The Maple's Story

 

The Maple’s Story

by

Brenda Kay Ledford

 

          Through decades, Red stood watch over our family.  This beloved maple witnessed picnics, parties, visiting with neighbors, making ice-cream, listening to the “Wagon Train” over the radio station, and slicing humongous watermelons on the Fourth of July.

          As my siblings and I grew from childhood into adulthood, the tree offered branches and her trunk.  She helped us to pursue our dreams.

          Brother Harold scaled the tree and found adventure.  Mama knew where to find him.  She looked up and saw Harold reading the Grit newspaper in Red’s arms.  Sister Barbara and I followed big brother’s example, and swayed in the branches on sweltering summer days.

          During the polio epidemic, we stayed at home to avoid contracting the disease.  Red offered hours of pleasure under her shade.  My siblings and I played “Red Light/Green Light,” “Mother May I,” and “Hide-and-Seek,” beneath its canopy.  Barbara and I spent hours dressing our paper dolls, and coloring animals in a book.

          As we grew up, our interests changed.  When Harold got his driver’s license at 16, he started dating.  On autumn evenings, he played a guitar for his girlfriend under the maple’s blushing leaves.

          Red stood proud and tall.  She watched Mama taking prom photos, family reunions, children graduating from high school, and wedding days.  She saw the grandparents cuddling their grandchildren and Harold wearing a US Army uniform.

          Finally, throughout generations, old Red has been like a mother to our family.  It’s a story of lives forever intertwined and changed, through connection to this marvelous maple tree.

         

Fireflies

 

 

Fireflies

On a soft summer evening,

lightning bugs flicker in the forest,

and put on a splendid show.

 

Like stars glittering in trees,

fireflies flashing their lights,

high beams, low beams.

 

 My Grandma Minnie always said,

“Fireflies bring strawberry pies.

They fly when wild strawberries ripen.”

 

Siblings and I caught fireflies

in a Mason jar with holes in the lid,

our dog frolicked through the woods.

                   --Brenda Kay Ledford 

I hope my blogger friends are having a wonderful season.  Here in the Blue Ridge Mountains, the fireflies or lightning bugs, have been putting on a show in the forest.  A few of the bugs are still flickering in the night to put on a grand show.

                    Happy Fourth of July!

 

 

 

 

Learning to Drive

 

Learning to Drive

Brenda Kay Ledford

 

          I took Driver’s Education in 1968 at Hayesville High School.  My palms perspired and my heart thumped when I got into the driver’s seat.  Mr. Cunningham was the teacher and gave instructions.

          “Push in the clutch, shift from neutral into first gear, ease out the clutch, and slowly accelerate,” he said.

          I let out the clutch too quickly and the vehicle bucked like a bronco.  I almost threw Mr. Cunningham through the windshield.  No wonder he turned white-headed so young.

          The day arrived to tackle the mountain roads.  I was the first student to drive up Tusquittee.  I took a hairpin curve too fast and squealed the tires.  “Brake before entering the curve,” said Mr. Cunningham.

          When we got to Fires Creek Road, he told me to make a U-turn.  “You’ll have to cut real deep,” he said.  I had never done this maneuver before and plunged into a ditch.  The students in the backseat screamed and Mr. Cunningham’s face turned pale as a ghost. 

          A farmer happened by with his tractor.  He hooked a chain to the car and pulled it out.  Passersby gawked and laughed.  I wanted to run and hide in the pine thicket.

          Mr. Cunningham told me to drive back to school.  I trembled like a leaf and drove as a snail.  Word spread that I wrecked the new driver’s ed car

          Finally, Mr. Cunningham had my back.  “It wasn’t Brenda’s fault.  The sun blinded her.”

           

The Newly Weds

 Never too old

to touch the hearts

of those who will receive.

Gathering at Hightower Vineyards,

grape vines stretch

their arms around the ponds.

Honeysuckle spills perfume

on the pure, mountain air.

Their children and grandchildren

celebrate the wedding.

Eyes fixed on the couple,

the groom strums the guitar

and sings the bride's favorite song.

A long season of rain,

the sunrays break through clouds:

Love, forever in love!

           --Brenda Kay Ledford

A couple recently got married and I was blessed to attend the beautiful wedding.  Both of their spouses had passed away some time ago.  The couple met at Grief Share, started dating, and eventually fell in love.  It was a God-thing that the senior citizens found love again.

Mrs. Thelma Howard's Garden

 

At age 98, my neighbor, Mrs. Thelma Howard, plants a vegetable garden each year.  I wrote a poem about her inspiring everyone on Swaims Road.  When I brought the framed poem to her house, she was hanging laundry on the line.  Each morning when she gets up, Mrs. Thelma takes a shower, puts on her work clothes and keeps busy with gardening and housework.  She said with a laugh, "Age is just a number, and mine is unlisted."  She's a great person and motivates our community to "keep on keeping on."

THELMA HOWARD

Even to your old age I am He, I will sustain you.

               --Isaiah 46:4 (NIV)

She's the Viking

of Swaims Road

shaming the slothful.

One more year,

the warrior tackles

hardening soil with vengeance.

The 98-year-old woman

pushes past comfort

to plant her garden.

At her home church,

she invites me to sit

on her favorite pew.

There's nothing you can catch

from me but old age, she says

with a laugh and her eyes sparkle.

Using her spiritual gifts,

Mrs. Thelma Howard

makes a unique mark on life.

             --Brenda Kay Ledford 

Celebrate Easter

 CELEBRATE EASTER

Beside Lake Chatuge,

the Easter bunny hides

eggs in the verdant grass,

a hollow oak, and daffodils

popping up like lemon drops.

Children wear pastel, ruffled dresses

and race about with their baskets

to find the prized egg.

Fluffy chicks cheep and peep

in a cardboard box.

A parade of tulips

bursting forth from earth's tomb,

the bluebirds perform a spring concert.

Redbud trees don purple robes,

as the dogwoods wash mountaintops

with thousands of petals.

            --Brenda Kay Ledford

I wish my blogger friends a Blessed Easter!

Celebrate Spring

 

Oh, to see the wonder of God's beautiful world through the eyes of an innocent child!

On the first day of March,

my great-niece drew

chalk art on the driveway.

Hearts and flowers

dazzled in purple and red,

she jumped on a hopscotch.

The precious two-year-old

laughed as she plucked

the first jonquils of spring.

They sparkled like sunrays

as she gave me a bouquet.

A flock of robins cut

through the azure skies

and spread an orange quilt

across the greening field.

The thrill of spring

yielded a joyful face,

she did not waste a moment.

                 --Brenda Kay Ledford

It's beginning to look a lot like spring here in the Blue Ridge Mountains.  The little jonquils have popped up, the maples swell with red buds, the forsythia bush is bursting forth like yellow bells, the grass is greening, and the birds are singing their little hearts out with joyful tunes.  I love spring.

Wishing all my blogger friends an awesome springtime!