-^98^ 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Arcliive 
 in 2014 
 
 https://archive.org/details/inretrospectseleOOmeth 
 
£ 
 
 Contents 
 
 Minister (The Faithful Speak) y by M, Penney 1 
 
 EyeSj by Mary Atonan 2 
 
 My Burning Bush^ by Feggy Parrish 2 
 
 What if God Charged Us^ by Murrel Edlin 4 
 
 God Speaks^ by Naomi Mosier 4 
 
 Hands J Hands j by Mae Brothers 5 
 
 Snow f lakes y by J,D. Turner 6 
 
 The Beginning J by Lucy Graham 7 
 
 Second Wife^ by Frances Harvey 8 
 
 I Remember Mama^ by Lizette Dunham 12 
 
 Moving y by Ellie Lewis lb 
 
 Indian Friends ^ by Murrel Edlin 16 
 
 Untitled Poetry ^ by Mary Auman 17 
 
 Victory y by Peggy Parrish 17 
 
 October y by Mary Penney 18 
 
 Second Cup^ by Mary Auman 19 
 
 The Tenth Man^ by Naomi Mosier 20 
 
 In My Garden y by J, V, Turner 26 
 
 Untitled Poetry y by Mary Auman 27 
 
 The Line^ by Mae Brothers 28 
 
 I Remember a Day^ by Lucy Graham 29 
 
 Untitled Prose ^ by Mary Penney ZO 
 
 Untitled Poetry ^ by Mary Auman 31 
 
 Cheese Note to Terry ^ by Peggy Parrish 32 
 
 My Confused Friend^ by Mary Auman 23 
 
 Mary 's Words ^ by Peggy Parrish 34 
 
 Some Heritage of William Manly and 
 
 Mary John Ferguson ^ by Oda Strowd 35 
 
 From ''Times to Remember by Lois Branson 39 
 
 The Night We Spent with 
 
 the Bootleggers y by Mary Auman 42 
 
 Untitled Poetry ^ by Peggy Parrish 45 
 
 Facets y by Mary Auman 46 
 
 My Goat Story y by Betsy Stanbury 47 
 
 Overheard y by Mary Auman 48 
 
Bout with Arteriosolerosis y by Peggy Parrish .... 49 
 
 Story of an Indian^ by Murrel Edlin 30 
 
 The Paradise Tree^ by Frances Harvey E>1 
 
 Nativity^ by Mary Penney 6Z 
 
 Untitled Poetry^ by Peggy Parrish 63 
 
 Night at the Beach y by Mary Auman 64 
 
 The Lost and Found - 
 
 Yellow Gold J by Lucy Graham 64 
 
 Saved by a Fox^ by Mae Brothers 66 
 
 Our Thanksgiving Turkey^ by Lizette Dunham 67 
 
 We Go Out to Preach and Eealy by Naomi Mosier ... 68 
 
 Untitled Poetry ^ by Mary Auman 77 
 
 To My Wife^ by J.V, Turner 78 
 
 Sea Tag^ by Naomi Mosier 79 
 
 Midnight Beach y by Mary Auman 80 
 
 Melissa^ by Mary Penney 80 
 
 A Pilgrimage y by Peggy Parrish 81 
 
 A Dreamy by Murrel Edlin 82 
 
 Looking at Second Place y by Mae Brothers 8Z 
 
 Dawny by J, V, Turner 84 
 
 A Dreamy by Murrel Edlin 85 
 
 Topsyy by Lizette Dunham 85 
 
 Day 's Endy by Mary Auman 87 
 
 Fantasy y by Lucy Graham 88 
 
 Snakes y by Mae Brothers 89 
 
 Alone y by Naomi Mosier 90 
 
 God 's Creationy by Oda Strowd 91 
 
 Untitled Poetryy by Mary Auman 94 
 
 Trees y by Ethel Harris 94 
 
 No Maily by Peggy Parrish 95 
 
 Divine Remedy y by Peggy Parrish 95 
 
 Shrimp y by Ellie Lewis 96 
 
 Chains y by Peggy Parrish 97 
 
 Untitled Poetryy by Mary Auman 98 
 
MINISTER (The Faithful Speak) 
 
 We did not bargain for this special gvaoe. 
 As quietly bestowed as April sun 
 To leaf and root — this kindly warmth j 
 This gentle benediction. 
 
 We may not search the secrets 
 
 Of cathedral arch and spire. 
 
 The panoply of white clouds in the spring, 
 
 October's gold profundity; but this we know: 
 
 We did not bargain for this grace, this agape. 
 Affirming and confirming the reality 
 Of cathedral arch and spire. 
 Of great clouds massing free, 
 October's green and gold epiphany. 
 
 Mary Penney 
 
2 
 
 EYES 
 
 Everywhere are eyes. 
 
 Eyes that delve into lifers mysteries* 
 
 Eyes that communicate joys* 
 
 Eyes that share unspoken comedy. 
 
 Eyes that brood sadly. 
 
 Eyes that fantasize dreamily. 
 
 Eyes that live again the pleasant past. 
 
 Everywhere are eyes. 
 
 Self centered eyes that look only inward. 
 Alive y merry eyes that anticipate coming 
 events. 
 
 Bleak, hopeless eyes that stoically endure. 
 Superior eyes that judge others, aloofly. 
 Comradely eyes that share understanding. 
 Calculating eyes, making precise plans. 
 
 Eyes are mirrors. 
 Revealing the real person. 
 Together, a computer. 
 
 Measuring civilization's progress. 
 
 Mary Auman 
 1983 
 
2 
 
 MY BURNING BUSH 
 
 Today I saw 
 a hush aflame 
 yet not consumed 
 stvieken I tried 
 to run and hide 
 a voice told me 
 that where I stood 
 was Holy Ground 
 I knew and knelt 
 
 No forest there 
 no plant nor tree 
 a splendid dueed 
 bedazzled me. 
 
 Peggy Parrish 
 
4 
 
 What if God charged us for the vain 
 
 That greens our fields of fruit and grain 
 
 Or for frost etched pictures on a window pane. 
 
 Suppose we might have to pay 
 
 To see the sunset at the close of day 
 
 Or watch the stars in the Milky Way, 
 
 What if we paid fifty cents a night 
 To watch the pale mom's silvery light 
 Chase dark shadows into light. 
 
 What do you think it might cost to hear 
 The happy laugh of a child playing near 
 Who never knew either hunger or fear. 
 
 Or white tipped waves of a majestic sea 
 With sea gulls chanting their symphony 
 All these things God gives us free. 
 
 Murrel Edlin 
 
 GOD SPEAKS 
 
 When tragedy makes the heart cry out, 
 "Where is God? Where can I find Him?" 
 Listen carefully, child of God, 
 For deep in your heart He will speak to you. 
 
 "I am your I am. 
 
 Without My presence you wouldn't he you. 
 For I am the life that flows through you. 
 All living things are expressions of Me. 
 There is no end to the things I can he. 
 But in you, I am your I am." 
 
 Naomi Mosier 
 
5 
 
 HANDS! HANDS I 
 
 How could we work 
 
 without them — 
 We express our friendship 
 
 by a handshake 
 We give a pat on the back 
 
 or cheek for love 
 We spread our hand 
 
 in acknowledgment 
 We lift a hand to 
 
 indicate a direction 
 We point a finger to have someone 
 
 pick up an object 
 We move our hands downward 
 
 To place an object 
 We motion our hand 
 
 to bring a person to us 
 We spread our hands to 
 
 indicate a seat 
 We double our hands in a 
 
 fist to express anger 
 We motion our hands to 
 
 move someone toward us 
 We push our hands to push away 
 We wave our hands to say 
 
 goodby 
 We lift our hand 
 
 to surrender 
 We press a finger to our 
 
 lips to indicate silence 
 We lift our hands high to 
 
 indicate the heaven above 
 We clap our hands 
 
 in praise 
 We fold our hands 
 
 in prayer 
 All these things are made 
 
 possible by holding 
 the Hand of God 
 
 Mae Brothers 
 
6 
 
 SNOWFLAKES 
 
 Snowing! Ah^ the glorious sight 
 To see the Artist work in white^ 
 And watch the snowflakes gently fall 
 In answer to some unknown call. 
 
 Each flake, a different crystal planned; 
 A witness of the Master Hand 
 That fashioned us yet bids us go 
 To sleep at last beneath the snow. 
 
 How like the snowflakes then are we. 
 Each soul a separate entity; 
 We* re given life, and yet from birth 
 We drift like snowflakes to the earth. 
 
 "Like snowflakes perish there?" you ask? 
 To answer that is not my task; 
 For such an answer you should go 
 And ask the God that made the snow. 
 
 Dr. J. V. Turner 
 
7 
 
 TEE BEGINNING 
 
 My father was born and grew to manhood on 
 the Moore County side of Cape Fear River. My 
 mother lived on the opposite side in Chatham 
 County. Crossing the river by ferryboat at a 
 place called Avent's Ferry was the usual way 
 of getting to the other side. This was 
 accomplished in a small rowboat for passengers 
 and a large flatboat for horses, buggies and 
 wagons. A ferrjnnan was in charge, who, for a 
 small fee, carried both passengers and 
 vehicles across. The ferry operated daily and 
 on schedule as long as the river was in the 
 banks but sometimes when the river rose to 
 flood stage, crossing was too hazardous to 
 attempt and the boats did not operate. 
 
 When my father and mother began seeing 
 each other, usually on Sunday, dating could 
 become a problem, living on opposite sides of 
 the river, especially when the river was at 
 flood stage and the ferry could not operate. 
 But high water was no problem for my father. 
 He put on his Sunday clothes, rode horseback 
 to the river, tied his horse in the bushes, 
 took off his clothes, strapped them to his 
 back, and swam the dangerous river. Once on 
 the other side he put on his clothes and 
 walked the short distance to the Avent home to 
 go courting. 
 
 Fortunately, most of the time, the river 
 was in the banks and crossing was easy, but 
 then my grandmother was strict about who and 
 when her daughters had callers. Always on 
 Sunday, never on week days or at night. But 
 love found a way and on December 21, 1887, 
 they were married. She was sixteen and he was 
 twenty--f ive. 
 
 Lucy Graham 
 
8 
 
 SECOND WIFE 
 
 Like the other women in our crowd I was 
 prepared to dislike Emily, Bill's second wife. 
 Mary, his first wife, had been one of us for years 
 and we were indignant when Bill, in less than a 
 year, married again. We resented the fact that 
 while we still mourned Mary's death and felt a deep 
 personal loss he had taken another wife and, to make 
 it worse, someone we did not know. 
 
 Ever since the local paper had carried the 
 announcement of the marriage of Mrs. Emily Reeves 
 Willing ton, of Dallas, to Mr. William Henry Gray, we 
 had talked of nothing else. I was glad that they 
 had gone on an extended wedding trip to Hawaii for 
 it gave us time to get over our shock and resentment 
 and to decide how to receive them on their return. 
 Our first reaction had been to ignore them but our 
 husbands protested such drastic treatment. They all 
 agreed that Bill was no fool and we should give 
 Emily a chance before passing judgment. 
 
 As the weeks passed we ceased to feel bitter 
 about the marriage and curiosity and our genuine 
 fondness of Bill modified our attitude. 
 
 I was thinking about these things as I ran the 
 vacuum cleaner. Tonight was one of our regular 
 gatherings. For years, once a month, we got 
 together, first at one house then another, for a 
 buffet supper. Each couple contributed food and the 
 hostess provided cocktails, hors d'oeuvres and 
 coffee. Emily and Bill had returned from their 
 wedding trip only yesterday and I had called and 
 asked them to join us tonight at my house. Bill is 
 one of my favorites and I was anxious to see him and 
 I'll admit, I was woman enough to be curious about 
 "that widow." I wanted the evening to go off 
 smoothly but was apprehensive of the attitude of the 
 other wives. 
 
 As the day passed and the time for the party 
 drew near ray nervousness increased; I expressed my 
 fears to Paul, my husband. He laughed at me but 
 promised to do his best to keep the men in line but 
 said I'd have to manage the girls. 
 
9 
 
 As the couples began to arrive it was evident 
 that the wives were making this an occasion. Helen 
 had cooked her Hungarian spiced beef, which she 
 prepares for very special affairs, Martha, our 
 glamour girl, flaunted a new hair-do, Betty had cut 
 her precious "Snow Queen" camellias and made a 
 breathtaking arrangement for the table, and the 
 others had outdone themselves with salads, 
 casseroles and dessert. I was not immune to the 
 fever for I had taken my best china from the top 
 shelf, polished the silver and spent hours over the 
 hors d'oeuvres. Eleanor was the only one who had 
 made no effort to impress Emily. When the food was 
 placed on the table we stood around sipping our 
 drinks and waiting expectantly. Bill and Emily were 
 not late; we were early. 
 
 A few minutes before seven I heard footsteps on 
 the porch and went to greet the bride and groom. 
 Bill beamed as he introduced Emily. In the cross 
 currents of greetings there was no constraint on the 
 part of anyone. The husbands pounded Bill on the 
 back, "You old rascal, how did you get her," and 
 "You pulled a fast one," were heard. The women were 
 more restrained. 
 
 Emily held out a dish covered with aluminum 
 foil and said, "Bill didn't tell me until late that 
 everyone brought something, but I fixed these." As 
 I removed the foil all eyes were fixed on the dish. 
 It was a large silver shell filled with salted pecan 
 halves still warm from the oven. I sighed with 
 relief, no competition here, an extra salad, 
 vegetable or dessert would have been awkward. The 
 pecans were the perfect selection. One point scored 
 for Emily. 
 
 Dinner was gay and informal. When the first 
 rush of serving and seating was over I took time to 
 really look at Emily. She was not at all what I had 
 expected. In my imagination I had pictured the 
 widow from Dallas as a femme fatale who had set her 
 cap for Bill and swept him willy-nilly to the altar. 
 Now I had to revise my concept of her. She was 
 
10 
 
 older than I had expected, in her early forties, and 
 there was a streak of gray in her blond hair, her 
 figure was good but not provocative and she wore 
 expensive but conservative clothes. In addition to 
 her physical attractiveness she possessed a natural 
 charm that defied criticism. I was glad she was not 
 a beauty, one beauty in a crowd is enough and Martha 
 is ours. 
 
 During dinner the conversation was general. 
 Emily must have felt out of it as we talked of 
 people she did not know and of occasions we had 
 shared of which she was ignorant, but she made no 
 effort to steer the conversation into less intimate 
 channels. Looking back I'm afraid we were not very 
 considerate . 
 
 After dinner I saw Agnes taking in every detail 
 of Emily's costume and mentally attaching a price 
 tag to each item. Evidently the total was 
 staggering for she whispered almost in awe, 
 "Neiman-'Marcus . " Later this surmise was confirmed 
 when Emily said, "Meiman-Marcus has lovely things. 
 I splurged on two or three dresses from there and 
 I'll have to wear them for years." This frank remark 
 pleased us for each of us knew what it was to 
 "invest" in one good dress and wear it season after 
 season. 
 
 The evening was going nicely. The men accepted 
 Emily as soon as they realized she presented no 
 challenge and they could be comfortably themselves 
 in her presence. Later in the evening, as usual, 
 they drifted into the library leaving the women in 
 the living room. 
 
 The talk was of things of interest to women. 
 When food was discussed Emily praised the Hungarian 
 spiced beef and I noted with admiration that she was 
 too wise to ask for the recipe. I could see Helen 
 capitulate. Later when we were discussing flowers 
 she asked who had grown those gorgeous camellias, 
 and Betty beamed. As the evening wore on I could 
 see the women relent and here and there a white flag 
 
11 
 
 go up as one after the other surrendered to Emily's 
 charm, but there remained a feeling of restraint, 
 something was needed to unite all the women behind 
 her. 
 
 This came late in the evening, after the men 
 had rejoined us. I don't know what prompted it but 
 in a lull in the conversation I heard Eleanor say to 
 Emily, "Don't misunderstand, I'm not being critical. 
 Where I come from it's called New England 
 frankness." 
 
 Others had heard and now the room was hushed, 
 everyone was waiting for Emily's answer. She spoke 
 slowly, in a low voice in contrast to Eleanor's loud 
 nasal tone, "0, I'm glad you explained or I might 
 have misunderstood. You see where I come from it's 
 called rudeness." 
 
 No one moved. No one made a sound. Everyone 
 was looking at the two women. A smile was on 
 Emily's lips but it had not reached her eyes. 
 Before her steady gaze Eleanor had the grace to 
 blush . 
 
 Betty quickly made some irrelevant remark and 
 the crisis was passed, but the miracle had happened, 
 we were all united behind Emily. For years we had 
 endured Eleanor's rudeness masquerading as "New 
 England frankness," and longed to challenge her but 
 dared not as we feared her caustic tongue, but Emily 
 had gone to bat for all of us and how cleverly she 
 had done it. As I looked at the women there was 
 admiration and acceptance on each face. 
 
 Much later in the general confusion of 
 departing guests. Bill found a moment to draw me 
 aside and thank me for the evening. "You were 
 thoughtful to ask us and Emily and I have enjoyed 
 it. I do hope you will love her." 
 
 Enthusiastically I replied, "Of course, we 
 will. How can we help it when she's so much like 
 Mary." 
 
 After I had said it I was stunned. Why had I 
 made the comparison? Even as I wondered I realized 
 
12 
 
 that it was true. Would Bill resent it? I need not 
 have feared. He put an arm around my shoulder and 
 gave me a hug. "That's exactly what I said the 
 first time I saw her." 
 
 Frances H. Harvey 
 
 I REMEMBER MAMA 
 
 How well I ronember Mama! Her fine character, 
 her love not only for her family but others as well, 
 her uniqueness, living in the present but style of 
 dressing in the past, her happy outlook on life, 
 which she received from her husband, who said and 
 lived this expression^"Come day, go day, God send 
 Tomorrow." Manaa, who was my maternal grandmother, 
 lived in a small yellow cottage, which she had paid 
 for by sewing and nursing after her husband died. 
 This little home was always open, and welcomed her 
 children. My mother was married at 17 years and was 
 very immature. My father was 9 years older and 
 bought a home, where I, the oldest of 4 children, 
 was born. Mother was very unhappy in the new home 
 with a small baby and so we moved back with Mama. 
 She was so happy to have her first grandchild and we 
 became very close and remained that way always. My 
 great-great-grandmother at that time owned a whole 
 block of property in the little town-^A blocks from 
 the town square. She gave each of her children 
 property to build a home and Mama in turn gave my 
 family property. They built next door to Mama, with 
 a gate to enter each others' home conveniently. My 
 family's home was more modem and had conveniences 
 Mama didn't have, but I chose to stay with Mama for 
 years . 
 
13 
 
 My mother was very ill one summer and I can 
 remember Mama, with her featherbed coming through 
 that gate, to stay nights while Mother was so ill. 
 
 Mama was short and fat with long coal-black 
 hair and few grey hairs even at her death at 89 
 years. She wore her hair parted in the middle and 
 each side rolled back and made into a large bun in 
 the back. She had olive complexion and never put 
 anything on her face but cornstarch, and that only 
 when she went out which was on Sundays when she went 
 to church and a friend's funeral or to town before 
 Christmas to buy each of us a small Christmas gift. 
 My, how pretty and proud she looked! Around the 
 house she wore black cotton print dresses over 2 
 petticoats. The dresses came a few inches from the 
 floor, black cotton hose and black laced shoes, but 
 when she went out it was a black taffeta dress with 
 a white lace collar and under these petticoats she 
 wore a cotton chemise slip and her underpants were 
 different from any I have ever seen. She made them 
 of cotton material, an inch waistband, with two 
 separated legs. One time only one leg came back 
 from the laundry and she was distressed—- it wasn't 
 the loss so much as the thought that someone was 
 playing a joke on her because her clothes were 
 different from others. Mama had made her wedding 
 underclothes and was saving them to be buried in. 
 For 50 years she saved them, would launder them and 
 lovingly put them away again. My father gave her 
 yards of black taffeta material and she made it into 
 a very pretty dress and said she wanted to be buried 
 in it. I think she lived so long that the dress was 
 worn out. In those days, very few women wanted to 
 be taken to a funeral home when they died, but were 
 bathed and dressed by a member of the family or a 
 good friend who had arranged with each other to do 
 this favor. I heard Mama say all her friends had 
 died and she didn't know who would "put her away." 
 She was taken to the funeral home, however. She did 
 live for a few days to know she had become a great. 
 
14 
 
 great, grandmother, which made her very happy. 
 After my family moved next door, my uncle was 
 married and he moved in with Mama. They had 5 
 children in 7 years—two were twin girls and one 
 child died in infancy. Their mother died soon after 
 the last child was born so Mama raised those 4 
 children till they were grown. 
 
 Mama's nursing was to mothers at childbirth and 
 she stayed on for weeks to look after the mother and 
 baby. She went all over town and was much loved and 
 sought after by expectant mothers. Mama always had 
 a vegetable and flower garden and worked it herself 
 till the end. When scolded about working so hard 
 there, her remark was "If I die in my garden, I know 
 I will die happy," and she worked on. 
 
 Mama had quite a few "frans" as she called 
 them. She might have become interested in one of 
 them had it not been for Mother, who would go over 
 and sit till the friend left. She was afraid Mama 
 might marry. Mama was never sick, never went to a 
 hospital and was only ill for 2 weeks before she 
 died. Then she became very talkative and told 
 Mother about her life as a child and her experiences 
 during the Civil War, which Mother took notes on and 
 has passed down to her heirs and we have treasured 
 them. 
 
 What a long, fruitful life Mama lived! It was 
 not always happy as poverty, death, disappointments 
 and other family problems came her way, but she 
 always seemed to know how best to meet them. She 
 truly lived her religion by living for others and 
 forgetting self. How could I forget Mama? I pray 
 that I have inherited some of her fine 
 characteristics . 
 
 Lizette Dunham 
 
15 
 
 MOVING 
 
 The family lived in a small town where 
 there was one wealthy family. My mother was 
 in poor health and I was called on to help her 
 in every way I could. 
 
 We were moving to a new parsonage, and 
 the family asked to have the Rolls-Royce at 
 our disposal. The day was rainy but why worry 
 when we would be driven in a closed car with 
 style to the new home. 
 
 The roads were red mud and the driver did 
 the best he could with the big car which slid 
 from one side of the road to another side. 
 
 Finally the car gave up. 
 
 There was an old farmer with a wagon and 
 mule, yes, he would take the preacher folks to 
 the new parsonage. 
 
 Mother wrapped herself in a quilt and all 
 our odd pieces of luggage were dumped in the 
 wagon. 
 
 We went to a neighbor's house and Mother 
 had pneumonia. 
 
 Pride goes before a fall. 
 
 Ellie Lewis 
 
16 
 
 INDIAN FRIENDS 
 
 When I was three years old my grandparents 
 persuaded my parents to join them in the West. 
 The land was free in Washington State to those 
 who would live on it for a time and improve 
 it. While improving the land, my father was a 
 trucker, carrying supplies up the trail to the 
 Okanogan mines on the Indian reservation. The 
 trail went right in front of our house. 
 
 My mother was afraid of the Indians. 
 Many a time, I remember her putting us 
 children under the bed and pulling the dresser 
 across in front of it, when she saw Indians 
 coming down the trail. 
 
 The Indians were, ordinarily, peaceful. 
 The only time they were dangerous was when 
 they got hold of the "White Man's Firewater." 
 
 One of my most vivid recollections is of 
 visiting my grandparents and hearing a group 
 of noisy Indians coming down the trail. My 
 parents hid me under the sewing machine. They 
 threw a quilt over the machine so I couldn't 
 be seen. The Indians paused in front of my 
 grandparents' house, yelled, and went on down 
 the trail. 
 
 Shortly after that my grandmother became 
 very ill. There was no doctor within forty 
 miles. My grandfather tried to treat her with 
 a book of homeopathic medicine he had brought 
 west. She lay ill for six weeks before she 
 died. 
 
 During that six weeks that she was ill, 
 every morning some Indian friend would go to 
 the river and catch a fresh fish, wrap it in 
 leaves, and leave it for her. Each morning, 
 when we went outside, we would find it lying 
 on the back stoop. She loved the Indians and 
 they loved her. 
 
 Murrel Edlin 
 
17 
 
 The black holes of life 
 
 Ave where generated energy lies. 
 It either explodes inwardly y 
 
 And destroys itself; 
 Or it may give birth 
 
 To a strong, bright star. 
 That sheds afar 
 
 Its light and energy. 
 
 Mary Auman 
 1983 
 
 VICTORY 
 
 The time of trial went by 
 and I 
 
 knew prayers were going up 
 
 on my behalf. 
 
 For in an awesome way 
 
 I soared above 
 
 the pain and stress 
 
 yea even the sharp 
 
 and piercing stabs 
 
 of those whom I had thought 
 
 were on my sidLe. 
 
 I felt some pride 
 
 But mostly I kept saying 
 
 ( tho ' not aloud 
 
 but deep within my soul) 
 
 "Oh, thank you, God!" 
 
 for well I knew 
 
 how quickly I would fall 
 
 and loudly yelp 
 
 if I should dare to walk 
 
 without His help. 
 
 Peggy Parrish 
 
18 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 Those last days of summer in Carolina were 
 scuppemong sweet. Sun gold, sky blue, leaf 
 green, translucent yellow, they slipped away 
 almost before cricket, cicada, and mockingbird 
 could distil them into poetry, their music no 
 longer urgent and poignant, but sweet and 
 somnolent with fulfillment. 
 
 And now a red October is upon us, a bright 
 ministry of beauty transcending the senses, 
 breathless, lest some faint stir unlatch a 
 leaf and dissipate that ecstasy of form and 
 color. 
 
 Sudden fires bum in the oak. The hickory 
 flames with gold. Dwindling showers of orange 
 and bitter reds suspend in the 
 sweet gum — October! 
 
 Mary Penney 
 
19 
 
 THE SECOND CUP 
 
 With the business of eating breakfast 
 
 At last accomplished. 
 Now we have attained 
 
 That second cup of coffee. 
 It's decaffeinated, of course. 
 
 Better to meet health needs. 
 But still has rich depths. 
 
 Satisfying to the soul. 
 It pulls you up by bootstrap. 
 
 Ready to face the world. 
 Its warmth permeates 
 
 Throughout the whole being. 
 Giving an inner glow 
 
 Of comfort and contentment. 
 We sip it slowly 
 
 And gaze out at the landscape. 
 And greet the passersby. 
 
 As they come and go. 
 We think of the past 
 
 And anticipate the future. 
 Thoughts visit family and friends. 
 
 Here and the world around. 
 We contemplate life. 
 
 With all its varied facets. 
 And strive to mesh them 
 
 Into a worthwhile whole. 
 So it is with us now. 
 
 With our decaffeinated lives. 
 We can introspect and enjoy — 
 
 This second cup of coffee. 
 
 Mary Auman 
 1983 
 
20 
 
 THE TENTH MAN 
 
 "Leah, my dear, I must talk with you. Leave 
 the baby in her crib. I have bad news for us." 
 
 "What is it, Nathan? Why are you so worried? 
 Together we can endure anything." 
 
 "That is just the trouble^this is something we 
 can't share. How wise my parents were when you were 
 chosen to be my wife. I have grown to love you very 
 much. And our baby, Sarah, has drawn us even closer 
 together. It breaks my heart to have to tell you 
 this, and know that we must part." 
 
 "We must part? Oh no, my dear, nothing should 
 part us." 
 
 "Perhaps you have noticed that the last several 
 weeks I haven't been my normal peppy self. Much of 
 the time my legs have ached." 
 
 "You haven't complained, dear, but I have 
 noticed when you came home in the evenings that your 
 face was flushed and that you liked to rest a bit 
 before we had our supper. I thought that you had 
 been working too hard." 
 
 "Yes, that is what I thought, too, until last 
 week when I found a red spot on my knee. I showed 
 it to the priest. He told me to watch it and to 
 come back today. He found an itchy spot on my scalp 
 and the one on my knee seems to have white scales on 
 it. I have leprosy." 
 
 Leah's hand flew to her mouth as if to repress 
 a cry. "Leprosy! How can that be? What will we 
 do?" 
 
 "I hope mother and father will be willing to 
 take you into their home. They seem very fond of 
 their only grandchild. Perhaps after our little 
 home has been thoroughly cleaned, it can be rented, 
 which will give you a little income. I was talking 
 to Mark the other day and he is planning to be 
 married soon. Perhaps he will be glad to rent it. 
 We won't tell generally why I am leaving. Folks 
 will be afraid of you, knowing that we lived 
 together. " 
 
 "Where will you go?" 
 
21 
 
 "To the caves south of town." 
 
 "But are they not over in Judea?" 
 
 "Yes they are, but I am sure that because of 
 our common suffering, racial lines will be forgotten 
 and they will accept me, a Samaritan. I will have 
 to learn to live a beggar's life. Some of the men 
 there have been there for years. I will have to 
 learn from them how to live off the country. My 
 father and yours can sometimes bring food to a 
 half-'way meeting spot. You must not come. To be 
 that close to you and not be able to take you in my 
 arms is more than I could stand." 
 
 Nathan bowed his head and said, "0 God, why 
 have You done this to me? Take care of my dear wife 
 and baby. How can I bear to leave them?" 
 
 Leah shook herself slightly and brushed the 
 tears from her eyes. "Yea, Nathan, God will take 
 care of Sarah and me and you, too. I don't know why 
 this has come to us. We must believe that somehow 
 good will come from it." 
 
 Leah went into the other room and picked iq) 
 Sarah. "I am taking Sarah over to your mother and 
 tell her what is happening. I'll be back in a few 
 minutes . " 
 
 In a short time she was back. "It is going to 
 be all right. Mother Ruth said they will be happy 
 to have me with them. She said she told Father John 
 just the other day that she missed having you at 
 home, it was lonesome without you. And now to have 
 baby Sarah and me was more than she had ever hoped 
 for. She sent her love to you and said that she and 
 Father John would pray for you every day, that 
 somehow you will be healed. She said you must not 
 let yourself become bitter. Try to be cheerful 
 always, helping those who are worse off than you 
 
 are. Remember to pray often. 
 
 "She had just gotten home from the bake ovens 
 
 and she has sent you her whole batch of bread." 
 
 Knowing that the longer he waited the harder it 
 
 would be to leave, Nathan gathered his bed roll, a 
 
 plate, a cup and a knife and the fresh baked bread 
 
22 
 
 and after a long look into the face of his dear 
 wife, left the house. 
 
 He walked quickly toward the caves where nine 
 other outcasts lived. They were surprised to see 
 him, but made him welcome. He knew he had much to 
 learn about this new way of living, learning what 
 berries were good to eat, what weeds were really 
 wild vegetables, how to catch a hare, how to skin 
 and cook it. He remembered his mother's advice and 
 would wander off to himself for meditation and 
 prayer. The other men laughed at him. They asked 
 him, "How can you pray when God has treated you this 
 way?" While he missed home and his little family 
 very much he found that after praying peace was 
 beginning to steal into his heart. 
 
 Not far from the caves where the men lived was 
 a strong bubbly spring that made its way to the sea. 
 During the hot summer days, Nathan cooled his feet 
 in the little stream. One very hot day, as he 
 cooled his feet, he thought how good it would feel 
 to dip his whole body into the cool water. Down a 
 little way from the spring he began to deepen the 
 creek and build a little dam to hold back the water. 
 This project took him several days. It was good to 
 have something to do. The men laughed at him for 
 working so hard. Once the pool was finished he 
 found a few minutes in it reduced his fever and gave 
 him more energy. He began to take long walks in the 
 country. This seemed better to him than just 
 sitting around doing nothing. Then, too, he would 
 often see a hare and he took to carrying a rock to 
 see if he could hit and stun it. If he could kill 
 it, there would be fresh meat for supper. He 
 practiced tossing a rock at another stone and became 
 quite proficient, hitting the stone every time from 
 a standing position and most of the time when 
 walking. He invented games to play with the other 
 men when he could arouse them from their lethargy. 
 
 As the weather began to turn cooler, Nathan 
 decided to go north. He had heard about the beauty 
 of the Lake of Galilee. He wanted to see it. He 
 asked if any of the other men would like to go with 
 
23 
 
 him, for it would be pleasant to have company. 
 Amos, one of the younger men, said he would go. 
 The rest were afraid to leave the security of their 
 camp fairly close to home. 
 
 He told his father his plans. He asked him to 
 tell Leah that he was feeling quite good, that the 
 leprosy spots were not increasing very fast. Leah 
 baked him a large batch of bread and her father sent 
 him a flint rock for starting fires. Amos and he 
 made up their camp pack and started out. The 
 hardest thing for Nathan to remember was to call 
 out, **Unclean, unclean," whenever any one approached 
 them. The two men enjoyed the change of scenery. 
 They avoided villages. A few times they met other 
 lepers and would spend the night with them, hearing 
 local news. The lushness of the Jordan valley 
 amazed them and they found wild dates and olives to 
 add to their meals. 
 
 As they came closer to Galilee, they heard 
 stories about a man called Jesus and how he talked 
 to the people about God's love and His remarkable 
 power to cure disease. They hoped they might be 
 fortunate enough to meet Him as they wandered around 
 the lake. Nathan added to his daily prayers the 
 hope that they might meet Jesus and be healed. They 
 spent a few days around the lake, then Amos wanted 
 to go back to the security of their own camp. 
 
 Back home they had many stories to tell the 
 other men. Nathan insisted that they only tell the 
 pleasant and lovely things. He said they must 
 forget the unpleasant things. They would remember 
 the lushness of the Jordan valley, the beauty of the 
 sunsets, the quiet peacefulness of the lake with its 
 sailboats and fisherman. The kindness of a woman 
 whose son was a leper. They had met her when she 
 was taking a batch of bread to her son, and she 
 insisted that they take the bread; she would bake 
 her son another batch. 
 
 Most of the men were interested in the stories 
 about Jesus. Both his father and f ather-'in-'law were 
 interested and retold the stories in their homes. 
 Word came back that Leah and his family and her 
 
24 
 
 father were adding their prayers to his that he 
 would meet Jesus and be healed. 
 
 One day his father came hurrying down the path. 
 Amos saw him and called to Nathan. There must be 
 something special for it wasn't bread day. As 
 Nathan got within speaking distance, his father 
 called, "Son, hurry and call your friends. Jesus 
 and His followers are in our village. They are on 
 their way to Jerusalem. All of you hurry to the 
 road. Perhaps you can get there before He passes." 
 
 Hope stirred in even the most skeptic as they 
 hurried to the main road. They were none too soon 
 for a band of people were coming toward them. 
 Though none of them had seen Jesus, they knew it was 
 Him and they called out, "Jesus, Master, have pity 
 on us." 
 
 He asked, "What would you have me do?" 
 
 Nathan replied, '*Make us clean. We believe You 
 
 can." 
 
 Jesus smiled and said, "Go show yourselves to 
 the priest. It will be as you believed." 
 
 As they went, they were healed. When Nathan 
 saw that his prayers had been answered, he turned 
 back and ran to Jesus, his heart full of 
 thanksgiving. 
 
 '^Master," he called, "How wonderful You are. I 
 thank God for His goodness, allowing me to meet You. 
 How can I ever thank You enough?" Kneeling before 
 Jesus, he lifted the hem of His garment and kissed 
 it. 
 
 Jesus placed His hand on Nathan's head. "Go in 
 peace, my brother. But were there not ten 
 cleansed?" Has no one but this Samaritan returned 
 to give thanks?" 
 
 Nathan answered, "They are only doing what You 
 told them to do. But I, a Samaritan, would not be 
 welcome in their synagogue, so I came back to You." 
 
 "You are a good man, Nathan. Our Father God 
 and I love you. Go quickly to your good wife." 
 
 "Oh how happy she will be! How can we ever 
 repay You for this great Kindness." 
 
 "What you do to others is a gift to Me. You 
 
25 
 
 will find ways." With a wave of His hand, He 
 continued on His way to Jerusalem. 
 
 Nathan^s father had watched from a distance and 
 now he came and put his arms around his son. 
 Together they hurried home. There was much 
 rejoicing as Nathan and his family and Leah and her 
 father gave thanks for the cleansing of the ten and 
 Nathan in particular. 
 
 Jesus "s words kept coming back to Nathan, "You 
 will find ways". He thought of his nine friends, 
 who had been healed. As the days past he thought of 
 other unfortunate lepers who had not been healed. 
 Perhaps he could do something to help them. Then an 
 idea came to him. Down by his old spring he would 
 build a home for them, with a bake oven, so they 
 could bake their own bread. He would keep them 
 supplied with meal and oil. He would enlarge his 
 pool, so they could enjoy the cooling of their 
 fever. He would meet with them and tell them of his 
 own healing. He would tell them he loved them and 
 that God loved them just as they were. He would 
 encourage them to pray and to help one another. 
 
 And so there was built a home for lepers near 
 the road from Samaria to Jerusalem. 
 
 Naomi Hosier 
 
26 
 
 IN MY GARDEN 
 
 I like to get up early 
 When I know my garden needs 
 Some thorough care and grooming 
 Because of grass and weeds. 
 
 There* s much that is alluring 
 Quite early in the mom. 
 I like to see the changing sky 
 As day is being horn. 
 
 The air is cool and fragrant^ 
 The grass is lush with dew; 
 And restful quietness abounds 
 That daytime never knew. 
 
 Then too, it is rewarding 
 To work my garden clean; 
 The flowers are so lovely. 
 The foliage is so green. 
 
 And seeing it when I am through 
 Gives me a wholesome start 
 For that greater task of mine — 
 The garden of my heart. 
 
 Dr. J. V. Turner 
 
27 
 
 The sands of ttme are gritty. 
 They irritate the eyes. 
 Invade the ears. 
 
 Cause calluses on the feet. 
 
 They abrade the Joints, 
 
 Deteriorate the finger's sensitivity. 
 Cloud the mirrors of the mind. 
 
 But-- 
 
 We are gritty too! 
 
 Mary Auman 
 1984 
 
28 
 
 THE LINE 
 
 The line, I was sure, was a 1/4 of a mile long 
 when I entered the door to get in it for dinner. I 
 didn't want to pass the people to get in the back, 
 so I turned and walked up the steps to first floor 
 and down to the back of the line. 
 
 You may be 20 minutes getting to the food. It 
 isn't bad if you can stand all the time and chat, to 
 the one back of you, about your ailments, weather, 
 food, or the last time you saw your children or 
 grandchildren. 
 
 Before you realize it you are ready to pick up 
 your tray, place an extra napkin on it and frown a 
 bit trying to decide on a dessert that won't make 
 you fat. You pass up the pies and cake and pick up 
 Jello or a fruit cup. You can't move fast, for the 
 one in front of you can't make up her mind. By the 
 time you've gotten to the meat and vegetables you've 
 forgotten what was on the menu. 
 
 Finally you've gotten your coffee, but can't 
 get your cream, for the one in front of you has to 
 wait for someone to carry her tray. 
 
 By the time you get to your table two of your 
 table-'mates have eaten and are ready to go. You 
 chat a bit and wait for the 4th member of the table 
 to come. We eat and linger a while until the mail 
 is up. The Post Office is near the entrance to the 
 dining room. Then you walk around the building or 
 go directly to your room. You'll take a little nap 
 or look at TV or sew, as I do, until time to get in 
 line again. This is daily routine. 
 
 Mae Brothers 
 
29 
 
 I REMEMBER A DAY 
 
 After a night of undisturbed sleep, I wake 
 up early. Everything is still, quiet. 
 Morning has come and now it is time to begin a 
 new day. The days have grown longer and 
 sunlight has brightened the room. The muted 
 sound of clocks, radio and bells sound. There 
 is stirring. Water begins to run in the 
 bathrooms and flushes begin above, below and 
 around. Soon soft soles, tiptoes, footsteps, 
 heels tapping, canes, walkers make the way 
 down the hall. 
 
 It is Monday with breakfast as usual. 
 The usual good mornings. Today is a 
 hoi iday--»Memorial Day. Flags and red and 
 white decorations and checked table cloths. 
 No mail. Morning with class and assignment. 
 
 Instead of the usual nap or soap, a 
 colorful Memorial Service is on television. 
 We look and listen. We are impressed by the 
 pomp and circumstance. 
 
 Not much left of the afternoon. Some of 
 the residents gather early for supper and wait 
 outside the dining room. They talk. Usually 
 it is politics, the weather, who's sick, and 
 personal aches and pains. Today is different. 
 Conversation is about the Unknown Soldier and 
 comments on Viet Nam and wars, past and 
 present. 
 
 The day has been long and supper is over. 
 Everything gets quiet. Some are in bed and 
 asleep. Others are finishing the next day's 
 assignment. 
 
 Lucy Graham 
 
Six-thirty. I reach for the screeching alarm 
 clock and pull a magic lever for silence. I must 
 get my bath. The faucet creaks and cries as I 
 insist on running water, and my eyes try to open. I 
 dress and walk through my neighbor's garden of small 
 white rosebuds, lavender clematis, white and green 
 hosta, red geraniums and begonias. 
 
 Doors slam and open in the East corridor. One 
 voice calls to another, and bodies pack into a short 
 line to the cafeteria. Two or three aging ladies, 
 brazen-eyed, enter the line from the wrong end for 
 more toast or another crisp, dry slice of bacon. An 
 immaculate black lady, in fresh blue and white 
 uniform, holds out coffee with a warm smile— if she 
 is not too pushed. 
 
 Coffee, cereal, egg and dry toast provide 
 enough stamina for each member to go about such 
 mundane activities as daily exercises, classes in 
 ceramics, news analysis, poetry reading, and reading 
 the daily news. Don't forget the rocking chair. 
 Don't forget it's time to eat again. Here we are 
 again! Honeydew! I gingerly choose a small, narrow 
 green slice, a thin, dry roll of roast beef, 
 collards, mixed vegetables, pecan pie. 
 
 Two people at the table discuss politics — Jim 
 Hunt or Jesse Helms, Mondale or Reagan. Sally Snith 
 has fallen downstairs again. Mary Jones is still at 
 the beach with her daughter and grandchildren. 
 
 I stumble back to my room. A van is leaving 
 the grounds. I've forgotten where to or why. 
 
 I will sleep only a moment — only-a-Tnom. . . ! 
 
 Hey! Where did the afternoon and evening go? 
 Why didn't someone wake me? 
 
 Good night — 
 
 Mary Fenny 
 June 4, 1984 
 
31 
 
 The drum heat of rain 
 
 On the air conditioner. 
 Wandering hack again 
 
 Through lazy No-Man' e Land- 
 The alarm's hoarse voice 
 
 Intrudes on dreams. 
 
 Sleepy eyed people 
 
 Choosing their breakfast. 
 Sheets of rain enclosing 
 
 Desultory conversations. 
 Suddenly the sun 
 
 Brightens faces all around. 
 
 Looking down over spinning clay 
 
 From the eyrie on high. 
 Above the tops 
 
 Of the trees below. 
 Gating down through leaf screen 
 
 At the remote activity. 
 Bright sun makes leaf etchings 
 
 Upon the green grass. 
 Soft clouds swim lazily 
 
 Through heaven's blue sea. 
 
 Look at the clock! 
 
 Go in to dine. 
 Much laughing and talking 
 
 In the long, long line. 
 Some disgruntled. 
 
 Some think it fine. 
 Trailing along slowly. 
 
 One never-ending vine. 
 
 Gentle, rippling music 
 
 Laves the inert body. 
 A hesitant knock 
 
 Scatters approaching dreams. 
 Then silent solitude. 
 
 Inviting the thought. 
 Austere pines swaying 
 
 Outside the window. 
 Young green leaves 
 
 Joyously tumbling in the breeze. 
 
 Mary Auman 
 
32 
 
 CHEESE NOTE TO TERRY'' 
 In 
 
 paperbag 
 
 smooth and clean 
 
 or 
 
 wrinkled spotted with grease 
 With 
 
 or without 
 
 a rhyming note 
 
 Always the same 
 Pimiento Cheese . . . 
 
 ^^9Gy K. Parrish 
 1981 
 
 *[I write pimiento cheese poems and stick them 
 in my husband's lunch* J 
 
33 
 
 MY CONFUSED FRIEND 
 
 I have a friend: 
 
 Who sometimes is swamped 
 
 By sadness, in her loneliness. 
 Though surrounded by many other lonely, kindred 
 spirits* 
 
 She frantically delves 
 
 Into varied activities. 
 Without assimilating comfortably 
 
 To herself a few of them. 
 
 She can't calmly meet life. 
 
 As it comes from day to day. 
 But must always plan ahead; 
 
 Which can be quite irksome. 
 
 She delights in analyzing 
 
 The inner workings of others. 
 Though I fear she does not 
 
 See herself very clearly. 
 
 I talk much with her 
 
 Through the days and the nights. 
 Though sometimes her conversation 
 
 Can be quite boring. 
 
 We try, with determination. 
 
 To reach a satisfying philosophy. 
 
 But one frustrated by conflicting 
 Views, desires, and comprehension. 
 
 I must learn to understand her 
 
 And how to cope with her. 
 For I am stuck with her 
 
 During the rest of my days. 
 
 She is myself. 
 
 Mary Auman 
 1983 
 
34 
 
 MARY'S WORDS 
 Our son 
 
 where can he be 
 
 He has been gone for days 
 
 Tis not like him 
 
 to stay away like this 
 
 without a word 
 
 to let us know 
 
 that he is still alive 
 
 He could be stretched out now 
 
 Stripped, beaten, robbed. 
 
 Dying, unless 
 
 we find him soon 
 
 to bind up all his wounds 
 
 and bring him home again 
 
 Oh God take care 
 
 Please take good care of him. 
 
 Oh, you did hear at last? 
 Where did you find the lad? 
 Is he hurt, starved, abused? 
 The Temple, did you say? 
 What was he doing there? 
 Just talking to the priests? 
 We had not said that he 
 could be away from us 
 on a week long retreat 
 Hot e'en with holy men 
 Strange brazen air of youth 
 there's no hope for this world 
 indeed there'll never be 
 one tiny ray of hope 
 as long as youth rebels 
 forsaking sacred things 
 that we have taught. 
 
 P^09y Parrish 
 
35 
 
 SOME HERITAGE OF 
 
 WILLIAM MANLEY and MARY JOHN FERGUSON 
 
 The beginnine of the married life 
 together of Pa and Ma began December 29, 1885. 
 The era ended Saturday, June 17, 1944 at 6:30 
 P.M., leaving the old homestead vacant. 
 
 During their years together they made 
 their living by farming, never accumulating 
 much of this world's goods, but no one went 
 hungry or naked. They were both good managers 
 and very industrious. 
 
 Ma was apt with her fingers, making all 
 of the family clothes, knitting woolen hose 
 for all while we were growing up. She knitted 
 gloves and hoods and wove colorful bed 
 coverlets of wool. She pieced quilt tops and 
 quilted, using cotton that was grown on the 
 farm for the inner section between top and 
 lining after it had been batted in flat 
 pieces. She gave each child a number of 
 quilts as they married and left home. From 
 the geese that were picked each Spring she 
 gave each child a feather bed. 
 
 Both our parents were experts on 
 re-soling our shoes on the shoe last and 
 sewing up their rips with waxed thread. This 
 was done at night, mostly after our shoes had 
 been taken off for the day. 
 
 Vegetables were grown enough to last 
 until next planting time. Cabbage kraut was 
 made and put in small barrels and weighted 
 down so it all would be in the brine. 
 Cucumbers were put in large crocks in salt 
 brine, and when pickle was needed some were 
 put in water to soak for several days. At 
 times they were put in cloth bags and carried 
 to the spring branch and tied to a root for 
 soaking the salt out. They were delicious 
 when finished into pickle. She also had a way 
 for pickling cucumbers by placing them whole 
 in a stone crock and covering them over with 
 homemade molasses. After the process they 
 were both sweet and sour and very brittle. 
 
36 
 
 Beans and peas were gathered; after 
 getting dried and shelled, then dipped in 
 boiling water, then spread out to dry, they 
 were soaked for winter eating. This process 
 kept out bugs. 
 
 Corn and wheat were carried to the 
 nearest grist mill to make meal and flour. 
 From the large apple and peach orchard enough 
 apple cider was made to furnish vinegar for 
 the year. Both apples and peaches were cut 
 and dried in the sun to furnish the table with 
 dried fruit pies. 
 
 Soap was made with lye drippings from the 
 ash hopper in the yard. Meat skins and any 
 kind of fat not used were put with the lye and 
 a certain amount of water using the cast iron 
 wash pot to boil it in. They needed to be 
 careful and not let it boil too fast so it 
 wouldn't run over. The soap was used for 
 laundry, dishwashing and hand washing. 
 
 Preserves and jelly were made from the 
 fruit trees, cherry trees, also from 
 strawberry and blackberry. It was our job, 
 while children, to ramble over the farm and 
 pick them by the gallon— =- not thinking of being 
 afraid of mean people. The family worked 
 together as a team, and had a lot of fun 
 playing during our leisure time. 
 
 The only things brought from the grocery 
 store were sugar, salt, baking powder, etc. 
 Chickens furnished eggs and meat, cows 
 furnished milk and butter. What was not 
 needed was carried to Weldon Andrews' store in 
 Chapel Hill and traded for such. Perhaps a 
 little cash was given. In the Spring of the 
 year young chicken fryers were sold. 
 
 Pa had a cane mill for making 
 molas ses-'-each Spring a cane patch was 
 planted. In the fall molasses was made for 
 table use, with hot bread and butter for 
 baking with, and for Molasses Candy which we 
 
Z7 
 
 all liked. Neighbors brought their cane to 
 make into molasses and would pay for its use 
 by giving a few gallons. 
 
 Fatted hogs were butchered in real cold 
 weather which furnished meat for the year. 
 The ham was delicious, sausage was canned for 
 future use. The cracklings from the rendered 
 lard were used in corn bread. Brood sows had 
 pigs that furnished meat each year. Sheep 
 were sheared each spring and the wool sold. 
 
 During my young years, perhaps around 
 1909, I remember Pa, Marvin and Ben Atwater, 
 and Carl Strowd becoming partners in a 
 wheat-'thrashing machine, going about during 
 the summer thrashing wheat in different 
 neighborhoods, being gone from home several 
 days and nights at the time. This was an 
 income for them. The wheat was cut in the 
 field with a cradle and tied in bundles and 
 shocked, hauled to the barn and stored in a 
 dry place until the thrashers came along. The 
 wheat was put in garners in the grainery. A 
 tall pole planted in the ground for making 
 straw stacks around. Cows would eat straw 
 from the side of the stacks. 
 
 This was the time to take straw ticks off 
 our beds and empty old straw out, wash ticks, 
 then fill with new straw, which made a good 
 sleeping bed with a feather on top of straw. 
 
 After the four neighbors quit thrashing 
 wheat they used the motor for a wood cutter by 
 attaching a circular saw, and it was used by 
 the four for cutting long pieces of trees and 
 limbs, which had been hauled to their wood 
 piles into lengths for fire places and for 
 cook-stoves. Each of the men would help with 
 the sewing, with the saw and motor being moved 
 from one home to the other. 
 
 Pa was apt in his blackshop (smith) where 
 there were anvil, bellows, and other 
 
38 
 
 equipment. The bellows was to blow on fire 
 coals to heat iron rods red hot, then they 
 would be beaten to form any shape. When some 
 of the farm equipment broke he would take it 
 to his blacksmith shop. 
 
 Come third week in August a young sheep 
 was killed to have mutton for the revival 
 meeting at Orange Chapel Methodist Church. It 
 began on Sunday with all'day services which 
 continued through Friday with dinner on the 
 ground each day. There was no refrigeration 
 so it was kept in the cellar until all was 
 used up^-preparing some for each day. The 
 sheep hide was treated and made into a sheep 
 skin rug. 
 
 The family went to church in a two-'horse- 
 wagon as did other people. In later years 
 buggies and carriages were used. 
 
 It was customary for the pastor and the 
 visiting preacher who did the revival 
 preaching to spend the nights in the 
 neighborhood with the church members and they 
 always stayed at our home one night. When 
 breakfast had been prepared and Pa had 
 finished his barn chores, the family all 
 gathered in the living room with the ministers 
 and had devotional and prayer. For the 
 prayer, all would kneel by their chair. Then 
 all would go to the dining area and eat 
 breakfast. 
 
 During the winter months Pa was a 
 trapper. On Collins Creek, that his farm 
 joined, he set steel traps on the creek bank 
 and caught muskrat and mink which he skinned, 
 throwing the meat away. Usually the fur would 
 be wet, so he brought the skins in the kitchen 
 and held the fur side to the open fire place 
 to dry before stretching it on boards. While 
 drying it would smell very musky—which we 
 could hardly stand. The skins were then 
 turned outside in with the fur inside and 
 
39 
 
 stretched on boards and hung up In the 
 smokehouse for drying completely. In Spring, 
 after getting several collected, they were 
 packaged and mailed to a firm in St. Louis, 
 Missouri who in turn mailed a check which paid 
 well especially for the mink hides. Then Pa 
 would say, "Don't you think this check smells 
 good?" 
 
 Some of these instances happened before 
 my day or recollection, since I was the 
 youngest of the family, but remember from 
 other members of the family telling through 
 the years. 
 
 The heritage Pa and Ma left has stayed 
 with me and I hope will continue to live on 
 through generations. 
 
 It is wonderful for footprints left on 
 the sands of time to linger on in memory. 
 
 Oda Ferguson Isley Strowd 
 February 1984 
 
 From TIMES TO REMEMBER 
 
 It was through a recent newspaper article 
 which announced that the new Miss America was 
 from Alamogordo, New Mexico that I became 
 interested in this little town out West, 
 Alamogordo, which meant "Land of the 
 Co ttonwoods " . It seems uncanny how many 
 memories were evoked that were once considered 
 lost. 
 
 My father, a physician of Greensboro, 
 North Carolina, but who also was considered a 
 
40 
 
 chest expert along with a few other 
 attainments had discovered a spot on my little 
 sister's lung after an attack of measles. 
 Forthwith, he chanced to think of a cousin who 
 lived in the noted health resort just ninety 
 miles from El Paso, Texas. It wasn't long 
 before we were sent out to this same place. 
 
 The "we" in all this, consisted of Mother 
 and five of us including the sick sister. The 
 older brother stayed with Father. He may have 
 been in Trinity College at the time. This was 
 in the Spring of 1914 and I was eleven years 
 old, in the sixth grade at school. 
 
 When we arrived at "Cousin" Alex's, he 
 had a house picked out for us. Of course, 
 this was all done after much, much planning. 
 
 It didn't take long to feel perfectly at 
 home in this delightful little town where so 
 many inhabitants came for health reasons. 
 They came from far and near. The Improvement 
 Company of El Paso, Texas did wonders and made 
 many innovations which added charm to the 
 place. And come they did! A good place to 
 find people who differed from one's self. 
 Incidentally, Alamogordo was the seat of 
 Alamos County and the county court house, etc. 
 gave atmosphere to the place. 
 
 There was a pretty park over two miles 
 long that was fenced in and watered from holes 
 in the piped-in fences. This always attracted 
 me, for away back in Greensboro we hadn't seen 
 anything like it! The other things that 
 attracted my attention were the beautiful 
 moonlight nights where one could see almost as 
 if it were day. 
 
 Some of the houses were of adobe brick 
 mud and redolent of the soil from which they 
 were made. Most of them were of frame 
 construction with a few innovations, while 
 there were several built of brick. These 
 belonged mostly to the well-to-do early 
 
41 
 
 settlers who had nearby ranches out of town. 
 Of course, this was completely arid country 
 and when the rainy season appeared the soil 
 was barely dampened. 
 
 One Sunday night I particularly wanted to 
 attend Church, but was told to stay home with 
 my sister, who was improving steadily in that 
 dry climate. I probably wanted to eye a young 
 boy friend or two and mother must have sensed 
 the fact, for she would approve of no 
 forwardness on my part. She was pretty sharp 
 about things like that. 
 
 I decided to dress up in mother's black 
 skirt, put on a large black hat, topped off 
 with the yard square middy blouse tie, also 
 black, over all. At my brother's instigation, 
 I set sail across the school lot for Sheriff 
 Christy Crosby's house to show off my attire. 
 I was at an advantage in this curiously rigged 
 outfit due to the fact that I could see 
 perfectly through the yard-square black tie 
 silk veil while no one could see me. 
 
 Although the Crosby's were close friends 
 of ours, nevertheless one didn't push one's 
 luck too far in those hazardous days. Pancho 
 Villa, a notorious Mexican bandit, had just 
 raided Columbus, New Mexico and things had 
 become a little ticklish, to say the least. 
 
 It hadn't occurred to me that I might 
 even be considered to be Villa's wife! When 
 Dottie, the Crosby's niece, inquired anxiously 
 as to "Who are you, old woman, and what do you 
 want?" I was hard put to it to give answer 
 and so replied that I was just a poor old 
 Mohammedite woman who needed a crust of 
 bread!" Dottie repeated this to the sheriff, 
 at which point I made a hasty retreat through 
 the yard. 
 
 I also made a hasty retreat through the 
 school grounds and landed safely in my own 
 
42 
 
 back yard. I took off my fetching attire and 
 climbed up in an apple tree to rest. While I 
 was comfortably settled the sheriff himself 
 came around with a gun to inquire as to my 
 whereabouts. 
 
 When he found out that it was I he 
 certainly failed to tickle my chin and call it 
 funny! The next day neither did my 
 comtemporaries congratulate me for a "fine 
 performance". These were dangerous times 
 according to them and one didn't always take 
 things lightly. 
 
 I had learned a hard lesson! 
 
 Lois Branson 
 
 THE NIGHT WE SPENT WITH TEE BOOTLEGGERS 
 
 The mountains of West Virginia always mean 
 one thing to me-- the night my husband and I 
 spent with the bootleggers. 
 
 We had been to the 1932 World's Fair in 
 Chicago and were on our way home. We were 
 camping enthusiasts and had tent, cots and 
 stove with us. We spent the nights in our 
 tent in preference to a motel. 
 
 I must have been the one using the map to 
 direct our route, since we got on the wrong 
 road. The road was of gravel, narrow, and 
 with no guard rails. It wound steeply around 
 and around up to the top of the mountain 
 slowly, as the sun dropped rapidly over the 
 mountain. 
 
 We knew we were on the wrong road but 
 there was no possible place in which to turn 
 around. 
 
4S 
 
 As it grew dark we began to look about 
 for a spot with enough flat space for a tent. 
 Finally, around the bend, we spied it, to our 
 relief. Across the road from it was a filling 
 station. We stopped there to see if we might 
 pitch our tent across the way, for the night. 
 They agreed, so we began to unload. 
 
 Just then, the black cloud coming over 
 the mountain showed what it was there for, and 
 the bottom dropped out. The tent was swamped. 
 The slick road was impossible. It was quite 
 dark now. 
 
 The owner of the filling station told us 
 they had an empty room at the end of their 
 building and kindly offered to let us set up 
 our cots in there and spend the night. We 
 were glad to accept as it was impossible for 
 us to travel the slippery road in the downpour 
 and night had really descended. 
 
 Along about midnight the rain ceased. 
 Then the cars began to arrive. They 
 apparently contained more fluid than men. As 
 the night wore on, the crowd increased and the 
 fluids were shared and the spirits in the room 
 next door became quite convivial as well as 
 argumentative. When some reverberations and 
 thuds caused the slight building to shake, we 
 came to realize that the partition between our 
 room and theirs was made of flattened 
 cardboard boxes. It seemed that, at any 
 moment, they might join us. We also realized 
 our doorway to the outside was absent a door 
 we could close. 
 
 Everybody but us had a high old time. We 
 lay in bed all night and listened. My husband 
 had always been one to meet and cope with any 
 situation. However, he owned up later that he 
 felt better knowing he had our hatchet beside 
 his bed. 
 
 Morning finally arrived. When it became 
 
44 
 
 light enough, every time we looked up, feet 
 would be shuffling by the open doorway and 
 eyes would be peering in at "those strange 
 out landers. " 
 
 When my husband went out to get water so 
 we could wash our faces, he immediately got 
 acquainted with all hands. When they found we 
 were from North Carolina, we became, to them, 
 long lost friends. They had left North 
 Carolina, rather hurriedly, a year or two 
 previously. That was during prohibition days. 
 
 They proudly told him all about their new 
 operations, hidden back between the hills. 
 Nothing would do but he should go and view 
 their prize domain. 1 will confess to the 
 fact that I was glad to see him back safe. 
 However, he apparently had had a very 
 interesting and enjoyable visit. 
 
 We soon left with friendly good wishes 
 from every one. 
 
 I hope none of our new friends landed in 
 jail. They really didn't mean anyone any 
 harm. It was just the only way of life they 
 had ever known. 
 
 Mary Awnan 
 
45 
 
 f/hen Jesus ate 
 at Martha's house 
 she slaved for days 
 'til every shining comer 
 spoke welcome to her Lord 
 put everything she had 
 into that meal. 
 Her sister Mary sat 
 and listened as he talked. 
 Rapt. Drinking every word 
 after they ate 
 'twas Mary that he praised. 
 
 Peggy Parrish 
 
46 
 
 FACETS 
 
 Smoke Trails 
 Acrid smoke billows 
 
 from fresh^ earthy, rain drenched logs 
 bring memories dear. 
 
 Continuity 
 The welcome phone's ring 
 
 that knits the days, each to each, 
 by supportive friends. 
 
 Contrasts 
 The blackbirds dropped down 
 
 like leaves from tree, silhouettes 
 on crystal white snow. 
 
 Quest 
 
 Dreams meeting the limits of earth, 
 
 combining together to find, each with other, 
 rhyme, and make of each day a poem. 
 
 Magic 
 
 Reaching hills are clouds. 
 
 Sky's clouds are mountains afar 
 Substance blends with mists. 
 
 Jewels 
 
 The soggy limb's bleak night 
 
 are dripping jewels, each tiny sun 
 reflecting its genitor's light. 
 
 Loneliness 
 
 Empty chair rocking, just outside, the door, 
 
 rocking, rocking through Winter's wind, rain, and 
 snow. 
 
 Empty chair rocking, never to be filled more. 
 
 Mary Auman 
 1984 
 
47 
 
 m GOAT STORY 
 
 My grandparents had eight girls. Oh how 
 happy my grandfather was when he learned that 
 he at last had a son. He had such pride in 
 him, as he and John went fishing and hiked 
 together, and as he taught John the rudiments 
 of the lumber business, and as he rejoiced in 
 his son's scholastic achievements. 
 
 John's sisters took pride in showing off 
 their brother. Even though, like all other 
 boys, he sometimes got into mischief and liked 
 to tease his sisters, they loved him. 
 
 I have heard from my mother that it was 
 "noised abroad" that John would not amount to 
 a row of pins among all those skirts. 
 
 Grandfather thought that anything John 
 wanted John should have if there was any 
 possible way of getting it, money-wise, or 
 other-wise. John wanted a goat, so John got a 
 goat. In the end, however, the goat got 
 everybody's goat, including John's. 
 
 Mother's sister, Lola, was to be married. 
 On the day of the wedding, she and her 
 bridesmaids went to a luncheon. Before they 
 left, they laid their dresses out on the bed. 
 The dresses were pink net over taffeta. I am 
 certain from Mother's description of the full 
 sleeves and full bodices they must have been 
 beautiful. 
 
 While Aunt Lola and her bridesmaids were 
 gone, that pesky goat climbed up on the roof 
 of the house, found an open window, crawled 
 in, found his way to Aunt Lola's room, and ate 
 every bit of the net off their dresses. 
 
 I do not know what the girls said but you 
 may be sure that goat was doomed and was 
 banished from the house in public disgrace, 
 much to the consternation of my Uncle John. 
 In spite of his misbehavior, he still loved 
 him and wanted to keep him. 
 
48 
 
 Each time Mother told the "goat story" 
 she would give a low chuckle, as though it 
 were the funniest story she had ever heard. 
 
 You know what I think? Instead of being 
 hungry, that goat was probably thinking of a 
 scheme to change the design of those dresses. 
 
 Betsy Stanbury 
 
 OVERHEARD 
 
 "Here's Sister Carrie. She's come to see 
 you. She's come to make you well." 
 
 I heard this scrap of conversation coming 
 from a nearby curtained booth. It was in the 
 most crowded ward of the hospital. I had 
 entered Emergency the night before and had 
 been deposited in the only available spot, 
 until a room became vacant. 
 
 "Wake up! Wake up! Sister Carrie's come 
 to see you. She's gonna make you well. You 
 gotta wake up!" They were shaking the poor 
 woman. She was an elderly black woman who had 
 just come back from cancer surgery. Why 
 didn't they let her sleep! 
 
 "Wake up! You gotta wake up! Hold my 
 hand," came a different voice. "You gotta 
 hold my hand so my power can flow-w-w through 
 you. Say 'Sister Carrie.' You must say 
 'Sister Carrie, I know you can make me well.' 
 Say it! Say it! You gotta say it!" I hear 
 the bed protesting their shakes. 
 
 "Say it after me, 'Sister Carrie, I feel 
 the power.' Say it! Say it! I can't help 
 you if you don't say it! Take my hand. Say, 
 'I feel your power-r--r. Sister Carrie.' Say 
 
49 
 
 it! Say it!" Shake, shake. And so it went 
 for the next ten minutes. 
 
 Why don't they leave the poor exhausted 
 woman alone! She can't stand any more! I 
 can't stand any more! I reached for the call 
 bell. Maybe the nurse could stop the torture. 
 
 Just then the two visitors began to sing. 
 They had surprisingly sweet, though untrained, 
 voices. They blended softly in a beautifully 
 simple spiritual. Peace descended. Blessed 
 peace! 
 
 Mary Auman 
 
 BOUT WITH ARTERIOSCLEROSIS 
 
 The Thing 
 
 the dreadful thing 
 
 the dreadful killer thing 
 
 was here again today 
 
 Monstrous assailant 
 
 Strangling and stifling 
 
 til I defenseless crumbled 
 
 lie desperately groping 
 
 to find in the darkness 
 
 some tiny ray to show me 
 
 where we have met before. 
 
 Like in recurring nightmares 
 
 I wrestle, vainly hoping 
 
 to name my would be killer 
 
 as if somehow just knowing 
 
 what it is I am fighting 
 
 May help me through the battle 
 
 and perhaps to win the war — 
 
 P^ggy Parrish 
 
so 
 
 STORY OF AN INDIAN 
 
 When my Grandfather, John Bowden, was a 
 young man, he was sent to America by a group 
 of men from southern England to explore the 
 Mississippi Valley with the idea of 
 colonization. Many Englishmen had come over 
 through Canada and settled in that area in the 
 upper part of the Mississippi Valley. They 
 were living peacefully and trading with the 
 Indians. 
 
 One of the Englishmen, John Pappan, 
 married a beautiful Indian girl, Julie. To 
 them was born a daughter, Ellen. Besides 
 farming and trading, they ran a ferry across 
 the Mississippi, carrying the immigrants west. 
 When the daughter, Ellen, was grown, she ran 
 the ferry. 
 
 As everyone was talking about the West, a 
 young man from New York, by the name of John 
 Curtis, decided to go West. He took a job 
 helping Ellen Pappan run the ferry. In due 
 time they were married and had a son. They 
 named him John Charles Curtis. 
 
 Then the government ordered all the 
 Indians to move to Indian Territory, promising 
 each Indian family so much land and so much 
 money to start a new life. 
 
 As the Curtis family were moving with 
 their tribe, the tribe contracted a serious 
 illness and were halted for a time, before 
 they could travel on. 
 
 Ellen Curtis died when Charles was three 
 years old. John and Julie Pappan wanted their 
 grandchild to be educated as an American 
 citizen so they went down and got John Charles 
 and took him back home with them and put him 
 in school. His parents went on with the tribe 
 to the Indian Territory. 
 
 My grandparents had stopped in Estridge, 
 Kansas for a few years, on their way west. My 
 
51 
 
 grandmother heard of an Indian family who were 
 practically starving in a little hut. She 
 went down and took care of the woman until she 
 died. The Indian woman was the mother of John 
 Charles Curtis. 
 
 John Charles went through Haskell 
 Institute, a school for Indians, and also 
 through Kansas University. He became 
 interested in politics and finally became the 
 only Indian to occupy a high government 
 position. He became the Vice President of the 
 United States. 
 
 Murrel Edlin 
 
 TEE PARADISE TREE 
 
 While Jean Lynn prepared breakfast she kept 
 thinking; today I plant the Paradise tree. The 
 thought of it sent shivers of excitement through 
 her. She exacted a promise from John, her husband, 
 to dig the hole when he came home from the office. 
 He laughed at her enthusiasm. 
 
 "You're like a kid anticipating Christmas." 
 
 "I know. Silly isn't it?" 
 
 "It's just an old tree. Why make a production 
 out of planting it?" 
 
 'I"ve wanted one for so long, even before 
 Stella told me the legend about it. The name 
 Paradise Tree thrills me." 
 
 "And I promised to dig a hole for it. How did 
 I get involved? 
 
 "Because you're as thrilled over it as I am." 
 
 "0 yeah." 
 
 But she wasn't deceived by his manner. She 
 understood him. 
 
52 
 
 After John left Jean dressed for her day. She 
 planned her schedule carefully. She would leave the 
 dry-»cleaning on the way to town, stop at the knit 
 shop and pick up another ball of wool (she hoped she 
 could get the same dye lot) , at eleven-thirty she 
 had an appointment with Paul for her annual 
 check-up, after that she would stop by Stella's and 
 pick up the Paradise tree, then home. 
 
 It seemed so simple, all the parts fitted 
 neatly into place, but it didn't work out that way. 
 
 She was on time for her appointment. It was a 
 routine check--up but almost from the first she 
 realized this examination was different. She 
 watched the smile fade from the doctor's face, saw 
 him become more alert, less talkative. She tried to 
 surmise from his orders to the nurse what was being 
 done but soon gave it up and abandoned herself to 
 the pain and fear that enveloped her. 
 
 After the examination Mrs. McCullers, the 
 nurse, talked cheerfully of commonplace things as 
 she helped her dress but Jean could not forget the 
 concern on Paul's face. 
 
 Certain phrases continued to run through her 
 mind, "take a culture," "examination under a 
 microscope." She had wanted to cry out, "What do 
 you think it is, cancer?" but could not bring 
 herself to say the words. 
 
 Paul walked with her to the door and as he 
 opened it said, "Try not to worry, Jean. We won't 
 know anything until I get a report from the lab." 
 This was the physician speaking, the pressure of his 
 hand on her shoulder was Paul, their friend. When 
 she hesitated, reluctant to leave, he dismissed her. 
 
 '*We'll let you know tomorrow afternoon." 
 
 She drove directly home. She hadn't forgotten 
 about the Paradise tree but after her experience at 
 the doctor's office she wasn't sure she wanted to 
 plant it. She hated to admit to herself that she 
 was afraid but she knew she was a coward when she 
 did not carry out her original plan. The thought of 
 the tree and its special significance depressed her. 
 
53 
 
 Now that she was at home, the door carefully 
 shut behind her, Jean sank down on the sofa and 
 abandoned herself to the fear that invaded her mind. 
 It ran along her nerves, making itself felt in the 
 tightness of her throat, the weakness in her knees 
 and the trembling of her hands. She tried to 
 control her thoughts but they ran ahead of her like 
 active children. 
 
 The telephone interrupted her thoughts. It was 
 Mary reminding her of their regular bridge game. 
 Ordinarily Jean looked forward to a game with Mary 
 and Dick, but not today. She was tempted to offer 
 some excuse but thought better of it. As she 
 replaced the receiver in its cradle, she trembled. 
 How could she face the night? How could she act as 
 though the world were not coming to an end tomorrow? 
 Even though she dreaded the evening she knew she 
 could face it better with guests than with John 
 alone. 
 
 In her sun flooded bed-room she undressed to 
 take a shower. It was a warm day but she didn't 
 deceive herself. She knew that she wanted to feel 
 the water and pretend for a little while that her 
 body was soimd. First she let the water run HOT and 
 felt innumerable needle points of heat pelt her 
 skin. How strong it felt, this warm, smooth body of 
 hers. She ran her hands along her thighs, over her 
 hips and up to the curve of her breast. 
 
 Could it be that her body harbored within it 
 the means of its own destruction? She had never 
 felt bound to her body for she had been taught from 
 infancy that she was an immortal soul. She did not 
 feel imnortal now. Her faith was shaken. Perhaps 
 she had not thought correctly, for to her, as to 
 most healthy people, immortality did not mean a life 
 of eternity hereafter but rather a prolonged life in 
 this world. But what happened if the body could no 
 longer serve as the home of the healthy personality? 
 She knew that personality, soul, call it what you 
 would, did not die, rather if forsook its decaying 
 home and sought a more fitting habitation. 
 
54 
 
 Wishing to banish these morbid thoughts she 
 turned the shower to COLD. The shock made her catch 
 her breath. 
 
 Back in her room she looked at her watch^2:03. 
 She held it to her ear to be sure it was running— it 
 was. But surely it was slow. She checked with the 
 electric clock in the kitchen. Its placid face 
 registered 2:03. 
 
 Three more hours, one hundred and eighty 
 minutes to be spent before John came home. Each 
 must be filled with physical activity for she could 
 not concentrate on reading and to sit and brood was 
 unthinkable. Discarding her robe she donned shorts 
 and a sweatshirt and soon was at work in the garden. 
 She was unaware of time as she thinned out the 
 zinnia and marigold plants, pulled up weeds and 
 worked around the peonies. 
 
 She paused in her work, sat back on her heels 
 and surveyed the garden. How she loved it. She and 
 John had planned and worked over it and each year it 
 became more beautiful. How happy she had been when 
 the fence had been replaced by a high brick wall 
 which was now covered with ivy. The wall fountain 
 had been a birthday gift. For years they had looked 
 for a wrought iron gate and then, on one of their 
 trips to Charleston had bought an antique one. When 
 the gate clicked behind you, you were in an 
 enchanted world. 
 
 Small boxwoods outlined the paths that radiated 
 from the pool in the center of the garden. Water 
 lilies, shell-'pink, yellow and white floated on its 
 surface and fish darted here and there like bright 
 flashes of liquid gold. 
 
 A mockingbird had built a nest in the same tree 
 for years and was now busy feeding her young. As a 
 final tribute to the peace of the garden, a hermit 
 thrush had selected the far, secluded comer for her 
 home. She was a timid little thing but late in the 
 afternoon she would perch on a bough of the 
 flowering almond and sing her haunting, plaintive 
 song in appreciation for her haven. Jean felt that 
 she and the thrush were kindred spirits, for when 
 
55 
 
 the noise and bustle of the city got on her nerves, 
 she sought the sanctuary of the garden. 
 
 Today she was keenly aware of the beauty around 
 her. If I should have to leave it, she thought, I 
 would miss it. I want to see the new lilacs bloom, 
 and the narcissus bulbs John ordered from Ireland. 
 I'd never know if they multiplied here or grew 
 homesick and died because they missed their native 
 soil. If I should never see this dear spot again, 
 I'd like to remember it forever just as it looks 
 today. Her eyes filled with tears but she brushed 
 them away and resumed her weeding. 
 
 Some time later she was startled when John 
 spoke to her. He took her hand and helped her to 
 her feet, put his arms around her and drew her 
 close. 
 
 "I finished my correspondence and it was too 
 late to start anything else. I thought of you, the 
 garden and a long cool drink, so here I am. Aren't 
 you glad to see me?" 
 
 "Of course I am." 
 
 She raised her face but he did not bend to kiss 
 her, instead he looked deep into her eyes and his 
 arms tightened as he asked, "What's the matter, 
 Jean?" 
 
 As she looked into his deep blue eyes, darkened 
 now with concern, and saw the anxiety on his face it 
 was hard to resist his appeal. She longed to let 
 him share this anxiety with her but she held to her 
 determination to keep it from him until she heard 
 from Paul. 
 
 She lowered her eyes and answered, "Nothing. 
 Just one of those days." 
 
 "What did you do to wear yourself out?" 
 "I was in town all morning — shopping." 
 "That usually peps you up." 
 
 "When I got home it was so lovely I dashed out 
 here. I suppose I've been working too long." 
 
 She glanced up to see if she had convinced him 
 but knew by his look of skepticism that she hadn't. 
 
 "All right, don't tell me if that's the way you 
 want it but, young lady, you aren't fooling me." 
 
56 
 
 "I'm not trying. I'm just tired." 
 
 There's something on your mind but it isn't a 
 new hat. Well, I'm here and you can tell me when 
 you feel like it." 
 
 His tender unhurried kiss relieved her of 
 replying. 
 
 He released her, gave her a playful slap on the 
 behind, saying, "You run along and mix the drinks 
 while I dig the hole for the Paradise tree. When I 
 finish I'll need one." 
 
 "Never mind the hole. We can do it later." 
 
 "Now I know something is wrong." 
 
 "Nothing's wrong. I just forgot to pick it 
 
 up . " 
 
 "Forgot?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But this morning, at the ungodly hour of 
 seven-thirty when my resistance was low, you made me 
 promise to dig the hole for it so you could plant it 
 this afternoon. Now you say 'never mind.' What is 
 it, Jean?" 
 
 "Nothing really. Just a woman's whim." 
 
 "But you aren't given to whims. I don't 
 understand." 
 
 "Don't you know better than to try to 
 understand women?" 
 
 He refused to be put off by her banal talk. 
 
 "I don't pretend to understand women, heaven 
 forbid, but I do know you. Come clean." 
 
 When she made no answer he went about the 
 business of digging the hole while she watched in 
 silence. 
 
 Later as they sat on the terrace sipping their 
 drinks, she recaptured some of the feeling of 
 security. John was near her. His love was the 
 frame that held her life together. As long as the 
 frame was unbroken nothing could devastate her. 
 This mood lasted through dinner and while they were 
 dressing for the bridge game. 
 
 As usual the game with the Reids was fun. 
 Several times during the evening Jean was surprised 
 to find that she was enjoying herself. 
 
57 
 
 About nine-'thirty the door bell rang and John 
 went to answer it. He returned with a plant about 
 eighteen inches high above a burlap encased ball of 
 earth. 
 
 "Here's the Paradise tree. Stella said you 
 must have forgotten it this morning. I'll put it 
 out on the terrace." 
 
 "Please do." 
 
 Jean wished with all her heart that Stella 
 hadn't brought the tree. Now she would have to 
 think of a plausible excuse for not planting it. 
 
 Mary asked, "What's so special about a Paradise 
 tree? I never heard of one." 
 
 "It's native to India." 
 
 "Then how did Stella get it?" 
 
 "That's a long story. You don't want to hear 
 
 it." 
 
 "Yes I do," and Mary lay her cards face down on 
 the table. 
 
 Jean spoke reluctantly, "Stella promised me one 
 a long time ago. Her great-grandfather was a 
 missionary to India. When he returned he brought 
 several shoots of the tree. The name Paradise tree 
 fascinated me, and I asked her to get me one on her 
 next visit." 
 
 "Tell her the legend, Jean," John said. 
 
 "They are supposed to bring good luck. They 
 grow slowly, require constant care and take seven 
 years to bloom. The natives believed that if they 
 survived the seven lean years the person who planted 
 it will be happy." 
 
 "Has Stella planted one?" asked Dick. 
 
 "No. She said if it were to die she would be 
 terrified thinking of all the bad luck headed her 
 way." 
 
 "Can't blame her for that." 
 
 "According to the legend, the tree will live 
 only if it is planted by someone unafraid, someone 
 with faith and hope in the future." 
 
 "Aren't you afraid to plant it?" asked Mary. 
 She continued, "I'd love a weeping willow but 
 wouldn't plant one for anything. It's bad luck, you 
 
58 
 
 know." 
 
 Jean considered for a moment. "I'm not sure I 
 will plant it. I don't believe all those 
 superstitions, but it does give you a funny feeling, 
 like walking under a ladder, having a black cat 
 cross your path, or a picture fall. I'm beginning 
 to get cold feet." 
 
 "You may have cold feet but I've blistered 
 hands from digging. You bet you're going to plant 
 that tree," John said. 
 
 Jean was about to protest, to say that the 
 decision was hers to make but Mary picked up her 
 cards, spread them and bid, "Two spades." 
 
 At eleven o'clock, after six rubbers of bridge 
 and many post-^mortems, the Reids got up to go. At 
 the door, Mary referred to the Paradise tree just 
 when Jean felt sure the subject would not be 
 renewed. 
 
 "Plant your tree and I admire your nerve but," 
 she left the sentence dangling. "Anyway I hope 
 we'll all be here to see it bloom." 
 
 Jean and John were quiet as they straightened 
 up the room. While he put the card table and chairs 
 in place, she emptied ash trays and took the glasses 
 back to the kitchen to rinse them. She took much 
 longer that was necessary for she hoped John would 
 forget about the tree. When she could no longer 
 delay, she returned to the living room and began to 
 talk about the game. John listened patiently. Her 
 voice sounded high and unnatural to her own ears and 
 she let the words trail off. The silence 
 lengthened, then John carefully ground out his 
 cigarette and settled back in his chair. 
 
 "I'm not trying to pry, Jean, but something is 
 worrying you. I thought so this afternoon, now I'm 
 sure." 
 
 "I told you it wasn't really anything." 
 
 "I know you did. Right now I'm not so much 
 concerned about VJHAT it is as your reaction to it. 
 ALL this because of the Paradise tree?" 
 
 "Yes. You've never been a superstitious 
 person. You are one of the most sensible people 
 
59 
 
 I've ever known and when you suddenly get out of 
 character it's disconcerting." 
 "ril get over it." 
 
 "Maybe as you say, 'it's just one of those 
 things.' But I want to know-^are you going to plant 
 the tree?" 
 
 "I don't think so." 
 
 "Afraid?" 
 
 "A little." 
 
 "You're keeping something from me. Think it 
 over. If you care to tell me about it I'd like to 
 hear it." 
 
 He waited for her to answer but when she kept 
 silent he got up and began to turn out the lights. 
 
 In the bedroom when he kissed her good-night he 
 made one last attempt. 
 
 "Let me say this, Jean, and I won't mention it 
 again ... if you don't plant that tree the rest of 
 your life you'll be subject to superstitions and 
 fears." 
 
 There was a long silence. Seeing that she 
 wasn't going to answer he said, "Let's go to bed." 
 
 Much later she lay awake listening to his 
 rhythmic breathing. The night was still. The 
 moonlight filtered through the leaves of the big oak 
 tree near the house, etching a pattern on the window 
 shade. She watched the pattern sway with each 
 breeze. How quiet it was. She could hear her heart 
 beating and it gave her an uncanny feeling. 
 
 She thought: I can't lie here all night 
 worrying. I must decide what my attitude is going 
 to be. No matter what I learn tomorrow, tonight is 
 the time of decision." 
 
 She no longer tried to keep her thoughts in 
 check. 
 
 You went along for years. Your life was 
 pleasant with no real worries and you were lured 
 into a feeling of security. You came to believe 
 that you had a charmed life, then when you were 
 least prepared, trouble struck suddenly and you 
 realized how vulnerable you were. 
 
 Now the future with all its fears confronted 
 
60 
 
 her. Tomorrow she would know, tonight she could 
 only surmise. 
 
 Where should she start? Pre-suppose the worst 
 then anything short of the worst would be a welcome 
 surprise. 
 
 Suppose she did have cancer. Even in her 
 thoughts, she shied away from the word. Other women 
 had had to face it. She marveled at the courage 
 that kept one of her friends fighting when all hope, 
 even hope itself had been abandoned by everyone 
 else. I haven't the courage for that, she thought. 
 
 And there should be a dignity about death, not 
 a gradual wearing away of the body, with the subtle 
 changes in the personality, the loss of energy, the 
 melting away of the gentle curves until only a trace 
 of the original remained. To be alive and yet have 
 the seal of death upon you. 
 
 And there were John and their son to be 
 considered. She envisaged John, a man in his prime, 
 constantly adjusting his manner of life to meet in 
 some degree her inability to fulfill her duties as 
 wife and mother. Her son would not feel it so 
 keenly. He was happy in his work at the University 
 and on his infrequent week-end visits, she would 
 deaden her pain with ever increasing doses of 
 morphine and endeavor to keep life normal. Toward 
 the end he would notice the change in her and in 
 concern, ask his father if they hadn't better do 
 something about it, but by mutual, unspoken 
 agreement they would keep the truth from him as long 
 as possible. 
 
 And when life held no pleasure and the very act 
 of living was agony, death would come as a blessed 
 release. 
 
 But the picture was not always so ominous. Now 
 there were new methods of treatment and doctors 
 spoke confidently of cures. This thought was 
 reassuring. She felt some of the tension ease from 
 her body and was able to relax, but only for a 
 moment before the demons of doubt rushed at her 
 again. 
 
 Suppose there isn't a complete cure. To live 
 
61 
 
 on feeling well and strong not knowing when cancer 
 would again rear its ugly head. To hope that the 
 cure was complete, to have every reason for such 
 hope, and when your doubts and fears had finally 
 been overcome, to know again the agony of having 
 your fears rekindled. This second assault would be 
 more unbearable than the first for now you would be 
 denied even the comfort of hope. 
 
 But what was hope? She pondered over this 
 before putting her thoughts into unspoken words. It 
 was the determination to keep on in the face of 
 overwhelming odds, yet it was more that that. It 
 was the courage to live life to the best of your 
 ability even though the hand fate had dealt you was 
 a poor one. She smiled at the simile but carried it 
 a step further. 
 
 If I were asked to play cards tomorrow I'd 
 accept. I'd go with no assurance that my hands 
 would be good. Should they prove exceptionally 
 poor, I would not quit and disrupt the game. I'd 
 play my hands to the best of my ability and there 
 would always be the chance that, if I played a poor 
 hand well, I might get the breaks and come out 
 better than I thought. 
 
 Now it seemed so clear to her. She wondered 
 why she had allowed herself to get to the point 
 where was afraid to try. 
 
 Suddenly she knew what she must do. 
 
 Throwing back the covers, she slipped her feet 
 into her slippers and quickly drew on her housecoat. 
 Halfway to the door John's voice stopped her. 
 
 "Where are you going, Jean?" 
 
 She turned and answered him across the 
 darkness . 
 
 "I'm going to plant the Paradise tree." 
 
 She waited for him to speak. If he laughed at 
 her she could not bear it, if he asked her to wait 
 until morning she would be disappointed in him. He 
 did neither. 
 
 "I'll come with you," and even as he spoke he 
 was donning slippers and robe. 
 
 When they reached the terrace they stopped for 
 
62 
 
 a moment to gaze at the garden. The moon hung low 
 in the west and cast long, black shadows over some 
 areas and flooded others with a pale, eerie light. 
 
 Jean picked up the Paradise tree and carried it 
 to the hole prepared for it while John brought a 
 spade and a bucket of water. He did not offer to 
 plant the tree for he knew that the act of planting 
 it held a special significance to her. 
 
 Her hands trembled as she set the ball of earth 
 in the hole and turned it carefully until it seemed 
 to settle comfortably into place. Painstakingly she 
 spaded some soil around it and motioned John to pour 
 in the water. When this was done she filled the 
 hole with dirt and tamped it with the back of the 
 spade. When she was satisfied with the planting she 
 stood up straight and tall! 
 
 The moonlight shone on her face where courage 
 and determination had wiped away all trace of fear. 
 
 Suddenly she turned and looked at John across 
 the little tree. 
 
 "0 John, I planted it," and in a voice of 
 exultation, added in the same breath as though it 
 were a natural consequence of the first statement, 
 "I'll never be afraid again!" 
 
 Frances Harvey 
 
63 
 
 NATIVITY 
 
 "You know there is no shelter from the 
 stormy no covering — " 
 
 "The sky will cover me." 
 
 "No bread to satisfy — " 
 
 "The hloom, the globed fruit of the apple 
 tree . " 
 
 "No human friend to answer when the 
 darkness finds the marrow — " 
 
 "A friend I would be." 
 
 "You shall not walk by sunlight — " 
 
 "I will know the glister of the plum, the 
 cherry tree . " 
 
 "You will be bom blind — " 
 
 "I sense a radiance in the east." 
 
 "In orphanage . " 
 
 "All orphanage implies a sire." 
 "You will be bom still?" 
 
 A bugle note of silence: 
 Then a wrench of light, an amputation, 
 and a cry. 
 
 Mary Fenney 
 
 She mouths 
 
 not pious sounds 
 
 but when I fell 
 
 she made her bed 
 
 beside my own 
 
 and tried in vain 
 
 to hide her anguished tears 
 
 while angels flew 
 
 their distant course overhead. 
 
 P^G0y Parrish 
 
64 
 
 NIGHT AT THE BEACH 
 
 The quiet, obscure dark of the deserted sands. 
 
 Only the whisper of waves lapping the heaeh. 
 An enormous moon just cresting the waves. 
 
 Casting flashing diamonds to us from each. 
 A myriad of silver fish restlessly darting 
 
 In and out, ever searching evasive food 
 Along the jeweled pathway up to the moon. 
 
 All around muted sound — unspoiled solitude. 
 
 Mary Aumxn 
 1983 
 
 THE LOST AND FOUND — YELLOW GOLD 
 
 Thinking color, my thoughts stopped at 
 gold, then went on to a lost college ring. I 
 was graduated from Woman's College, now UNC^G, 
 in 1922. Five of the seven children in my 
 family attended college, but I was the only 
 one to have a class ring. I bought it with 
 money given to me at graduation. I taught 
 school for a few years and wore the ring with 
 pride. It was my most cherished possession 
 and quite a conversation piece. I would 
 explain the "22" on one side and the "AB" on 
 the other, the name of the college on top, and 
 the inscription, "Lucy Hunter," on the inside. 
 
 I was married in 1925. A diamond ring 
 and a wedding band took precedent over the 
 college ring that then spent most of the time 
 in the dresser drawer. My teenage sister, 
 Polly, who had aspirations to attend Woman's 
 College at some future time, loved the ring, 
 and, knowing that it would be in good hands, I 
 asked her if she would like to wear it. She 
 would and did. I promptly forgot all about 
 the ring. Out of sight, out of mind. 
 
65 
 
 The first five years of my married life 
 were spent in Raleigh, NC, and the next five 
 were spent in LaCrosse, Virginia. My time was 
 taken up with the usual tasks of homemaking 
 and caring for three children. Imagine the 
 shock and thrill I had when one day that 
 college ring came in the mail. It had caught 
 up with me after ten years! The ring had been 
 sent to my parents and they had sent it on to 
 me. The only information that came with the 
 ring was that it was found by workers digging 
 the foundation for a new building at Louisburg 
 College. 
 
 Polly was in school at Louisburg College 
 in 1928 when disastrous fires destroyed the 
 Old Academy Building and gutted the main 
 floors and west wing of the Administration 
 Building. Space in these buildings was 
 devoted to dormitory rooms. Polly lost 
 everything in the fire. She returned home and 
 entered college in Greensboro the following 
 fall. 
 
 But what still amazes me is that the 
 ring, which obviously remained exposed to the 
 elements for at least seven years, was in 
 excellent condition. Well, it no longer 
 fitted my finger, so back in the dresser 
 drawer it went for 40 more years. 
 
 A few years ago my granddaughter, Joy 
 Johnson, was graduating from North Carolina 
 State University. Searching around for a 
 suitable gift and one with some sentimental 
 value, I came up with the thought of my class 
 ring. I consulted with the local jeweler; he 
 suggested leaving the ring intact except for 
 changing the foundation green onyx stone to a 
 State College red one. I had this done and 
 gave it to Joy for keeps. She adores it and 
 wears it constantly. She wore it on her 
 wedding day as something old-'-'60 years old. 
 
 Lucy Graham 
 
66 
 
 SAVED BY A FOX 
 
 In the days when fox hunts were popular, 
 my Daddy would keep the fox dogs and the fox 
 until the men were ready for the chase. 
 
 The fox was taken to the woods or forest 
 with acres of trees, and turned loose, hours 
 before men all dressed in dark suits, wearing 
 hats or caps and riding beautiful, prancing 
 horses, were ready for the chase. Given the 
 signal, the men, using the spur on their 
 heels, would punch the horse in the side and 
 the chase would start. 
 
 On this special hunt the fox was caught 
 by the dogs and killed after hours of chasing. 
 The fox was given to my Daddy. He had a neck 
 piece made out of the fur and gave it to my 
 mother. She couldn't use it because it gave 
 her asthma so she gave it to me. 
 
 Several years later when I was teaching 
 school, I got all dressed up for a date on 
 Easter Sunday. I put the old fur piece on for 
 it was cold and we were going on a little trip 
 with another couple. 
 
 We were returning home and had crossed a 
 long bridge over a wide river when a car came 
 out of a side road and ran into our car. My 
 friend and I were on the backseat. I was 
 thrown through the side window. My head hit a 
 tree, and my clothes and one shoe were torn 
 off by the glass. No one else was badly hurt. 
 The car that hit us did not stop. 
 
 A passing car stopped and the men helped 
 me up. They took me to a hospital several 
 miles back, that we had just passed. 
 
 I did not know anything about it because 
 I was unconscious for hours. They sewed up 
 the torn places on my back and the cut on my 
 head. As I moved and opened my eyes there 
 were two doctors beside my bed. One doctor 
 said, "Daughter, you are going to be fine. We 
 have your ring (it was my engagement ring) and 
 your clothes." The other doctor said he had 
 
67 
 
 sewed the cuts so no scars would keep me from 
 wearing a low--back.ed evening gown and the cut 
 muscle on my arm would soon heal with no 
 trouble in using it. 
 
 The other doctor said, "Daughter, do you 
 know what saved your life? That fur piece. 
 Had you not had that on, your neck would have 
 been badly cut." 
 
 I thanked the good Lord and I thanked my 
 Daddy for having the fox chase, and for the 
 fox fur. 
 
 Mae Brothers 
 
 OUR THANKSGIVING TURKEY 
 
 As Thanksgiving Day draws near I find myself 
 recalling Thanksgivings of the past—- they were days 
 of family gatherings, much happiness and good 
 f ood-=-=-always turkey, which I loved to cook. How 
 much pride I felt when the large bird was taken from 
 the oven-— beautiful brown and oozing with juices! 
 
 We always had a fresh turkey but the 
 Thanksgiving that stands out in my mind was the one 
 when we had a wild turkey— and my husband had killed 
 it. He admits that he was not a very good marksman 
 but this particular morning, very early, he went to 
 our cabin in the country alone to hunt turkeys. He 
 went a short distance from the cabin, hid behind a 
 tree and waited— it was a beautiful morning, the sun 
 coming up, the trees glistening with dew and the 
 sound of the creek running nearby. He felt so 
 grateful for these and all his many blessings, he 
 bowed his head for a word of prayer and thanks. Lo 
 and behold, when he raised his head he heard the 
 "gobble gobble" of a turkey nearby and then there it 
 was! He aimed and shot it in the head— he was so 
 
68 
 
 surprised and happy and rushed home to show the 
 family. I have never seen a wild turkey before, the 
 native wild turkey which is found in all 48 states 
 and Hawaii and is a member of the pheasant family 
 and also related to the barnyard turkey. The wild 
 turkey is more slender, long-legged, and long-necked 
 than the domestic turkey-^its plumage is darker, its 
 head has a bluish cast where the domestic is red. 
 It can walk, fly and swim. It was truly a beautiful 
 bird and my husband was so thrill ed-^he dressed it 
 and I cooked it as I always did the domestic turkey 
 and the family all agreed it was delicious and such 
 a rarity. 
 
 The neighbors teased my husband and said he sat 
 on the porch and killed a turkey-^that was not true 
 but it was a short distance from the porch. Anyway, 
 he has the distinction of having killed a wild 
 turkey for his Thanksgiving dinner— one that all 
 hunters can't boast. 
 
 Lizette Dunham 
 
 WE GO OUT AND PREACH 
 
 "And He (Jesus) called to Him the twelve, and 
 began to send them out two by two, and gave them 
 authority over the unclean spirits. He charged them 
 to take nothing for their journey except a staff 
 
 (R.S.V.) 
 
 Thaddaeus and I, James, the son of Alphaeus, 
 were paired together for the journey. Why, I do not 
 know, for we are both of a quiet type and find it 
 hard to speak to strangers. Toward evening of our 
 first day out, we were quite a way from the next 
 village, when we caught up with a shepherd with his 
 
69 
 
 flock making their way to the sheepcote for the 
 night. Shepherds lead a lonely life with only the 
 sheep for company the most of the time. He greeted 
 us with delight, eager to hear any news we might be 
 able to give him. He asked where we were going and 
 we told him wherever God led us, for Jesus, who we 
 believed to be a special Son of God, had sent us out 
 to preach repentance and the coming of the Kingdom. 
 He asked us to stay with him. There would be 
 several other shepherds also at the fold for the 
 night. Amos's son would bring food for the evening 
 meal which they would be glad to share with us. And 
 so we stayed. 
 
 One of the other shepherds found, as he 
 inspected the sheep as they passed through the door 
 of the fold, that one old ram had a bad cut on his 
 leg. He was singled out and held until the rest of 
 the flock was inside, then the shepherd cleansed the 
 wound. Thaddaeus and I helped him hold the sheep, 
 for the cut was deep and I am sure hurt as the 
 shepherd washed out the dirt. The ram became quiet 
 as we held it and as he worked there was a prayer in 
 my heart that God would quickly heal the wound for 
 the shepherd was worried for fear the old sheep 
 would not be able to walk to the far pasture the 
 next day and the whole flock would have to stay 
 close to the fold where the grazing was sparse. How 
 amazed he was the next morning to find the wound 
 completely healed. 
 
 After the sheep had all been cared for, we all 
 ate of the supper Amos's son had brought. Then 
 Thaddaeus and I began to tell them about Jesus and 
 the wonderful works He did. Neither Thaddaeus nor I 
 have a natural gift of words, but that night 
 Thaddaeus was truly inspired. 
 
 As he finished, one of the shepherds turned to 
 one of the other men, and said, "John, I'm sorry for 
 the way I treated you yesterday. It was the 
 meanness in me that caused me to rail at you. It 
 was nothing that was your fault. Sometimes I get so 
 fed up with this life. How I would like to travel 
 to far places! Why, I haven't even been to 
 
70 
 
 Jerusalem since I took this job, for there is no one 
 else to leave with the sheep • But these strangers 
 have made me see that when God judges me faithful in 
 this work. He will provide other work for me." 
 
 The next morning one of the men came to me and 
 asked that we go see his father in the next village. 
 He had fallen a week ago and broken his leg. He was 
 so blue and despondent. He knew it would be weeks 
 before he could take his place tending sheep. 
 Jethro was glad to help by combining his father's 
 flock with his own, though it did make too many for 
 one man to handle well. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Jethro, "if you will stop and 
 talk with him it will cheer him up. Just ask for 
 Caleb's place when you reach the village. Tell 
 Mother I sent you and she will be glad to see you. 
 Tell Father I am getting along all right with the 
 sheep. The other boys help me as much as they can. 
 All of us here are so glad you spent the night with 
 us. You gave us much to think about last night." 
 
 After breakfast, Thaddaeus and I watched as 
 each shepherd called his own flock and set out for 
 the hills where the pasture was better. Both 
 Thaddaeus and I seemed loath to start. I think 
 maybe we both were having the same thoughts. 
 Finally Thaddaeus said, "How eager the men were to 
 learn about Jesus and His teachings. It didn't seem 
 hard to talk with them." 
 
 "Indeed, Thaddaeus, for all I knew all that you 
 told them, still it gave me a thrill to listen to 
 you. Jesus told us God would give us the words to 
 say if we but trusted Him." 
 
 And we sat silent again, each busy with his own 
 thoughts . 
 
 "James, did you pray God to quickly heal the 
 old ram last night as we held him? I know I did. 
 Did you notice this morning one could scarcely tell 
 where the cut had been? I, for one, want to thank 
 Him for answering our prayers." 
 
 And so we spent a part of the morning in 
 praying. This we have learned from Jesus. If we 
 want to have power in our lives, we must spend much 
 
71 
 
 time in prayer. 
 
 When at last we reached the village, we had no 
 trouble in finding Caleb's house. The mother gave 
 us a gracious welcome when she found Jethro had sent 
 us. We found the old gentleman in bed with his leg 
 in a rough splint. He was a bit grouchy at first, 
 but when we told him all was well with his flock and 
 that we thought Jethro was fully capable of handling 
 all the sheep, he brightened up and asked where we 
 were from and where we were going. We told him we 
 were disciples of Jesus and that He had sent us out 
 to preach repentance for the Kingdom of God was at 
 hand. Caleb was well versed in the Scriptures and 
 asked us many questions. God certainly spoke 
 through us, for I found myself giving answers I 
 didn't realize I knew. 
 
 The day went by rapidly. Late in the afternoon 
 Thaddaeus said, "Caleb, I believe Jesus is the 
 Messiah. He has wonderful powers no one could have 
 if God were not with Him. When He sent us out He 
 told us He was giving us the power to heal the sick. 
 Now, James and I have never tried to heal a person. 
 Last night an injured sheep was healed and we 
 believe it was because we laid our hands on him and 
 prayed. We would like to heal your broken leg. We 
 believe we can by using this power Jesus has given 
 us. With your permission, we would like to place 
 our hands over the break and pray." 
 
 Caleb looked at us intently. "I believe you 
 can. Remove the splints." 
 
 Quickly Thaddaeus and I removed them and 
 running our hands over the broken leg we could feel 
 the break in the shinbone. Thaddaeus and I prayed 
 silently a few moments, then Thaddaeus said, "God in 
 Heaven, Jesus, Thy Son, has promised us that you 
 will hear our prayers. In His name, we pray you 
 will heal our brother Caleb. Thank you for hearing 
 us and healing him." 
 
 As we stood there with our hands on his leg, we 
 could feel movement under the flesh and suddenly the 
 shinbone was smooth and we could feel the break no 
 more. There was a tingling all through my body and 
 
72 
 
 on Thaddaeus's face I could see a radiance that 
 never was there before. 
 
 Caleb must have felt something, too, for 
 suddenly he lifted his voice in song. "Praise and 
 thanksgiving unto God, for He has heard our prayers. 
 Blessed be our God, for through Him these men have 
 done a wondrous thing." And with that he jumped to 
 his feet and ran nimbly about the room. 
 
 It didn't take long for the news to fly through 
 the village that Caleb's leg had been healed and 
 soon almost the entire village was at Caleb's door. 
 There was much laughing and talking until Caleb held 
 up his hand for silence. 
 
 "Neighbors and friends, God has done a 
 wonderful thing for me through these servants of 
 His, Thaddaeus and James. But more than healing my 
 body, they have brought me much food for thought. 
 They have reminded me that I have not always done 
 things as I knew God would want me to do them. They 
 have told me of a wonderful person, named Jesus, who 
 is bidding us all repent and turn to God. I want 
 you all to hear their message. Go home now and have 
 your suppers. Then come back and Thaddaeus and 
 James will talk to you." 
 
 So they all scattered to their homes. Caleb 
 seemed to understand our needs and he suggested we 
 retire to his guest room to rest a bit, while his 
 good wife and daughters prepared the evening meal. 
 Thaddaeus and I were glad to have some time alone. 
 It had been an unusual day for us. It is one thing 
 to watch Jesus answer questions, preach and heal the 
 sick, and entirely different when you find people 
 looking to you for the answers. No wonder Jesus 
 insisted He needed much time alone with God to renew 
 Himself. There would be much more for us to do 
 before bedtime. We were glad for a little rest for 
 our bodies, but more than that we felt the need of 
 communing with God, to thank Him for all the good He 
 had done through us that day, and to humbly ask His 
 continuing help through the evening. 
 
 We had not quite finished our meal when the 
 people began to return. It was a beautiful moonlit 
 
7Z 
 
 evening and Thaddaeus and I preached and told the 
 stories we had heard from Jesus until the moon was 
 high over our heads. They were so anxious to hear 
 all we could tell them. At length, promising them 
 we would stay with them the next day, we sent them 
 to their homes. 
 
 Next morning early, they were back. I am sure 
 very little work was done in the village that day 
 for all that could came to listen to us. We talked 
 and answered questions until the heat of the day 
 forced us to send them home. Some of them begged us 
 to go with them to their homes to bless and talk 
 with an aged parent or grandparent who was unable to 
 walk as far as Caleb's home. This we did and had 
 the joy of seeing fresh strength flow into their 
 feeble bodies. 
 
 Later in the day, we were again in Caleb's 
 yard, when Ezra, a fine big strapping man, asked us, 
 "Did you know John the Baptizer?" 
 
 Yes, Thaddaeus had heard him preach, I had not. 
 Then Ezra said, "John, too, preached repentance and 
 he baptized with water as a sign that God had washed 
 away sin. What is to hinder you from baptizing me? 
 I have done many things for which I need God's 
 forgiveness . Let us go down to the brook and be 
 washed clean." 
 
 The entire crowd made their way to the brook 
 that ran through the village and there we did 
 baptize not only Ezra, but many more. As Caleb came 
 up out of the water, he broke into song, 
 
 "I will bless the Lord at all times; 
 
 His praise shall continually be in my mouth. 
 
 My soul makes its boast in the Lord; 
 
 Let the afflicted hear and be glad. 
 
 0 magnify the Lord with me. 
 
 And let us exalt His name together." 
 
74 
 
 And soon the whole assembly was singing. 
 
 As we walked back to Caleb's, one of the 
 villagers fell in step with me. "This has been a 
 wonderful day for me and for all of our village. 
 Many of my family live in the next village. I wish 
 you would go there and tell them all that you have 
 told us. Ask for my cousin Benjamin when you get to 
 Kartan." 
 
 The next morning we bade Caleb and his family 
 farewell. Caleb placed his hands on our heads and 
 blessed us. "Come back again and visit us. We will 
 never forget you. You will always find friends 
 here. Bring Jesus and the rest of the disciples 
 with you. It would mean much to us to know Jesus 
 personally. We will always thank God for your 
 visit." 
 
 Our stay in Kartan was much the same as it had 
 been in the first village, we preached and healed 
 some who were sick. Perhaps it had become easier 
 for us in this second village, we became careless 
 and spent less time in prayer and listening for 
 guidance than we did at first, justifying ourselves 
 by saying there was so much to do, there wasn't time 
 for prayer. When we went on to the third village we 
 met opposition. The village rabbi forbade us to 
 preach and no home invited us to stay with them. We 
 tried to heal a blind begger but had no success. 
 That night we spent under the stars without supper. 
 We were hungry and tired and discouraged. There 
 seemed to be no suitable place where we might camp 
 for the night, so we trudged on, each going over in 
 his mind the failures of the day. Suddenly 
 Thaddaeus stopped and, placing his hand on my arm, 
 said, "How blind we have been! It wasn't you and I 
 that healed Caleb and the ram, or preached or called 
 the people to repent, but God working through us. 
 We were His voice and healing hands. As long as we 
 yielded ourselves completely to Him, His power 
 flowed through us. When we began to take the credit 
 to ourselves, we began to fail. 0 Lord God, forgive 
 us. How could I summon other people to repentance 
 when it is I, myself, who needs to repent." And 
 
75 
 
 Thaddaeus threw himself on the ground and wept. 
 
 Thaddaeus was right. I could see it all now 
 and I knelt and begged for mercy and forgiveness. 
 Suddenly the moon, which had been covered by clouds, 
 shone brightly and I, looking up, felt it was the 
 sign of God's forgiveness. I felt peace steal into 
 my heart. 
 
 Looking to my right, now the moon brought light 
 to the countryside, I noticed some trees and bushes 
 growing up around some rocks and in the stillness of 
 the night, I could hear the tinkle of dripping 
 water. A spring! How good that cool water tasted, 
 and how good it felt on our face and hands. We even 
 found a shallow cave with a clean, sand floor and 
 there we spent the rest of the night. Now we 
 remembered the other ten disciples. We had been so 
 concerned with ourselves, we had forgotten them. We 
 prayed that they would not make the same mistakes we 
 had made. And Jesus, our Master, where was He? 
 Perhaps He had gone to Nazareth to see His mother 
 and brothers and sisters, while we. His disciples 
 carried on for Him. How ashamed we were that we had 
 failed Him. But we knew He would understand, would 
 forgive us and would rejoice in the good we had 
 done. We thanked God for His forgiveness and 
 promised to listen for His guidance on the morrow. 
 At last we fell asleep. 
 
 In the morning we remembered to turn our 
 thoughts to God the very first thing. Looking about 
 us in the early morning light, we found bushes 
 loaded with sweet berries and on these we made our 
 breakfast. As we ate, I remembered that tonight 
 would begin the Sabbath. We would have to hurry 
 today if we were to be back in Capernaum by sundown. 
 How fast the week had gone! We walked swiftly, 
 stopping to talk but once. About noon we met a 
 leper sitting by the side of the road. He was a 
 young man and was careful to call out, "Unclean, 
 unclean," as we approached him. Thaddaeus and I had 
 the same thought. We would heal him. As we came 
 closer to him, I spoke, "Young man, our friend, 
 Teacher and Master, Jesus, who is God's own special 
 
76 
 
 Son, has sent us out to preach repentance and to 
 heal the sick. This we can not do in our own 
 strength but God will work through us. I know you 
 would like to be clean, again. Let us all kneel 
 here and pray." 
 
 Thaddaeus and I put our arms across the young 
 man's shoulders and prayed both aloud and silently. 
 The young man began to sob quietly and then he, too, 
 began to pray, confessing to past sins and asking 
 forgiveness. How long we knelt there I do not know, 
 but at last his sobbing ceased. A cry of joy burst 
 from his lips, "Look! My hands!" And not only his 
 hands but the flesh of his whole body was firm and 
 smooth. Of course the young man was happy and his 
 thanks bubbled over, thanks to God, thanks to us who 
 had been used by God. Thaddaeus and I were also 
 very happy. God had forgiven and forgotten our 
 mistakes of yesterday. He was willing to use us to 
 bring healing and happiness to this young man. 
 
 "Come", said he, "let us go to my mother's home 
 and tell her the good news. Then I want to go to 
 the synagogue in Capernaum and show myself to the 
 priests . 0 what a happy day this is ! " 
 
 We reached Capernaum an hour before sunset and 
 found Jesus at the home of Peter. We introduced our 
 new friend, Nathan, to Jesus and sent him on his way 
 to the sjmagogue, telling him we would wait here for 
 him. We had already asked him to spend the Sabbath 
 with us. 
 
 We found that we were the last of the disciples 
 to return. How our words tumbled over each other, 
 so anxious were we to tell all that had happened. 
 As our words finally began to slow down, Jesus 
 reached over and placed His hands on ours. "I do 
 believe my two quiet ones have lost their shyness. 
 God is indeed good. I thank Him for all the good He 
 has been able to do through you. Without Him we all 
 would be helpless, with Him we can do all things." 
 
 Naomi Mosier 
 
77 
 
 Spiney, hard cactus, in the desert. 
 
 Forcing life from the dry hot sand. 
 Your angular growth has sharp edges. 
 
 As you follow your own unique plan. 
 You weather heating heat from the sun. 
 
 Storing your own moisture within. 
 You thrive where none else could survive. 
 
 Giving comfort to the famished wayfarer. 
 Facing your harsh life staunchly. 
 
 You merit admiration and respect. 
 
 Mary Auman 
 1983 
 
78 
 
 TO MY WIFE 
 
 Some day when I am laid beneath 
 
 The silent, verdant sod. 
 
 And my immortal spirit 
 
 Shall go to seek its God, 
 
 Perhaps I'll take the Milky Way 
 
 That leads to outer spheres. 
 
 And travel at the speed of light 
 
 A hundred million years. 
 
 I, even then, may still go on 
 
 Until I've gone so far 
 
 That I shall he more distant, dear. 
 
 Than earth's most distant star. 
 
 And yet, I think I still shall see 
 
 Far, far in outer space 
 
 Upon that vast horizon 
 
 Some image of your face. 
 
 For there is naught in life nor death, 
 
 Whate ' er these forces do. 
 
 That can take me quite beyond 
 
 My memory of you. 
 
 Dr. J. V. Turner 
 
79 
 
 SEA TAG 
 
 He came to me 
 
 by the restless sea. 
 We watched the breakers 
 
 crest and fall. 
 We heard the song 
 
 of the sea. 
 It is called to us, 
 
 "Come, play with me." 
 
 Off came our shoes, 
 
 off came our socks. 
 We played tag 
 
 with the sea 
 And chased the waves back 
 
 *til the next one broke. 
 Hhen we raced for the shore 
 
 before it tagged us. 
 
 We forgot today ^s cares, 
 we were children again. 
 
 We laughed and we dxxnced 
 and sang with the sea. 
 
 Until we were tired, 
 but the sea rolled on. 
 
 'Now my love is gone. 
 
 I live far from the sea. 
 Only in memory 
 
 do I hear the sea's song. 
 The song of the restless sea. 
 
 Naomi Hosier 
 
80 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT BEACH 
 
 Walking along the remote oeeanside 
 
 In the quiet, breathless midnight. 
 From far away wafts to us, jangling music 
 
 And abandoned, raucous laughter. 
 The man-made lights, from the faraway shore. 
 
 Decorate the distant waves 
 With sparkling blue, green, and red 
 
 Glittering ropes of tinsel. 
 While the eternal moon looks down on high 
 
 From her solitary silvered splendor. 
 Man and Nature — 
 
 Mary Auman 
 1983 
 
 MELISSA 
 
 Twelve months she held at bay the agony 
 Of growth within her mother's vitals. Then 
 She took her father's hand through all the 
 years 
 
 He stumbled, sighed, and halted, wept, and 
 died. 
 
 When emphysema seized her husband's breath. 
 
 She ministered his daily oxygen — 
 
 And sun — and cheered his morning pilgrimage 
 
 From door to curb and then back home again. 
 
 At length, when, quiet-handed, she had made 
 
 The last brown blanket smooth and left a 
 
 flower. 
 
 She lifted idle hands and stared at them. 
 
 Mary Fenney 
 
81 
 
 A PILGRIMAGE 
 
 Too often hit and near destroyed 
 by forces joined for good 
 I wandered in the wilderness 
 gleaning what truth I could. 
 Sometime I saw a ray of light 
 and jumped upon its beam 
 wholeheartedly til later rays 
 showed 'twas not what it seemed. 
 
 With caution then I hovered back 
 in dark despair and gloom 
 sheltered (I did not know it then) 
 in Satan's narrow room. 
 Sickened by pungent fumes of death 
 From steaming elixer fake 
 Again I fled, seeking a land 
 Where good I'd ne'r forsake. 
 
 'Til high upon a hill one day 
 
 a voice rang true and clear 
 
 "They know not what they do; forgive." 
 
 Enchanted, I drew near 
 
 Forces for good had nailed Him there — 
 
 Lord of earth and heaven above! 
 
 I'm not compelled to know the way 
 
 But I am cow[pelled to love. 
 
 Peggy Parrish 
 
82 
 
 A DREAM 
 
 One night, at one o'clock in the morning, 
 I suddenly wakened and sat up in bed and 
 called to my husband. I said, "Charlie, Frank 
 is in deep trouble!" He said, "Oh, you have 
 been dreaming. Lie down and go to sleep." I 
 insisted that our son was in trouble. He said 
 I had been dreaming and to go back to sleep. 
 
 Two weeks later, our son visited us in 
 our home in Kansas. He was a science engineer 
 for DuPont. I asked where he was two weeks 
 ago and what he was doing at three o'clock in 
 the morning. He replied that he was at 
 Daytona Beach, Florida. He had built four 
 solar energy stills there for DuPont. At 
 three o'clock in the morning, a hurricane had 
 come up the coast and carried three of his 
 stills out to sea. He was hanging on to the 
 fourth still in hopes of saving It- 
 
 Murrel Edlin 
 
83 
 
 LOOKING AT SECOND PLACE 
 
 First place shines like 
 
 Diamonds and is 
 Worn for everyone 
 
 To see. 
 Second place is gold 
 
 Uhich makes rings 
 
 The diamonds to hold. 
 Now if in first place 
 
 We do not win - 
 Then in other places 
 
 We can begin. 
 When at first we are 
 
 At the top 
 Our climbing dreams 
 
 Sometimes stop. 
 Yet in second place 
 
 We travel on - 
 Our works will give 
 
 Place for others' dawn. 
 So win or lose. 
 
 Our work for us 
 
 is left to choose. 
 
 Mae Brothers 
 
84 
 
 DAWN 
 
 In the east a feeble light 
 
 Challenges the dark of night; 
 
 A faintly showing haze that glows 
 
 Yet in glowing grows and grows. 
 
 Spreading ever, reaching high. 
 
 Tinting cloud-hanks in the sky. 
 
 Clouds that later seem to hlaze 
 
 High above a purple ha^e 
 
 That changes to a brilliant hue 
 
 With the sunlight bursting through 
 
 As the crimson ball of fire 
 
 Sends its streamers higher, higher. 
 
 Heralding in bright array 
 
 The glorious monarch of the day. 
 
 Dr. J. V. Turner 
 
85 
 
 A DREAM 
 
 I am not one who dreams very often. Only 
 a few times in my life have I dreamed a dream 
 which I remember. 
 
 Shortly after the death of my husband, I 
 naturally felt very sad and lonely. One night 
 I dreamed I was sitting on some steps, missing 
 him so much. All at once, I looked up and 
 there he stood beside me. I said, "What are 
 you doing here?" He replied, "I came to get 
 you." 
 
 As dreams often do, it changed abruptly. 
 The next thing I knew I was walking up and 
 down the street, as he had suddenly 
 disappeared. I walked until I was almost 
 exhausted. I walked up one street and down 
 the other. 
 
 Suddenly, a policeman noticed me and 
 asked me if I were looking for something. I 
 said, "Yes, my husband came for me and I can't 
 find him." The policeman said, "Well, the 
 thing to do is to look in the Yellow Pages." 
 
 Murrel Edlin 
 
 TOPSY 
 
 My name is Topsy. I am a small black and 
 white fox terrier dog. When I was six weeks 
 old I came to live with a family of five~the 
 father, mother, a grown-up sister, and two 
 brothers. They were good to me and I always 
 felt I was a person, not a dog, because I 
 shared everything with them"vacations , trips 
 to the cabin, food and their love. 
 
 I was named Topsy because I was so little 
 and fat and almost toppled in my bowl of milk. 
 
86 
 
 My mistress said I was a good doggie and 
 very obedient. When she said, "No," I knew 
 she meant, 'no,' but I could always get around 
 the man of the house. I would look up at him 
 with my big brown eyes and he knew I was 
 saying, "Please," and it worked and I got what 
 I wanted. 
 
 I was always happy when Saturday came, 
 and somehow I knew. I was not allowed to go 
 upstairs, ever, but when Saturday came I 
 forgot all rules and good manners and would go 
 up to wake the boys as we always went to the 
 cabin for the day or week-end. We all loved 
 the cabin. I went with the boys and my 
 master: hiking, chasing rabbits, but most of 
 all swimming in the creek. I was a good 
 swimmer, but I was always afraid something 
 would happen to the boys, so I swam in circles 
 around them to protect them. 
 
 Another happy time for us was a visit to 
 our grandparents in a distant town. I always 
 slept all the way until we were a few blocks 
 from the house. Then I would waken and 
 whimper till we arrived. I loved our 
 grandmother. She spoiled me as she did the 
 grandchildren. One of my favorite games was 
 playing ball with the family and especially 
 with guests. I would put the ball in their 
 laps and sit on my hind legs and plead until 
 they would throw it for me. I was probably a 
 nuisance, but I thought the company came to 
 see me, too, and I had to entertain them. 
 
 I was well known in the neighborhood and 
 was loved by many, but I am sorry to say some 
 thought I was a pest. As I grew older, I 
 began to have spasms and would become very 
 ill. My mistress learned to put me in a tub 
 of warm water with some mustard and then wrap 
 me in blankets. I recovered quickly and I 
 appreciated my mistress' help. I would look 
 
87 
 
 up at her lovingly to say "Thank you, I love 
 you." I hope she got my message. 
 
 Time passes, the children grew up and 
 went to college and I, like my master and 
 mistress, grew older, but we were happy and 
 still loved each other, and looked forward to 
 the times when the children would come home 
 and we would be a family once again. 
 
 Lizette Dunham 
 
 DAY'S Em 
 
 The bright day is spent. 
 
 The busy day with happiness filled. 
 The sunshiny hours 
 
 Have dropped away, one by one. 
 Footsteps of the young 
 
 Hurry by in the faraway distance. 
 Here, all is calmly quiet. 
 
 But stars gleam through the darkness. 
 And even more stars 
 
 Can be found farther out in the void. 
 More stars and more stars. 
 
 By those with deepened discernment. 
 One glimpses kindred silhouettes 
 
 Who are also watching the night 
 
 through . 
 We all listen together 
 
 To the rhythmic music of the Universe. 
 And at night there are dreams — 
 
 Mary Auman 
 1984 
 
88 
 
 FANTASY 
 
 The assignment: To write something about 
 a picture. A very insignificant picture, one 
 grown old and dim with age. This is to say 
 the least challenging to the imagination, 
 whether the writer be a beginner in a creative 
 writing class, the ordinary reader who loves 
 story and drama, or the teacher who is eager 
 to suggest new subject matter. 
 
 The picture is passed around. Each of us 
 takes a quick, "look see," and the class 
 begins. We wonder. Nothing comes to my mind. 
 The class goes on. We can take another look 
 at the end of the class. I didn't. 
 
 The picture! What the eye first sees is 
 a woman against a background of a most 
 uninteresting outdoor scene. She clutches a 
 small bouquet of flowers, perhaps rosebuds. 
 The background and the flowers suggest an 
 interest in growing things and a love of 
 flowers. Though she is alone, a feeling of 
 loneliness is not evident. The flowers might 
 be the last of summer and the background the 
 approaching winter. Time is insignificant. 
 
 A day has gone by. I sit down determined 
 to put on paper something to take to class. 
 By this time, I can recall only the dimmest 
 outline of the picture, so my imagination 
 takes over, and what I see flows out of the 
 typewriter keys and hopefully the class can 
 follow it. 
 
 This woman, fairest of the fair, is 
 elevated to ethereal beauty and lofty dignity. 
 A great sculptor might strike a beautiful 
 figure out of a piece of glistening white 
 marble. She could be a model for an artist to 
 paint in an outdoor background of rolling 
 hills and undergrowth of grass and greenery. 
 A poet would be inspired to express in words 
 
89 
 
 what the artist had done with color on canvas. 
 A writer, weaving romance into a story, finds 
 a plot for a Harlequin romance. A traveler in 
 a faraway country might see only a peasant 
 girl. A husband would see his bride on their 
 wedding day. A small daughter would say, 
 "That's my Mommie." 
 
 My imagination clicks off. No more time. 
 The end. 
 
 Lucy Graham 
 
 FEAR — Snakes!! Snakes!! 
 The Bane of my Existence 
 
 Snakes, yes, long, slick, slimy reptiles— 
 
 Which skip, roll, and slide . . . 
 
 You'll find them under hoards, in grass or in 
 
 any place to hide. 
 They may he in trees or under logs-— 
 Where they are sometimes chased by dogs. 
 It makes no difference of their whereabout — 
 If you see one you'll he sure to tremble, 
 scream, 
 
 or shout. 
 
 They may be long, short, black, brown, or 
 green 
 
 As sometimes seen in shows, pictures, in 
 magazines 
 
 or on the screen. 
 The fear you have of this living, crawling 
 object 
 
 will last you for evermore and evermore! 
 
 Mae Brothers 
 
90 
 
 ALOm? 
 
 Like a lone tree on the forest path, 
 I stand alone in the immediate l^ow. 
 Like fallen leaves at the tree's roots 
 Are the memories of friends and loved ones, 
 long gone. 
 
 A forest consists of many trees, some young, 
 some old. 
 
 My world is filled with many people, 
 
 some I know, many I do not. 
 'Near me are my closest friends 
 Giving me companionship and love. 
 Dimly seen through the distant mist 
 Are the shadowy forms of other trees. 
 I know in my misty future there are 
 New friends I must welcome and 
 
 learn to love. 
 And so, though I stand by myself 
 God never leaves me desolate. 
 He himself greets me in the love 
 
 of friends, 
 God is Love. 
 
 This sketch is a suggestion of the photograph 
 that gave me the idea for the poem. In the 
 foreground are fallen leaves (our deeds of 
 yesterday) . Mist fills the background, making 
 it almost invisible. 
 
 Naomi Hosier 
 
91 
 
 GOD'S CREATION AND ITS BEAUTIES 
 
 The first book in the Bible tells us 
 about the beginning of time which is found in 
 Genesis 1:1-31. 
 
 God made the earth, water, vegetation, 
 fish of the sea, fowl of the air, sun, moon, 
 stars, and He created man in His own image to 
 have dominion over every living creature that 
 moveth upon the earth. And He saw that it was 
 good. 
 
 God did all this in six days and rested 
 on the seventh day. 
 
 Each day, hour, seed planted in the 
 ground, and each birth have a new beginning. 
 We find beauty in all beginnings if we 
 observe. 
 
 All things bright and beautiful 
 All things great and small 
 All things wise and wonderful 
 The Lord God made them all 
 Each little flower that opens 
 Each little bird that sings 
 He made their glowing colors 
 He made their tiny wings 
 He gave us eyes to see them 
 And lips that we might tell 
 How good is our father 
 Who doeth all things well 
 
 Let us think of other beauties, yes, the 
 rainbow. This is the token of the covenent 
 God made with Noah when he came forth from the 
 Ark, that waters should no more be a flood to 
 destroy all flesh. It is also a symbol of 
 God's faithfulness and mercy™all the more 
 true as a symbol because it reflected from the 
 storm itself. This is a beautiful thing to 
 look at with all its colorful scenes: the 
 creation of God. 
 
92 
 
 Then the four revolving seasons— Spring, 
 Summer, Fall, and Winter. Each has its 
 beautiful works of nature. 
 
 Sometimes we need to observe twice to see 
 the beauty in people. A story is told of a 
 hand painted picture that had been discarded 
 and very badly soiled. After a certain part 
 was cut off, sections of it were very pretty. 
 It was framed and hung on a wall. There is 
 beauty in most every painting but sometimes a 
 part needs to be blocked out. This method was 
 used on a new classmate and we found many 
 remarkable discoveries that led to respect and 
 friendship. It is amazing how negative 
 attitudes change when we block out the 
 troublesome areas and frame the beautiful 
 aspect. May we look for the beauty in every 
 person we meet! 
 
 A minister was called on to conduct the 
 funeral of one of his church members, who most 
 people thought of as being rude and not 
 pleasant. The pastor compared him with a 
 tortoise saying that the beauty was all on the 
 inside. He had observed and learned him and 
 found the beauty. 
 
 An artist pulled an old ugly stump out of 
 a hog-wallow. It was wondered what he saw in 
 that muddy chunk of wood. It was carried to 
 his shop, carved in the right shape, and made 
 a beautiful flower stand which had a smooth 
 finish. He remarked, "Only a stump seasoned 
 by water and the elements can produce grains 
 on the finished product like this," saying 
 there's little in this world that can't be 
 salvaged and transformed into something 
 beautiful. It is worth our time and effort to 
 dig for the buried treasure. And yes, in 
 people. 
 
 Retirement doesn't have to be the end. 
 It's the beginning of something new^-maybe 
 something even better than before. Everything 
 has its first beginning. 
 
93 
 
 Glory be to the Father and to the Son and 
 to the Holy Ghost, as it was in the beginning, 
 is now, and ever shall be, world without end. 
 Amen. 
 
 Oda Strowd 
 (July 1984) 
 
 We take many a spill 
 
 As we go down the hill. 
 
 But, we laugh, as we go along. 
 
 With snow, the eyes ahleav. 
 Snow stuffed ears can't hear. 
 
 Everything, at once, goes wrong. 
 
 We flounder up from cold depths. 
 And take faltering steps. 
 
 Dizzied, we search the way to go. 
 
 But, we gasp, and we shout. 
 Together, we'll come out. 
 
 Readied, to face the sun and the snow. 
 
 In spite of the pain. 
 We'll try it again. 
 
 And tackle life once more. 
 
 Bot, inertly standing still. 
 We'll limp hack up the hill. 
 And view the landscape o'er. 
 
 Mary Auman 
 1984 
 
94 
 
 TREES 
 
 I love my home, the Methodist Retirement Rome. 
 
 It is in a beautiful setting 
 
 and surrounded by trees. 
 North, east, south and west. 
 
 It is hard to tell which is best. 
 
 I have traveled from coast to coast 
 and of many sights all could boast. 
 
 I Just love the trees 
 
 and always there's a breeze 
 that starts them whispering 
 
 among the tall trees. 
 
 The birds too love the trees 
 
 at 5 A.M. I can hear them. 
 "Chirp chirp, up up, " to their little 
 
 ones they say. And if they do not respond, 
 
 "Beat it! Beat it, beat it." 
 
 These thoughts have come to me 
 
 and say, 
 No better way to start 
 
 the day. 
 
 A member of the tree family is the 
 euonymus and at the beginning of our ambulance 
 driveway we can see in the fall a beautiful 
 bush of flaming color. We think of the 
 burning bush Moses turned aside to see. It is 
 a winged euonymous, a botanist told me. It 
 gets its name from the seed pods. When dry 
 they look like a bird's wing. 
 
 It is time to write "finis" and I will 
 remind you of the popular poem by Joyce 
 Kilmer, "Poems were made by folks like me but 
 only God can make a tree." 
 
95 
 
 NO MAIL 
 
 With, fdtteving steps 
 the old man 
 crosses the road 
 to his mailbox* 
 Eyes bright 
 
 he jerks the door open 
 
 to peer inside* 
 
 A palsied hand 
 
 gropes every inoh 
 
 trying to find 
 
 a treasure there. 
 
 Slowly he shuts 
 
 the door 
 
 then slumps 
 
 and shuffles home. 
 
 Peggy Key Parrish 
 
 DIVINE REMEDY 
 
 Today I skinny dipped. 
 
 Oh don't be shocked 
 
 I did it in a way 
 
 that no one knew. 
 
 Carefully pulled 
 
 My robe, anchored it fast. 
 
 No one could see. 
 
 No one but me. 
 
 In water cold as ice — 
 
 it took my breath. 
 
 Returned it soon, 
 
 as I cast all 
 
 upon the waters; 
 
 quickly all returned 
 
 to me tenfold: 
 
 invigorating 
 
 Remedy divine. 
 
 P^ggy Parrish 
 
96 
 
 SHRIMP 
 
 The word "shrimp" brings back the odor of 
 the Cape Fear River dock where the shrimp was 
 sorted and packed in ice. The large boxes 
 filled with ice and shrimp were constantly 
 being opened. The shrimp would fall on the 
 floor and were never swept up. The dock was 
 built over the mouth of the Cape Fear and the 
 river served to collect the dead fish as well 
 as other rubbish. 
 
 There were men in rubber boots and 
 sweaters on the hottest days. 
 
 My husband bought a large house 
 overlooking the dock. 
 
 The scene any time of day and night was 
 worth viewing by an artist. 
 
 For a large area around the dock shrimp 
 could be smell ed'-'fresh or otherwise. 
 
 Between the Cape Fear and the ocean was 
 the fish fertilizer factory. If the wind was 
 just right and the factory smells vied with 
 the shrimp odor, one could lose his last meal. 
 
 The folks on the Cape Fear were so 
 accustomed to the smells they didn't realize 
 they were any different from the cool breeze 
 of the mountains. 
 
 Everyone ate shrimp and the cost of 
 shrimp was the same there as in stores in any 
 part of the state. 
 
 When there is shrimp advertized in the 
 cafe I don't have to read the menu to know 
 shrimp is shrimp. 
 
 If a person does not have to smell shrimp 
 in all stages of age MAYBE shrimp would not 
 offend the sense of smell. 
 
 I still eat shrimp sometimes but I shall 
 never forget the house overlooking the shrimp 
 dock. The odors of shrimp can't ever be 
 forgotten. 
 
 Ellie Lewis 
 
CHAINS 
 
 About 15, I'd say . • • 
 
 tight jeans 
 
 tank top without a bra 
 huge loop earrings 
 waiting 
 
 pulling hard on cigarettes 
 
 lit from each other 
 
 without a match. 
 
 Lovely features 
 
 in a face 
 
 hardened to mask 
 
 more than 
 
 her brief tank top reveals. 
 
 God, bless this aged child 
 help her receive your love 
 sooth and erase 
 hurts, anger, fear — 
 whatever she must hide — 
 Bless her 
 may her 
 
 stone face show 
 the light of love. 
 
 P^ggy ^^y Parrish 
 
98 
 
 Silhouettes walking 
 
 Down the distant hallway. 
 Closed door, with music 
 
 And T.V. voices behind. 
 
 Strong lights centering 
 
 On a table bright. 
 Busy hands handling 
 
 All cards in sight 
 Busy brains trying 
 
 To plan strategy right. 
 Busy tongues bringing 
 
 To world's problems light. 
 
 Activity in the hall. 
 
 Groups coming back home. 
 A quiet family-filled room. 
 
 With memories alone. 
 
 One day ended — 
 
 Mary Auinan