"doug" wrote in message
...
**********
Er!, Um!, did you take a week off to write all that!, Mm?. Nemmind!
you sense that more time had been experienced, but take a week off to write
that?

No, I sat and wrote it in two days. The bulk of it was written the day it
was posted. I tend to write late at night after I have returned to the home
from taking grown son to work which is around 10 p.m. He calls at 6 a.m.
needing picking up right up the road where his boss drops him off on his way
home, saving me 300 miles travel total. Were that son would relent and go in
early and I could save even THAT! But I got myself into this pickle and it
makes me feel needed. Sometimes I find myself resenting the interruption,
but remind myself it's my own painting into a corner, that got me into this
five day a week responsibility.

To clarify and not write a novella......son's driving license is temporairly
revoked due to reasons not totally his own. We live a bit away from where
the job is (I used to work at another store like his only in Morristown, and
the double driving because they wouldn't let us work in the same store
almost killed me from stretching too thin, so I quit work and devoted myself
to schlepping him to and from work, increasing his rent by double to
compensate the gas and miles put upon the beast.)

Eh!,, - you charmed this old codger tired due to sweeping up all the house
surrounds after waking up this morning to see an eight inch deep blizzard
had visited during the night with two feet high clumps in the edges and
corners. I cleared my car drive out front, and the pavements , (sidewalk to
you, missus!) and also my next door neighbour's area who has just had a new
thigh-bone fitted and is temporarily unfit for heavy duty.).

I am honored sir, of your kind remarks about my writings. When I am thusly
inspired, I just start writing. The words barely able to keep up with my
fingers and mind. I used to HAND WRITE this stuff down, and when I learned
that my fingers could in no way keep up with my careening mind, my dad, now
departed from me sixteen years, came to my former house in Nashville where I
hail from originally and presented me with a Royal 440 manual typewriter.

Upon which I started writing my loooong letters to my best friend who then
resided in Denver with great clacking and tapping and fury when inspired to
keep her abreast of situations in my emerging faeriedom that tried to grab
toe hold in suburbia. I have a child-like quality about me that I hope I
never lose, because I love odd things. Since I am so obcessed with flowers
and the like, I started accumulating neat peel and stick, paper stickers of
assorted themes that were supposed to be used on the backs of envelopes and
such. I got the bright idea to just cover the drab surface of the old
Royall 440 with these stickers and even cut out the bright designs of
postage stamps on the outer covers and glued them, overlapping, on the
area's. To say the old dear was lit up is an understatement.

when I first moved over eastwards, and the typewriter needed proper
cleaning, I discovered a small office supply place in Morristown that not
only carried every kind of supply needed for any proper office or business,
but pencils and pens and things of great wonder that attracted me to them to
patronage them often. (I also have a weakness for a good pen). Downstairs
were little old men who were employed for their abilities and love of
tinkering and fixing mechanical things, particularly of office nature.
Though not cheap, I was told that if given proper fees, they would clean her
and lubricate the old gal to almost youthful restoration. I informed them
they could NOT remove the stickers, and one old wizened gentleman of
questionable longivity piped up as he looked at my beloved writer of words
and thoughts, "Hell honey, I wouldn't think of removing her beautiful skin.
There won't be one flower moved, I'll just grease the old gal up and clean
her fingers and sweep out dust and accumulations so that she'll write faster
than you ever thought possible!


when I got her back, he informed me that the two missing tab covers were
impossible to replace, but would I not mind that he'd found green key covers
with "z's" on them and it wouldn't distract me. I was so happy he'd
replaced the missing tabs, and told him I was thrilled with his finding
something to cover the naked ends. I had removed lesser used ends to cover
the bare ends for the longest time after a particularly mischeveous toddler
snatched the two key tabs and ate them. No amount of sorting thru the
eventual poop (the voracious toddler's mom refused to poke thru his poop to
look for my key covers, and I would have but she thought me "gross"---)
turned up the recycled covers, and I actually got the idea to at least
replace one of the keys with a lesser used one for temporairy use.



I used this typewriter all the time until Squire (my husband) coerced me
into
trying his home built computer and visiting a gardening newsgroup. At that
point in time, I was in no way interested in computers, and looked upon them
as great sucking beasts of time as Squire was known to sit for hours at a
time doing games and such. But he sat down one evening, pulled up the inbox
(this was about 8 years and a few months ago) and opened up a subscribed
newsgroup called rec.gardens and informed me he had subscribed to it and
wanted me just to sit down and read some of the writings and questions
there. That was his first mistake....................................then
he discovered he'd unleashed a monster and was having trouble getting me OFF
HIS computer when he wanted to get on it, and the only solution was to build
ME a computer of my own. the rest is history. My beloved typewriter is
resting now eight years, still covered, but I still crank out page after
page of rambles now on the computer.



I live on the west coast of N.W. England on the large promontory which
contains part of the beautiful Lake District.

that sounds absolutely wonderful!! Here we have a man made lake that came
about when they built an electric generating dam on the French Broad River
back in the late 40's inspired by President Roosevelt and his Army Corp of
Engineers. For whatever reason they named it Douglas Lake. That's what's
lying at the base of English Mountain here in Dandridge.

Having been for most of my life a keen student of the American Civil war,
enthused originally by the best film ever made. In 1980 My wife, (recently
deceased), and I visited a Radio Amateur friend and his lady wife at
Decatur, now part of Atlanta, Ga.

My condolences on the passing of your sweet wife, dear. I'm sure her loss
is a painful one, but you have years of memories to wrap your aching heart
in and most likely children and grandchildren that speak of her in volumes.
At least you have your greenhouse and gardens to give comfort. And you can
read the rediculous escapades and happenings of the ol' madgardener and
other wonderful residents of the garden newsgroup. (I also visit rec.gardens
as well).

Regarding the remark about Decatur.......LOL don't let the Decatur
crackers hear you say that! If you liked that movie, you owe it to yourself
to go check out the movie, Glory. It's a pretty accurate depition of the
black soldiers who fought too. Everytime I happen across it, I will sit and
watch it the rest of the way through and wind up crying again. It's very
well done. Has some awesome actors in it as well. It smells of how things
really were back then and is on my "purchase for the movie library" list.

My centre of interest ( fired by the film,) was, and is the march of General
Tecumsa Sherman from Chattanooga to Atlanta where he did not engage or
commit his army to join battle with the defenders on the hill. (I have
climbed that hill and all the field guns are still in their places, barrels
still looking down at the plains, all "present and correct", in pristine
condition and ready for inspection - if not battle.

well yeah, I'd not expect those old salts and sons and daughters of their
grandpappy's to keep them any other way! LOL I grew up in Nashville near
Franklin, another large battleground area. Near the Harpeth River area.

These people over here in Eastern Tennessee weren't too happy about losing
their field hands and fought tooth and nail during that tumultous time. I
sometimes got a hard time in MODERN day because I am from "Middle
Tennessee". But I don't let it bother me none. More likely they hear the
effects of living with a "Yankee" husband for almost 28 years (he's from
Michigan, but oddly enough, his dad was born and raised in Morristown,
Tennessee and only went up to the Midwest because of lack of jobs back in
those early days)
~~
He placed the City under seige and that was the prompt for the book and the
brilliant film "Gone with the Wind", which ended with the words, "Frankly
Madame - I don't give a damn!" . I have visited the grave of the Lady
Authoress as well as the graves and the tall Cenotaph. I have stood on the
railway lines near where the warehouses were conflagrated, also all the
various battlefields, and paid my respects to the large carved stones which
commemorate the various regiments who fought and perished there. What a pity
that the armies advanced right down to Savannah in complete disorder before
turning left to subdue South Carolina, which finally ended the war.

I'd also suggest you try and get someone to get you the series that our PBS
carried about the Civil War. It will blow your mind. Awesomely done.

I detected ill-feeling whenever that part of the conflict was discussed.

yes, some people hold grudges for generations. And this war DID divide
brother against brother and father against son.............my own husband
used to wear a beautiful Rebel hat that fit perfectly on him and looked
equally good, and a former landlady's mama smelled that he "were a Yankee"
and told him to take that damn hat off, he weren't fit'n to wear it as she
suspected he were a Yankee" He did out of respect for the granny, but later
my dad did a little research and discovered that my husband's name of Catron
showed up as one of the Governor's of Tennessee.............so she was
smelling just a little off that day...............but I had grown up here my
whole life and had never experienced this kind of prejudice until that time.
Just the fact that his father was a Tennessee hill boy didn't seem to matter
to some. So we moved back to Colorado until we returned three years later
and have stayed ever since.

The move from Nashville to Eastern Tennessee occured in 1992 and I've been
hoping that Squire doesn't want to move any more as I've put DEEP roots down
into this glacial rocky clay soil.......................................

The South has never forgotten, nor have they forgiven, was my feeling.
~~
you're feelings are dead right. Grudges are kept alive by fanning the flames
of unforgiveness. I feel that all of us could be a little more forgiving. I
hate that sort of uneducated and ignorant attitude. (same way I feel
towards the attitudes of some black folk who seem to think that I am at
fault because their great granny was a slave. I never owned a slave, my
people never owned slaves, in fact, my people were Scotch-Irish and
Cherokee, so my people were most likely indentured servants and running from
sneaky, rich white folk who were intent on snatching up the lands (the
Cherokee side of me) the drop of German blood is only on my biological
father's side and I won't go down that alley____)

~~
I can't find Fairy Holler on my map. I see the mountain range is mostly in
North Carolina with one mountain, Mt. Mitchell. I can see Knoxville, Johnson
City, Morristown, , Elizabethton, Maryville, Cleveland and Chattanooga right
on the border.


ummmmmm, actually the mountain ranges starts here. I have the Appalachians
all around me (the hills and hollers of the Appalachians and foothills of
the Smokies), with the great Smoky Mountain directly in front of me with
English Mountain rising southwards about seven miles or so away. I live
literally on a ridge that makes up some of the land along the French Broad
River.

If you see Morristown, then that's northeast of me. I am in Dandridge,
which lies just off a main interstate that goes into North Carolina.
Gatlinburg is just 24 miles away to the south of me. Butting up against
Gatlinburg and part of it is the Cherokee National Forest. Knoxville is
where I run when I just have to have the madness of a large city. I love
it, but wonder now if I'd live there. It's not nearly as large and
sprawling as Nashville is now, but I lived in the suburbs of Denver and THAT
was enormous! (and 23 years ago, and it's even MORE sprawling and huge!!)

I have dug up Indian artifacts while excavating a boulder at the base of my
"butt rock" on the first terrace of my property, pounding rocks and honing
stones. We've figured out that ancient times long ago probably long before
even humans were around, this whole area was covered in water with the flows
going specific ways. We've found how the rocks were worn by water and that's
the north end of the steep ridge that plunges into and is a part of my
holler.

Every rock I dig up is worn glacial smooth once I get past the screaming red
clay. When I stand at the bottom of my land and look UP at the house and
upper gardens, I feel tiny. And even though it's not a full acre, (7/9ths)
it feels huge because of how the land lays....


Well, it's almost midnight so thank you for your dissertation. I may be able
to finish my greenhouse preparation if the thaw begins.

Doug.

**********



I appreciate your reponses. And hope you enjoy future writings. I tend to
ramble on at odd times, and I seem to have spring fever badly. and the cold
front tomorrow is going to make today's temperatures of 78o F seem almost
frigid! (the high is said to be colder than the low's of last night, which
our low was 67o F this morning at 5 a.m., the temps shouldn't reach the mid
fifties if that)



madgardener, up on the ridge, back in Fairy Holler, overlooking English
Mountain in Eastern Tennessee where spring has decided wheather I like it or
not, here it comes! (lets hope no snow!!)