcZqSIl1fGGLDU4qdYSL-3GxYr-emA73RHFY56JuoSe/s800/sunflower%20and%20butterfly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="431" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHCTGT8RRtKg1h14Oyau1CPJkj36vU3p6HppPNU4eeTopTFFQkn7kjA7OqsgDcBI5s5twlzoHSq3vR6Ycf7Lx5Z9mSQXThE9opfc6Ad6X7o8VTlLSibP4lT-R5ZhKrtUpCaDOfuizk-xAOyphnBGcZqSIl1fGGLDU4qdYSL-3GxYr-emA73RHFY56JuoSe/w577-h431/sunflower%20and%20butterfly.jpg" width="577" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"> The first sunflower of August </div><div style="text-align: left;">lifts a cup to drink light,</div><div style="text-align: left;">a Full Sturgeon Moon stamps</div><div style="text-align: left;">its fingerprint on royal-blue skies.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Golden coins spin from trees</div><div style="text-align: left;">on a pine-scented breeze,</div><div style="text-align: left;">walnuts plump to a carpet</div><div style="text-align: left;">of needles, squirrels gather food.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A wedge of wild geese honks</div><div style="text-align: left;">over the cornfield glittering with copper,</div><div style="text-align: left;">lilac asters bring bouquets to Swaims Road</div><div style="text-align: left;">as Hyatt-Mill Creek laughs through</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">a tunnel of Joe-pye weeds.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The tempo of nature increases:</div><div style="text-align: left;">creatures rush and prepare for winter,</div><div style="text-align: left;">kids get supplies, gear up for school.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> --Brenda Kay Ledford</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I wish all my blogger friends joy as autumn approaches.</div><p></p><p><br /></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-80783643236102362952023-08-01T10:22:00.000-07:002023-08-01T10:22:12.853-07:00Town Creek--the Little Mountain Stream<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjKxVEn20nLMwqGjIHuQohikQYw0iaHPmrJAnRoMvBrhNNpEYtsOx4a03jG35f8O-v-OvmA5nz4dTsZSbY4pg6IeWEwrKOQ5LdC9GKVvg-V9Rk4wMisDRYOJiH-MiKjIuCc1hqUYD93ZV9Z9mocHjuoee2ha4dthSiJmFBFz3k8vhkhC25CdXNv_uqXCFX/s615/creek-in-fall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="615" data-original-width="461" height="497" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjKxVEn20nLMwqGjIHuQohikQYw0iaHPmrJAnRoMvBrhNNpEYtsOx4a03jG35f8O-v-OvmA5nz4dTsZSbY4pg6IeWEwrKOQ5LdC9GKVvg-V9Rk4wMisDRYOJiH-MiKjIuCc1hqUYD93ZV9Z9mocHjuoee2ha4dthSiJmFBFz3k8vhkhC25CdXNv_uqXCFX/w554-h497/creek-in-fall.jpg" width="554" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>TOWN CREEK</p><div style="text-align: left;">Goldenrod waltz on the wind,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Tusquittee Mountains stretch their arms</div><div style="text-align: left;">to the crystal-cobalt skies.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The backwoods stream gurgles</div><div style="text-align: left;">over arrowheads the Cherokee Indians</div><div style="text-align: left;">carved at Spikebuck Town.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The poplar trees wave</div><div style="text-align: left;">their golden fans, the earth</div><div style="text-align: left;">cannot hold back fall.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Through the verdant valley,</div><div style="text-align: left;">beside an old-red barn,</div><div style="text-align: left;">the Town Creek murmurs.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">She is just a brook,</div><div style="text-align: left;">no one looks up to her.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Wild geese honk in v-shape </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">above the Lake Chatuge.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Your waters, little creek,</div><div style="text-align: left;">are the heart of her soul.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> --Brenda Kay Ledford</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My daddy was a Baptist preacher. One of his wise sayings was: "Little is much if God is in it!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p><br /></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-81006800393532460752023-07-12T09:14:00.001-07:002023-07-12T09:14:58.788-07:00Chicken of the Woods Mushrooms<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7nB-uBY8uG6TQniOsDYxM7kgiI8PNBDJS39VxS7WQMQgLLq7tCzPKshYCH5senkzMrDLNUo0I9YoH0-tTVPRhrKM2n2NNrlYJuPPqvNO4P9rGSFNdoMujQJV_CvtT9Jz95iipMksjerm4nFGoLkRwHpSM2WcMa1WliONC27NrWGRw3Q8ZPrIUO0K3fOu2/s1024/chixofwoods@2x.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="485" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7nB-uBY8uG6TQniOsDYxM7kgiI8PNBDJS39VxS7WQMQgLLq7tCzPKshYCH5senkzMrDLNUo0I9YoH0-tTVPRhrKM2n2NNrlYJuPPqvNO4P9rGSFNdoMujQJV_CvtT9Jz95iipMksjerm4nFGoLkRwHpSM2WcMa1WliONC27NrWGRw3Q8ZPrIUO0K3fOu2/w596-h485/chixofwoods@2x.webp" width="596" /></a></div><br /> I never saw it coming when Mama asked if I had checked on the chicken.<p></p><p>"No, has it flown the coop? I asked.</p><p>She laughed and told me this chicken didn't need deboning or defeathering. Just pluck it from a dead tree.</p><p>"Are you kidding, Mama? I've never heard of that."</p><p>She frowned. "I thought I had taught my children to identify plants. Chicken of the Woods is a mushroom."</p><p>Chicken of the Woods is fan-shaped and has an orange and yellow colors. It grows on dead trees.</p><p>I gave Mama a puzzled look. She put on her straw hat and grabbed a basket.</p><p>"Come child," she said with her honey voice. "We'll gather some Chicken of the Woods Mushroom and make a salad for supper."</p><p>I learned an important botany lesson that day. A chicken is not a bird!</p><p>by: Brenda Kay Ledford </p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-51461604287184691422023-06-21T11:33:00.001-07:002023-06-24T11:34:11.817-07:00SUMMER SOLSTICE<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgglaM3BTGn6L8c7AOMrUWvhpOvUUObRe9snAkeoBPXOwlnHJ-ffgs271Qe4W8tqgskX2q-CbHoP1Et-Ck7kc4gJQpHbtMmzMG9zx82zZRYQMfen0TxSdiVX6zB8YHri7XDSDoS5QQmVRBmLBDo5y7MLI0dZNS5OTgkpKAMBb46Rt42wdUpbGqqPgNnWVFx/s1024/Summer%20Solstice.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgglaM3BTGn6L8c7AOMrUWvhpOvUUObRe9snAkeoBPXOwlnHJ-ffgs271Qe4W8tqgskX2q-CbHoP1Et-Ck7kc4gJQpHbtMmzMG9zx82zZRYQMfen0TxSdiVX6zB8YHri7XDSDoS5QQmVRBmLBDo5y7MLI0dZNS5OTgkpKAMBb46Rt42wdUpbGqqPgNnWVFx/w622-h528/Summer%20Solstice.jpg" width="622" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><div style="text-align: left;">On the first day of summer,</div><div style="text-align: left;">the sun floated like a balloon</div><div style="text-align: left;">above the Bald Mountain</div><div style="text-align: left;">and ricocheted through the forest.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Tiger lilies lifted cups</div><div style="text-align: left;">to drink the morning light,</div><div style="text-align: left;">a chorus of birds performed</div><div style="text-align: left;">outside my bedroom window.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Warmth wrapped my body</div><div style="text-align: left;">like a blanket as the raindrops</div><div style="text-align: left;">vanished with a wave</div><div style="text-align: left;">of the summer solstice.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The promise of long days</div><div style="text-align: left;">filled my heart with delight</div><div style="text-align: left;">as the sun nourished the crops</div><div style="text-align: left;">and night gave way to light.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> --Brenda Kay Ledford</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">Happy Summer to all my blogger friends!</span></div><p><br /></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-63940199406647139322023-06-17T11:03:00.000-07:002023-06-17T11:03:19.150-07:00Father's Day<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihS4kzAwah70ITUpPiG8BWJ0zQZfCzW02qx9_9Tll7l7MCGMmw5ixkh76OMZfX271kTZfHNohd0DklX8TfTq3MzrMqpoSXbWUTbNKfZRbn98CQqNf_kvyfC-uDVxMb44DNCT6loTdM5M1Ms-LJKDvO4StiDasmZPwwaINdF5zR0NUaR3q0hiAdJ6w1vQ/s480/Harold%20and%20baby%20Lucy%20Claire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="561" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihS4kzAwah70ITUpPiG8BWJ0zQZfCzW02qx9_9Tll7l7MCGMmw5ixkh76OMZfX271kTZfHNohd0DklX8TfTq3MzrMqpoSXbWUTbNKfZRbn98CQqNf_kvyfC-uDVxMb44DNCT6loTdM5M1Ms-LJKDvO4StiDasmZPwwaINdF5zR0NUaR3q0hiAdJ6w1vQ/w426-h561/Harold%20and%20baby%20Lucy%20Claire.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><p>My brother, Harold Ledford, holding his baby granddaughter, Lucy Claire. Harold was a wonderful father and loving grandfather. He was softhearted as chocolate melting on a hot sidewalk toward children and animals. Harold was a perfect example of fatherhood!</p><p>My father passed away on Thanksgiving Day in 1988. My brother, Harold, also passed away two days before Thanksgiving two years ago. Both of these men were wonderful fathers and loving grandfathers. I'm so grateful that I had these two kind, gentlemen in my life. </p><p>Fathers are very important. President Barack Obama said, "Any man can father a child, but not all men are fathers."</p><p>The loving presence of fathers in the family is critical in the development of children. Statistics state that many youth get into crime because they didn't have fathers as role models. It's also important for little girls to have fathers who are kind to them. It gives daughters confidence and to one day choose a husband who will love and be kind to the them.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnFAkntcfuynoNI_gBK-O7qCICyMXIxrP99eNeWNSIaPLHymoKp8I5mN5LZWegSvpSu8KFc5KIdtW6-7pjGtvHsZPaxPDZ9VzhYS6HPlDcjc76mo4BcrUEI6_YRaej00_jXHmdsDw8dbHbpqbE_ZIdYagqsRRrfHFM1qlouhApr_qLF_lkoTyYQEn4g/s640/Harold%20and%20Lucy%20on%20swing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="490" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnFAkntcfuynoNI_gBK-O7qCICyMXIxrP99eNeWNSIaPLHymoKp8I5mN5LZWegSvpSu8KFc5KIdtW6-7pjGtvHsZPaxPDZ9VzhYS6HPlDcjc76mo4BcrUEI6_YRaej00_jXHmdsDw8dbHbpqbE_ZIdYagqsRRrfHFM1qlouhApr_qLF_lkoTyYQEn4g/w428-h488/Harold%20and%20Lucy%20on%20swing.jpg" width="428" /></a></div>As you can see in this photo, my brother, Harold, adored his little granddaughter, little Lucy Claire. What a blessing to have such a warm, loving relationship.<br /><p><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there.</span></p><p></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-78609554683848951352023-06-08T13:24:00.001-07:002023-06-08T13:24:50.031-07:00Brenda Kay Ledford Gives Program for Towns County Historical Society<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1iveb4x8c2-GqkouYNem_Yq3n5eV79s4eVPfelAzD_Vzou16VJNlpTguAMQeNY8OUPXA6cPssExl2pw5zcirIIwULP-xMvRiYO8kkFEyfhDFakmg-a2uxo_gH3IZ6nQw1F8r3gyOZdTz808E_oyA5NsstOcBgq83vwleBUsO-87VzcVdaDe9OmQycA/s640/Brenda's%20program.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="548" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1iveb4x8c2-GqkouYNem_Yq3n5eV79s4eVPfelAzD_Vzou16VJNlpTguAMQeNY8OUPXA6cPssExl2pw5zcirIIwULP-xMvRiYO8kkFEyfhDFakmg-a2uxo_gH3IZ6nQw1F8r3gyOZdTz808E_oyA5NsstOcBgq83vwleBUsO-87VzcVdaDe9OmQycA/w503-h548/Brenda's%20program.jpg" width="503" /></a></div><br /> Brenda Kay Ledford will also be the featured reader at "Coffee With the Poets," on Wednesday, June 14th, 2023 at the Moss Memorial Library; Hayesville, NC at 10:30 AM.<p></p><p>She will read poetry from her new book,<i> Leatherwood Falls, Blue Ridge Mountain Poems, </i>that was released by Kelsay Books this year.</p><p>The public is invited to both of these free events. An open mic will follow Ledford's reading at "Coffee With the Poets." This event is sponsored by North Carolina Writer's Network-West. </p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-87033641178837836432023-06-03T11:12:00.000-07:002023-06-03T11:12:04.007-07:00My Backyard Zoo<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIxJVGX3kpiytz726ZiYxJGs2XP3zzhiOSsmwmStdogcFoph49ioQk8SvvqtQCIaAdwJ49sb8cxbM7gCDTzpKqiFaYX1We5h3sUGJfQ12AKq_5p6o7fCbmVXnnGDepdHGTOatDWlQ05rZCQa0Fncv8JYmJHKc4_XSxuONaCnEGnI63_-N48I3Bra5YXQ/s1500/rabbit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="913" data-original-width="1500" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIxJVGX3kpiytz726ZiYxJGs2XP3zzhiOSsmwmStdogcFoph49ioQk8SvvqtQCIaAdwJ49sb8cxbM7gCDTzpKqiFaYX1We5h3sUGJfQ12AKq_5p6o7fCbmVXnnGDepdHGTOatDWlQ05rZCQa0Fncv8JYmJHKc4_XSxuONaCnEGnI63_-N48I3Bra5YXQ/w502-h300/rabbit.jpg" width="502" /></a></div><br /> My Backyard Zoo<p></p><div style="text-align: left;">The neighbor's lawn mower</div><div style="text-align: left;">mocks my yard popping</div><div style="text-align: left;">up with dandelions.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_bD3Xigrpf6tcCIPWYuaCSXKfwiN4eKWG9lNd-yffNfgHkd0bsHAfybENZ3ht5zTOAEBEgB0eblRQDYn8ES6VmAEMOsyT7NdG6mJnrnojv8riSwDJr91YgC4e5UD3_e6Iza0feEVf2ut6MxNjkMYR-xISMdYXI9WiK34A6xWVczYVWcVsT3wqzCKMw/s600/dandelions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_bD3Xigrpf6tcCIPWYuaCSXKfwiN4eKWG9lNd-yffNfgHkd0bsHAfybENZ3ht5zTOAEBEgB0eblRQDYn8ES6VmAEMOsyT7NdG6mJnrnojv8riSwDJr91YgC4e5UD3_e6Iza0feEVf2ut6MxNjkMYR-xISMdYXI9WiK34A6xWVczYVWcVsT3wqzCKMw/s320/dandelions.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>A bunny rabbit hops<div>and flips over</div><div>the clover-bud mat.</div><div><br /></div><div>She's an acrobat</div><div>performing in time</div><div>to a mockingbird rapping.</div><div><br /></div><div>Gracie, the groundhog,</div><div>stretches on her back paws,</div><div>then dips and nips</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUPxME4q2Kh9jToybpqSv3Jds5QhqNkh3BRjpIsMpwUwEpGYsJj9P1XGEzAiFJ_FOQA63AMjdYkge7iVBCRNO3E5nNwtZ1YeBCJMQyrzS_wFTtXDLn8J9hBc1049Y3jk1JDDlTH7GqyRxLHHtuvfde4sy7k1hgH_JJJYYqqaAdk5COLG6_7nrKCef9A/s275/groundhog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUPxME4q2Kh9jToybpqSv3Jds5QhqNkh3BRjpIsMpwUwEpGYsJj9P1XGEzAiFJ_FOQA63AMjdYkge7iVBCRNO3E5nNwtZ1YeBCJMQyrzS_wFTtXDLn8J9hBc1049Y3jk1JDDlTH7GqyRxLHHtuvfde4sy7k1hgH_JJJYYqqaAdk5COLG6_7nrKCef9A/s1600/groundhog.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><br /><div>the heads off buttercups.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5wte3s1n47WZVK5tm8-yXcAY3CgP3S3Mv2_ZPS9tTfqx-_6SLHHO0DDFyrtSjmTnN_zqAtOjiYOJxYFuWfu0AMUmyNADsQPF9BirBOZ57hpLzBdzmPH5u7OBa6GVASlP5og4_Z4s-HankfSje0-5PP3r-vKO1p2DqtkvprgRGofkloJ9a2dPuPRhgw/s275/buttercups.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5wte3s1n47WZVK5tm8-yXcAY3CgP3S3Mv2_ZPS9tTfqx-_6SLHHO0DDFyrtSjmTnN_zqAtOjiYOJxYFuWfu0AMUmyNADsQPF9BirBOZ57hpLzBdzmPH5u7OBa6GVASlP5og4_Z4s-HankfSje0-5PP3r-vKO1p2DqtkvprgRGofkloJ9a2dPuPRhgw/s1600/buttercups.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><br /><div>No need to trim</div><div>this wayward wilderness,</div><div>the wildlife knows</div><div>a better way</div><div>to bright my day!</div><div><br /></div><div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijziravASJLkRK3JsMolVYI18qll5fGq1G0-kn-dipn63qDDGmcMQX8WRW0hDF1pOnOv8nWMOnUeQbc0v3vZdJfNwwd6J-PRcuJQSgfRypVhpiiwK_xs7F3q9UpBtZgYXWgQDbxUqcTrHFfCJ-7g30F3LrlDRyuk-bxto4pcAjlnPsk14QkfGDfvB_xw/s2048/Vegetables%20003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijziravASJLkRK3JsMolVYI18qll5fGq1G0-kn-dipn63qDDGmcMQX8WRW0hDF1pOnOv8nWMOnUeQbc0v3vZdJfNwwd6J-PRcuJQSgfRypVhpiiwK_xs7F3q9UpBtZgYXWgQDbxUqcTrHFfCJ-7g30F3LrlDRyuk-bxto4pcAjlnPsk14QkfGDfvB_xw/s320/Vegetables%20003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I hope my blogger friends are having a happy day filled with sunshine and beautiful flowers.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Love,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Brenda </div><p><br /></p></div>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-45431464905678838642023-05-23T12:21:00.000-07:002023-05-23T12:21:14.844-07:00Memorial Day<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0tFAkoKqJB3diIjVJjW0bCWJCuyB5HjpH73FN5MPC3Bfw6DtVF1Q2WlZ8UmI1xBSnHz1c-ejchaVx1QKhjN7Se6cPUWJW-Hwo5pGLA2L3Hx-Y1YGtfTjq-LV2qK9yB17pbR-ms7OsU4W_eGiaLjbZ2uiGOXHrutEdPiacHhVb9a5a8D5eNhyfZGwz6g/s1000/Knock%20Out%20Roses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="1000" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0tFAkoKqJB3diIjVJjW0bCWJCuyB5HjpH73FN5MPC3Bfw6DtVF1Q2WlZ8UmI1xBSnHz1c-ejchaVx1QKhjN7Se6cPUWJW-Hwo5pGLA2L3Hx-Y1YGtfTjq-LV2qK9yB17pbR-ms7OsU4W_eGiaLjbZ2uiGOXHrutEdPiacHhVb9a5a8D5eNhyfZGwz6g/w570-h373/Knock%20Out%20Roses.jpg" width="570" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Knockout Roses</p><div style="text-align: left;">On Memorial Day,</div><div style="text-align: left;">dozens of Knockout Roses</div><div style="text-align: left;">explode beside the Burger King.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Customers race past</div><div style="text-align: left;">the fabulous flowers,</div><div style="text-align: left;">too busy to notice</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">this magnificent garden show.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Roses glow like rubies</div><div style="text-align: left;">in the morning light.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">What a sight</div><div style="text-align: left;">for those who will savor</div><div style="text-align: left;">the table that nature spreads.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> --Brenda Kay Ledford</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4uDty7QLfQFYEs5Y2cRKceZWF-RdeF2O5tWPYc-ZW5u_rLM7xUrcTUfvnRGF59jAU8xeY3scroQZyftwa9Yu_s68qBcniMB2B-n9L6ZqDA2OhjOOuaP7qoH3M-cCfGcJfXrVmhYbMDvKSAmLm8LdSewSTGn0u-91mRqCu4qDhCMdLtkIp85VBNMw_Cw/s2048/Veterans%20003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4uDty7QLfQFYEs5Y2cRKceZWF-RdeF2O5tWPYc-ZW5u_rLM7xUrcTUfvnRGF59jAU8xeY3scroQZyftwa9Yu_s68qBcniMB2B-n9L6ZqDA2OhjOOuaP7qoH3M-cCfGcJfXrVmhYbMDvKSAmLm8LdSewSTGn0u-91mRqCu4qDhCMdLtkIp85VBNMw_Cw/w432-h371/Veterans%20003.jpg" width="432" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Thank a veteran for his or her service for our country on Memorial Day!</div><p><br /></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-11346917482093454852023-05-17T12:34:00.000-07:002023-05-17T12:34:41.819-07:00Decoration Day<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPGDRyXAz6P2bODKLg7UpEqxCedVi-DNYnFAQO8us4qL5nKkEOgeL55xMfFYj4U7o9lsBdRGicQnT3zzYqX9x7JOxs7buN4JezfCCBRbNJrw5A9cNroPfpxKeK2i6bsDhd6YoxXidkpeDFegr6zCf5m4RS-v0BkqezTpqKAXz1WNVLv5QfKMs_Wp_Tg/s602/decorations%20on%20graves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="602" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPGDRyXAz6P2bODKLg7UpEqxCedVi-DNYnFAQO8us4qL5nKkEOgeL55xMfFYj4U7o9lsBdRGicQnT3zzYqX9x7JOxs7buN4JezfCCBRbNJrw5A9cNroPfpxKeK2i6bsDhd6YoxXidkpeDFegr6zCf5m4RS-v0BkqezTpqKAXz1WNVLv5QfKMs_Wp_Tg/w582-h373/decorations%20on%20graves.jpg" width="582" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Today I decorated the graves of my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and great-great-grandparent. Many of my relatives are buried at Many Forks Baptist Church Cemetery in the Gum Log section of Towns County, Georgia.</p><p>Many Forks Baptist Church holds Decoration Day on the fourth Sunday of May. Many churches don't hold these occasions anymore. This is an old-time tradition in the Blue Ridge Mountains.</p><p>My family attended the decoration when I grew up in the mountains. Some people gathered on Saturday before the Sunday event to decorate the graves of loved ones. On Sunday morning worship service was held in the country church. After peaching, they held dinner-on-the-grounds. Back in the 1960's-1970's, they built tables under the shade trees for the lunch. The mountain women brought boxes of food to spread on the linen-covered tables. It was indeed a feast. The women fixed their favorite recipes for the decoration.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-WcPPv19qF2iZNAL0rA3n91eZ6K74-GcN-3CSLOp_o0952BofoJYsZROahVDSBpw1k6IpEbuNEUpKiYYZYkS2IrYeoaSX8okXfNVfjAQKLDPUoMqyVBTcuRc14HVN_7VlNiYptpD97AfltbJbs3iCFAsBwII2HFHeQpANR_rRtjyFDRA05dJV7HhgLQ/s858/Dinner%20on%20grounds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="542" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-WcPPv19qF2iZNAL0rA3n91eZ6K74-GcN-3CSLOp_o0952BofoJYsZROahVDSBpw1k6IpEbuNEUpKiYYZYkS2IrYeoaSX8okXfNVfjAQKLDPUoMqyVBTcuRc14HVN_7VlNiYptpD97AfltbJbs3iCFAsBwII2HFHeQpANR_rRtjyFDRA05dJV7HhgLQ/w396-h366/Dinner%20on%20grounds.jpg" width="396" /></a></div>You can see in the photo that the women brought a wonderful selection of homemade desserts. Pies, banana pudding, blackberry cobblers, black walnut cakes, pound cakes, coconut cakes, and many other mouth-watering desserts graced the tables.<div><br /></div><div>After the "feast" folks gathered again in the church for an afternoon of groups singing old-times gospel songs such as "I'll Fly Away, Oh Glory, I'll Fly Away in the morning..."</div><div><br /></div><div>It was a bittersweet gathering each year. You honored and recalled your ancestors, had fellowship with kinfolks you hadn't seen for a long time, and worshipped in the little country church. The Many Forks Baptist Church cemetery was beautiful with the flowers and American flags decorated the resting places of loved ones.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8h28gcR-0_XKlYpk9VeefDa3aafU9BjIH7hopOCrwWqin4TH5nJMWzUZErPKX0hb0g1rsT8mKc_YZL-KC-nMllCuv4a86v-cfMGpVMp7GOIq6aAZItdbgoOc81EgM6HE12VWo4JbDXi-zkM9LhgSR4dGJKckEVibc4RuQqLwsl4qHmESvsLu-J2zzWw/s903/Many%20Forks%20Bpt.%20Church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="585" data-original-width="903" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8h28gcR-0_XKlYpk9VeefDa3aafU9BjIH7hopOCrwWqin4TH5nJMWzUZErPKX0hb0g1rsT8mKc_YZL-KC-nMllCuv4a86v-cfMGpVMp7GOIq6aAZItdbgoOc81EgM6HE12VWo4JbDXi-zkM9LhgSR4dGJKckEVibc4RuQqLwsl4qHmESvsLu-J2zzWw/w519-h286/Many%20Forks%20Bpt.%20Church.jpg" width="519" /></a></div><br /><div>Many Forks Baptist Church Cemetery beautifully adorned with flowers on Decoration Day.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyFwb3UeegSy8Ros0tcZ9HQL56uLnS-c1MlrwoKZGMoOglGIKdbbNTKGofJM4TAiLSSfp-joJKrUgQBqbxGAarynt0zF28I42hZl1kr-u1gqVdjly1tUyTMhXmECXiSWKZrzwho4zc-C1hqOGBCdNOwc2WmX6Nb-1IrhwRpSv7xXLbvo7E6HGowqKQoA/s820/Ridgeway%20Singers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="574" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyFwb3UeegSy8Ros0tcZ9HQL56uLnS-c1MlrwoKZGMoOglGIKdbbNTKGofJM4TAiLSSfp-joJKrUgQBqbxGAarynt0zF28I42hZl1kr-u1gqVdjly1tUyTMhXmECXiSWKZrzwho4zc-C1hqOGBCdNOwc2WmX6Nb-1IrhwRpSv7xXLbvo7E6HGowqKQoA/w399-h346/Ridgeway%20Singers.jpg" width="399" /></a></div><br /><div>One of the groups that performed Gospel music on Decoration Day at Many Forks Church.</div><div><p><br /></p></div>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-1074478470505693902023-04-28T11:05:00.000-07:002023-04-28T11:05:51.859-07:00Mother's Day<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxtuvdt6emA7N3988KhufDVWHbxD8-tY1fY97XOSmsecUZbysBRpTmMrEqX9hQdKgXfvpY43WEjm1UEdT1qYOPL72jYk4XnMz29vMQdDVSnfn_ZqwUSYeR5u6QKb4S6mtnXRj5uSYencAMkzvbG4UulIXapViWCNfFYz8UnbEjMcF2JVJBM-H0orHJg/s3888/Brenda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="2592" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxtuvdt6emA7N3988KhufDVWHbxD8-tY1fY97XOSmsecUZbysBRpTmMrEqX9hQdKgXfvpY43WEjm1UEdT1qYOPL72jYk4XnMz29vMQdDVSnfn_ZqwUSYeR5u6QKb4S6mtnXRj5uSYencAMkzvbG4UulIXapViWCNfFYz8UnbEjMcF2JVJBM-H0orHJg/w367-h512/Brenda.jpg" width="367" /></a></div> Brenda and her Mama Blanche<p></p><p><br /></p><p>GARDENING</p><div style="text-align: left;">I put on Mama's T-shirt,</div><div style="text-align: left;">donned her jade jacket</div><div style="text-align: left;">that she wore to garden.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Her sweet spirit remained,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I felt her loving presence</div><div style="text-align: left;">planting my sunflower seeds.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">She savored gardening,</div><div style="text-align: left;">she grew vegetables and flowers,</div><div style="text-align: left;">her favorite color was green.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The wind blew through</div><div style="text-align: left;">grass like waves on the sea,</div><div style="text-align: left;">a royal-blue tent watched</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">above the Cherry Mountain.</div><div style="text-align: left;">A rain crow resounded</div><div style="text-align: left;">and tranquility filled my soul.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> --Brenda Kay Ledford</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I wish all my blogger friends a very Happy Mother's Day.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Love,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Brenda </div>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-10697554667724530052023-04-11T11:55:00.000-07:002023-04-11T11:55:14.777-07:00Flower Chorus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJk_7_Y1naH7aasMXlxeMRlMq1avGszwt11SX_3vnliSUyD46WGeQmI8CLKTmpO10fmzZWfYvPZOF5E1oOsG_MnQNiVMulq9kHFY44VymArrQnj-0zFHkbDxf6Y1kaf3inCcf-oQUEtGNI-14W9EBoyaoEEKXekx8YVY3_hWYEW95CK6lKu8sTn6prg/s1600/Hamilton%20Gardens%20011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJk_7_Y1naH7aasMXlxeMRlMq1avGszwt11SX_3vnliSUyD46WGeQmI8CLKTmpO10fmzZWfYvPZOF5E1oOsG_MnQNiVMulq9kHFY44VymArrQnj-0zFHkbDxf6Y1kaf3inCcf-oQUEtGNI-14W9EBoyaoEEKXekx8YVY3_hWYEW95CK6lKu8sTn6prg/w562-h408/Hamilton%20Gardens%20011.jpg" width="562" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> A canopy of poplar trees</div><div style="text-align: left;">line dancing in key-lime</div><div style="text-align: left;">garments as the songbirds give</div><div style="text-align: left;">a mountain spring concert.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Cody conducts "Lord of the Dance,"</div><div style="text-align: left;">as Nolan plays the flute,</div><div style="text-align: left;">a chorus of tulips bursts forth</div><div style="text-align: left;">from earth's dark tomb.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Dogwoods wash the hills</div><div style="text-align: left;">with snow as trillium</div><div style="text-align: left;">clog in pink slippers,</div><div style="text-align: left;">a doe and spotted fawn</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">drink from Hyatt-Mill Creek.</div><div style="text-align: left;">A soft breeze brushes my face,</div><div style="text-align: left;">robins hip-hop in verdant grass,</div><div style="text-align: left;">and the chords of nature resound.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> --Brenda Kay Ledford</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I wish all my blogger friends a beautiful and Happy Spring!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Brenda </div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-45771670107550740552023-03-21T12:35:00.001-07:002023-03-21T12:35:29.833-07:00Brenda Kay Ledford's Book Released<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCiHc3E4hgt-UvzWJNrG8xuiAClnh-BiAqgiUHYbspc_ARJjbPFcJ8HCNdPkTYNu_kYogvtwzoONB4SaswtzQRHgTR4CthoQ5S8ScaOd1_RKfGG07D_EtW8RkimgZiPAHcuALBuV2SKpk-tCpjX_QrIICuWHsqSPwdvixer1AFPcmYSynH3rFQgutOQ/s1734/Brenda%20Kay%20Ledford.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1734" data-original-width="1209" height="481" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCiHc3E4hgt-UvzWJNrG8xuiAClnh-BiAqgiUHYbspc_ARJjbPFcJ8HCNdPkTYNu_kYogvtwzoONB4SaswtzQRHgTR4CthoQ5S8ScaOd1_RKfGG07D_EtW8RkimgZiPAHcuALBuV2SKpk-tCpjX_QrIICuWHsqSPwdvixer1AFPcmYSynH3rFQgutOQ/w361-h481/Brenda%20Kay%20Ledford.jpg" width="361" /></a></div><br /> Brenda Kay Ledford's new book, "Leatherwood Falls, Blue Ridge Mountain Poems," has been released by Kelsay Books.<p></p><p>This book is a memoir of Ledford's brother, Harold Ledford, who passed away two years ago. He was a US Army veteran of Vietnam and a law enforcement officer in Clay County, NC for 30 years until his retirement.</p><p>According to Glenda C. Beall, North Carolina Writer's Network-West Program Coordinator, "Brenda Kay Ledford takes the reader on a mountain hike where she names the wildflowers, birds, through the eyes of her beloved brother. She takes us to childhood days and as he left for Vietnam. We see an ordinary man who is not ordinary in the eyes of his sister. Ledford writes in various poetic forms staying true to her task of honoring her brother. Like most mountain families, they are close and death will never end the love they share."</p><p>You may purchase this book at: www.amazon.com</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiezd2rkYH9x0XxQ2n_TeXakXDMOdY8K67pHcxZoCwdo-yjXAG1LZZXpJOSo-_oVMI42a6A1G5Cq_J2J1VQRCMTex0pAh56yd4RfFouuDz9QcGZTA1l_1nWJLr4uxsDwaFgYQI53YLguQ0pxt6JeCJX01jNbuZy4YHMFSq5-wU32ep8n9mjv3xkPmCaVQ/s975/image.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="975" data-original-width="872" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiezd2rkYH9x0XxQ2n_TeXakXDMOdY8K67pHcxZoCwdo-yjXAG1LZZXpJOSo-_oVMI42a6A1G5Cq_J2J1VQRCMTex0pAh56yd4RfFouuDz9QcGZTA1l_1nWJLr4uxsDwaFgYQI53YLguQ0pxt6JeCJX01jNbuZy4YHMFSq5-wU32ep8n9mjv3xkPmCaVQ/s320/image.png" width="286" /></a></div><br /><p>Brenda Kay Ledford' beloved, big brother, Harold Ledford.</p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-85823633387141968292023-03-01T11:56:00.002-08:002023-03-01T11:56:50.229-08:00Mountain Spring<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoXouOj9UO79ebw1IoZDnT-JIECNBEEDaKydSfWuMcbZ42bwa76vdhwiFXtA4QN8R-1fYP53OfftKnPdf-xPVAKxQtjlvgZIqewyQ5I4Irp0OM7w8a040GsBocE2FZ0uOPBeqSzxgm17kirzz6xNNkIhyAPceYkamnnbxwi45qTWsNIRN9gthHQ2kWew/s2048/Springtime%20Photos%20002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="503" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoXouOj9UO79ebw1IoZDnT-JIECNBEEDaKydSfWuMcbZ42bwa76vdhwiFXtA4QN8R-1fYP53OfftKnPdf-xPVAKxQtjlvgZIqewyQ5I4Irp0OM7w8a040GsBocE2FZ0uOPBeqSzxgm17kirzz6xNNkIhyAPceYkamnnbxwi45qTWsNIRN9gthHQ2kWew/w535-h503/Springtime%20Photos%20002.jpg" width="535" /></a></div><br /> Mountain Spring<p></p><div style="text-align: left;">Nature pulled out all the stops:</div><div style="text-align: left;">the robins hopping</div><div style="text-align: left;">across the verdant grass,</div><div style="text-align: left;">the mourning dove cooing</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">in the greening woods,</div><div style="text-align: left;">the chatter of songbirds,</div><div style="text-align: left;">a cloud of blackbirds</div><div style="text-align: left;">soaring over the maples</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">bursting forth with rubies.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Hyatt-Mill Creek laughing,</div><div style="text-align: left;">the spring peppers croaking,</div><div style="text-align: left;">and the Blue Ridge Mountains</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">breaking out with new life.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The Bradford pear trees</div><div style="text-align: left;">blooming like ice-cream cones,</div><div style="text-align: left;">jonquils popping up as lemon drops.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The yellow bell bush ringing,</div><div style="text-align: left;">a choir of cardinals singing:</div><div style="text-align: left;">spring pulled out all the stops.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Listen. Look. Stop.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> --Brenda Kay Ledford</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Hopefully, spring is coming early here in western North Carolina. I hope all my blogger friends will have a beautiful spring soon.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p><br /></p>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7772653330643900508.post-87567845764420246522023-02-01T12:01:00.000-08:002023-02-01T12:01:03.940-08:00Spring Dreams<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmHQVl_19zLzXiLbTeMab6P9CG6vubtfJcFAUOxV2_Te86CBJpg5pFROHIU5L8ts4MT0xQLUtM2HKytaXTahOpcNuCuWQHla3Q_OVqCmZwLRkkX7QAFDnDL4oY29rWq9t2jyxU20LO3CXYBvdx7T0Xa5BvGi1VToKAtb1h5djwyzoZvKmSuYo3gT3AVA/s500/mixed-tulips.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmHQVl_19zLzXiLbTeMab6P9CG6vubtfJcFAUOxV2_Te86CBJpg5pFROHIU5L8ts4MT0xQLUtM2HKytaXTahOpcNuCuWQHla3Q_OVqCmZwLRkkX7QAFDnDL4oY29rWq9t2jyxU20LO3CXYBvdx7T0Xa5BvGi1VToKAtb1h5djwyzoZvKmSuYo3gT3AVA/w579-h395/mixed-tulips.webp" width="579" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>SPRING DREAMS</p><div style="text-align: left;">Today I dream of spring:</div><div style="text-align: left;">tulips burning like fire</div><div style="text-align: left;">in the majestic mountains.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I celebrate the promise</div><div style="text-align: left;">of spring in midwinter:</div><div style="text-align: left;">the robins singing and flocking </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">across my lawn </div><div style="text-align: left;">like orange blankets.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The purple tulips</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">will pop up as blackberries</div><div style="text-align: left;">from the hard, cold ground.</div><div style="text-align: left;">"Winter can't last forever,"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">the bulbs seem to say.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Knockout roses are just</div><div style="text-align: left;">waiting to put on a show</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">across the countryside.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The jonquils wearing golden</div><div style="text-align: left;">garments won't be upstaged.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">They will spread churned</div><div style="text-align: left;">butter among the verdant grass.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Hold on just a little longer.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Nature gives her promise</div><div style="text-align: left;">that she will breakdance</div><div style="text-align: left;">in bold colors sooner than later.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> --Brenda Kay Ledford </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6iDMLYgIxzGkt2rXRdNCa3P_wTBxZMayRHy_YA18Y8ItdCUbkq4T_nERgVu5_d_XmTAukKX0Z2XZ9es4DUeUo9EyOEdA98NTziYpDRGso-BuKh_4eGNuNqLSCJCYLBRLq3cQkPT5mAdu76xyYNY_FtLULomKqDBwHCgNz07eGG-wF5kyftltWZ5vYDQ/s510/purple%20tulips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="510" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6iDMLYgIxzGkt2rXRdNCa3P_wTBxZMayRHy_YA18Y8ItdCUbkq4T_nERgVu5_d_XmTAukKX0Z2XZ9es4DUeUo9EyOEdA98NTziYpDRGso-BuKh_4eGNuNqLSCJCYLBRLq3cQkPT5mAdu76xyYNY_FtLULomKqDBwHCgNz07eGG-wF5kyftltWZ5vYDQ/w529-h256/purple%20tulips.jpg" width="529" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Brenda Kay Ledfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03077314514118637590noreply@blogger.com7