Sunday, December 29, 2013



I was in the middle of one of my big, dark, mud puddles. 
We all have them, bloop, we fall in. As I sat there in the dark I cried, I wailed and I prayed, 
"God how could you leave me here!" Then I looked up through the veil and I saw I was 
inside of a seed and God was sitting right in there with me. 
He was hunched over and crowded but He was looking right at me. I was so surprised
 He was there! In the dark of the seed casket, WITH ME!

 It is so true to me what Ann Voskamp wrote, "He entered the world right at a muck pile — so we wouldn’t ever be left alone in ours."

 Jesus was born right next to the dung pile and the straw, on the earth in a wooden stable because it is in the dark soil where a seed dies, the shell is cracked and the sprout is set free. If we find ourselves in the pits we must seek The Light. 



“Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9



Wednesday, October 30, 2013




The Crows Were Not Silent 



       Every time I see them I think they are gypsies, Native Americans, all free souls,
                                set loose and free and I wish I could become one of them. I wonder 
what I have to do to earn that. 











                                     I couldn't believe there were violets. 
                                     Spring violets blooming today with it almost November. 
                             I picked a few before walking back to the house. I thought 
                                  I would die of color overdose when I dropped the tiny, purple, 
                                       violet blossoms and they scattered on the ground over the red and green
                                                         leaves of the brambles.




Tuesday, September 17, 2013

We Got Away


When I e-mailed to see if we could get the cabin for just one night, not two
as is usually required, I think I signed my message as,
Desperate Housewife. I had reached the point that when walking
through a graveyard and reading the epitaph on a women's gravestone,
 "Her laundry is finally done," I felt a stab of jealousy.
Her ultimate escape will come to us all someday I thought, but for now
 I just want to pretend that all the chores that have my name on them,
 have nothing at all to do with me, if just for a day.

 I want to look out of a different window, go round an unknown bend in the trail,
 forget the everyday if just for a day or two. Maybe it was because it was a
blue moon that the owner rented us the cabin on a whim or perhaps it was
 because he thought it was the equinox, as he did.
Some magic was about for sure because rent it for one lovely evening
and morning in August we did!








The cabin came complete with a cave on the property. Spelunking we went! I always wanted to but when Jim went crawling into this sinkhole and said, "Are you coming?" I said. "I am not going in there!" Finally I did. It was either that or stay out in the downpour of a storm that was coming. Found out we were not the first ones to shelter in the cave from a storm. Tales have it a stagecoach on the Zane Trail stopped and let the passengers take cover there once. I loved the cave!

I struggled with claustrophobia, thoughts of our flashlights going out and dread of running into critters and I even wondered if we could get stuck in a flash flood. LOL SO fear was present!
I did not go as far as Jim did, I stopped when my shoes started getting stuck in the clay floor. Yet, I loved it and I want to go back and go further, maybe even make it to the Pretty Dome but I don't think I will take the Road to Hell even if there is another dome past it


I rode the Appalachian Highway so I am better now. Seems I have to go where I can see these hills turn to mountains every now and then. I have to pad down woodland trail to creek or pond in twilight and rise to the crest in morning dew before I can come back home and settle down. Then as I wash and clean and tend to life my mind is elevated on a different plane, one with an extended view, because I have been where I could see the hills turn to mountains, in the distance, blue.


Sunday, May 5, 2013

Purple Hepatica

 My Purple Hepatica in the Leaf Litter photo is featured this week in Wild Flowers of the World at Redbubble. here



My it is May!



 Spring Beauties and Yellow Violets blooming on the forest floor at Alley Park, Lancaster, Ohio, USA



The Old Magnolia and the Abandoned House on Marietta Road, Lancaster, Ohio, USA


My photos are for sale here

Monday, March 25, 2013

Down on Clear Creek



From These Hills
with Trendle Ellwood


Mid March

     As I write this I am sitting by the woodstove with a pile of fire warming hickory logs beside it, waiting for what is hopefully the last snow of winter, which might or might not arrive. Our new weather alert radio came on yesterday for the first time ever, jarring me with a Severe Winter Storm Warning from the National Weather Service predicting an accumulation of up to 6 inches of snow with possibilities of ice, sleet, and or rain. At first it was to arrive at approximately eleven then not until four. The temperature is holding and it is simply raining at nine p.m. 

      On the last weather radar update I looked at online, we are circled in the area of uncertainty, in what they are calling a very complicated storm and it states that everything is liable to change. Sounds like life to me, uncertainty in a very complicated storm where everything is liable to change at any given moment. Often I ask God, “How are we suppose to live like this?”  He doesn’t offer me a rope out, but shows me an anchor.
It finally started snowing here at one a.m. From our windows the next morning we could see that a heavy, wet snow cloaked every shrub and tree. Off Jim and I took on a short drive down to Clearcreek to witness one of our favorite places on earth, with a fresh face of snow. The sky was clearing and it had stopped snowing, but as we stepped out of our car, we soon discovered that in the area around the creek, accumulation was still in process. 

The snow did not fall from the sky but from the trees. The temperature was rising and all that had stuck to limb, twig and hemlock needle was now liquefying, losing its grasp, sliding down to splash on the ground in globs of melting moisture. Some great swaths of snow were plunging down with such a vengeance that we proceeded cautiously along the trail, scanning above before crossing below. Among all the splatter sounds the snow made as it hit the ground the whole area gurgled with the saturation of water. The overflow turned into rivulets that gathered together and cascaded down through the rocks and crevices of the hills to unite with the creek below. 




We had to pull our hats over our heads for safety and tuck our cameras under our coats, drying them off between pictures, as we walked through the baptism of the forest. We came to the incline on fern trail and had just risen from the hemlocks and the forest rain when I turned around to look back from where we had come. The sun, perhaps for the only moment that day, came out in full and as I looked back on the eastern hemlock trees, their graceful branches bending towards the cove I was captivated to see that they were sparkling with color. The moisture pockets in the tree branches caught the light of the sun and reflected it like crystals. They were twinkling prisms of color more beautiful than any ornaments I have ever seen. Like stars, like God winking at me. 



Grandson and I talk about how we can tell God anything and He is always listening and we can learn how to listen to Him too. Then somehow the subject of my hair turning gray comes up, (maybe it was because I was looking in the mirror wondering why my hair had to do that) and the boy asks me if God has anything to do with my hair turning gray. I tell him with a sigh, it is nature for babies to grow into young people who turn to middle age and finally grow old. “Are you middle age?” He wants to know. 

Yes, I am middle age, I tell him, secretly wondering if I am old. The boy is silent for a few moments before he looks at me and says, “I talked to God and he said there isn’t anything he can do about your hair turning gray because it is nature's fault.” This made me laugh, and think like they say, from the mouths of babes. I can hardly believe the boy has grown from a babe to a boy and time is going so very fast! Can the time to plant really be here? Yet I do look forward to daffodils and I am happy to hear the flocks of grackle birds as they meet up in our maple tree on their spring excursions.