However we do have a few leaves

This is my backyard after most of the leaves have fallen in mid-November. There are still leaves on the trees but many have already fallen. The golden maples and the red maples are the prettiest, but the oaks and walnuts and other hardwoods are beautiful also. The problem of course, is that you have to rake them up.

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We normally have to blow the leaves or rake them or drag them in a tarp from the back yard to the front and pile them up on the curb. The city has a leaf pickup service that comes by twice during the Fall to vacuum up your leaves off the curb. They don't tell you exactly when they are coming, but they publish a schedule of when they will be in your area. My area is pending and will be next.

My son Darren visited me just in time to help me drag up the first batch to the curb. The leaves have not all fallen yet, so there will be many more to rake, but that's the price you pay for the beautiful color we enjoy. It becomes a part of your lifestyle and it actually is good exercise for old guys like me. (Not sure Darren would agree).

 

 

 

Cheryl likes to capture nature's little oddities, like leaves that are twice as large as your hand and azaleas that bloom in mid- November. We have thousands of acorns buried under the leaf piles and dozens of squirrels to dig them out.

 

 

The sun sets on another beautiful day in the Piedmont, maybe I can rake some more leaves tomorrow.

Not much color but we've got ducks

It rained almost every day for the last week in October and the first week in November so it was difficult to forage out and photograph the foliage. We usually have brilliant oranges, amazing reds and gorgeous golden leaves that not only lift up the beauty of the piedmont, but they also warm the hearts and minds of those who behold the sizzling colors of Fall. By the time one could venture out and check the old familiar spots that have always inspired the viewer, there was virtually no color palate left to see. The sun came out in the second week of November and revealed the late turning leaves and wildlife for all of us to admire.

 

 

 

 

 

It would also seem that the sunshine brought out the wild ducks and numerous song birds to enjoy the last gasp of warm sunny days before the bitter days of winter ensue. During that week of November my son Darren honored me with a week long visit and for a couple of days his niece and my granddaughter, Taylor, joined us in the quest for fall foliage and bird sightings. Cheryl and Darren and I visited the Bur-Mill Park trails over the weekend and thoroughly enjoyed the heavily- timbered path that winds through the forest and borders the lake. It was a beautiful day and we were rewarded with the simple gifts of nature. Two pairs of mallards entertained us and evaded us when we drew near. But we sat and watched them paddle and strut by on a lovely pond near the lake. It relaxed the soul to watch these beautiful creatures as they leisurely meandered from one side of the pond to the other.

When Taylor arrived, Darren and I  accompanied her to the Greensboro water bog garden, which is a raised wooden pathway that follows a circuitous creek and crisscrosses through a marsh that leads to a small lake. Enroute we were delighted to view many birds and and several ducks feeding in the creek.

We also visited the Guilford Courthouse National Military Park which commemorates the Revolutionary battle where General Greene dealt a severe blow to General Cornwallis and his British army. Though Cornwallis won the battle, he was so severely crippled that he raced to hide at Yorktown VA where he was surrounded by Washington's entire army and eventually surrendered in defeat. The battlefield encompasses many acres of wooded trails that lead you to monuments that honor the heroes of the battle.

 

 

For me, it was a wonderful week of sharing with family and seeing places that I had not visited in the 24 years that I have lived in Greensboro. Foliage and ducks aside, family is what I love the most and what I treasure the most. I'm thankful for the time that I was allowed to share with some of those whom I love most.

Reading

Well Read

I don’t know if I read more because I fear my reading days are numbered or because my curiosity is higher than it has ever been. But, nevertheless, I read more. Maybe I have more time than I used to, maybe I make more time than I used to, maybe I have always had time to read as much as I wished. Whatever, I read more. Cheryl would attest to that fact because she sees the things I neglect while I am reading; the little things that go undone, the things I intended to do but never did. The truth is, she reads more than she used to; maybe it’s just part of growing older.

 We don’t read the same things but we are both completely tolerant of the other’s choices. She loves to read current  and traditional theories of Bible prophecy regarding the end time and she loves to establish timelines of major events in Bibical history. She delves into her research to a level that I will never attain. She wants to explore the latest ideas regarding major prophecies and how they affect current events. It is all so far over my head that I sit back in amazement as she tells me her latest revelations. She is my authority on the meaning and timing of all the world’s daily occurences. She is fascinated by the implications and wants to enlarge her already expansive knowledge of the subject. I support her and encourage her to learn all she can.

My personal interests are varied but totally disimilar to her goals in reading. I have always been an avid reader of historical novels and history, but I also love to read pure fiction that is not contaminated with sex and vulgar language. So many modern writers think that everyone wants to read all the smut that they can produce, but for me it is a turnoff and results in a rejection of their story. I have acquired a strong following for tales of judges and juries and the law enforcement forces that support them, but my long standing interest has been history; American history and world history because so much of what we think and believe today is based on the actions of our ancestors.  I throughly enjoy a good American western story that depicts the west as it was, and is.

I have favorite authors that I have read for over forty years. I have grown accustomed to their style and even though some have passed on, I anxiously await others new releases. I prefer English authors for their style and wit, but I have a list of American authors whom I have followed zealously. In the past year I have read tales by Frederick Forsyth, Jeffrey Archer and Ken Follett from across the pond and works of American stylists John Gresham, Michael Connally, Robert Parker, Tom Clancy, Stephen Coonts, Brad Thor, Craig Johnson, Jeff Sharra, Rick Atkinson, Burke Davis and David Baldacci. I’m not sure how much more my brain can consume, but I’m OK with some of the old stuff getting pushed out to make room for new information. I read at least one book a month and sometimes two or three.

I don’t know that I am any smarter because I read so much, but I think I am better informed, because authors keep you aware of how the latest technology is being used and historians remind you of how we got to where we are. Few things are black and white and opinions are as numerous as we are, so we are enriched when we examine the thoughts of others, whether we agree with them or not. Writers often imbed a bedrock principle of their belief in the thoughts of their protagonist or they project the opposite of their beliefs in the thoughts and actions of their villian. Reading is an adventure of discovery, it is full of ideas and opinions and it is a great escape from the massive overdose of electronic media that encompasses us in today’s world. I don’t know where the spiral will stop, but I suspect I will have a hard- bound book by my death bed. I doubt that I will long retain what I have just read, but just in case, wake me up and ask me what I thought about it. If you can, I will probably appreciate it.

Trees like us

The White Oak

I have a tall oak tree that just suddenly appears to have died. Two months ago the leaves were green and now they are brown. It has the appearance of having suffered a massive disease that quietly and quickly caused all the roots to stop functioning and feeding the tree limbs. It is located within ten feet of the curb in the front corner of my lot, plainly visible to all who drive down the street. 

This has created a most interesting situation that I did not anticipate. It seems that every tree service company in Greensboro has rung my doorbell over the past three weeks. Some do custom tree care, some are tree experts, some are tree trimmers, and all do tree service including tree removal and stump grinding. The eight different bids to remove the tree have been disparate, ranging up to $350 apart. When I tell the high bidders that they are way too high, they immediately give me a much lower price that is in line with the others. I ask each of them what they think in regard to the tree dying so suddenly. Several have suggested that lightning has struck it and some have shown me where they think it bolted out of the trunk.

 I called the City Urban Forester because I wanted to know what was wrong with the tree, and I really wanted to know if removing it fell under the city’s purview or mine. Surprisingly he said that it was not lightning but he couldn’t be sure of what has caused it. He explained that there are many white oaks suffering from the extreme heat that we have experienced this year. He also suggested that I might yet be able to save it by watering it and excavating the soil to allow better ventilation to the roots closest to the surface. Not surprisingly, he advised that it was clearly my issue to resolve. The tree is seventy-five feet tall and I don’t want to cut it down if it can be resuscitated. 

Cheryl and I discussed how very similar trees are to humans. They grow up big and strong and fight off all sorts of diseases for 50-60 years and then all of a sudden, they are stricken by an unknown blight that literally sucks the life out of it in two months. No symptoms, no warnings, no clues - just drys up and dies in front of your eyes. We have physicians to diagnose our illnesses and I suppose we could find some very expensive tree doctor who could tell us what happened and how to prevent it in the future. In the meantime, like with humans, we hope and pray for the recovery of this gentle giant that has shaded us and enhanced our yard for the past 21 years.

Yesterday Cheryl pointed out to me that two or three limbs now have green leaves on them, so I guess the tree service ambulance chasers will keep ringing my doorbell and I will keep collecting their cards.

Horned Frog Born and Bred !

 Lewis Grizzard often wrote of his Georgia heritage that he was "Bulldog born and Bulldog bred and when I die, I'll be Bulldog dead!". Well scoot over Lewis, cause I am Horned Frog born and bred and when I die, I'll be Horned Frog dead. I have been a horned toad fan since I was 9 years old in Sweetwater Texas. In 1952 we didn't even have a TV, but we listened to TCU play on the Humble  Southwest Conference football network every week during football season. We also watched or listened to the Sweetwater Mustangs play in the Mustang Bowl. Many of my friends were SMU fans because of the Mustangs, but my Dad loved the Frogs , so we did too.

We moved to Fort Worth in 1955 and my Uncle Jack took us to a TCU-Rice Southwest Conference game at Amon Carter Stadium, the Frogs won 35-0. I fell in love with the stadium and I have made many trips back over the years. The old Southwest Conference was magical and competitive with all other conferences across the country. In 1957 an Abe Martin coached team was led by half backs Jim Shofner and Marvin Lassiter to a 5-4-1 season. Ironically two of those victories were against Alabama and Ohio State who finished the season as the number one team in the national rankings.(TCU was their only loss). That year I watched the Horned Frogs destroy the Crimson Tide 28-0 in Fort Worth.

 They have a rich football tradition that makes a fan appreciate the way they get back up and start over again every year. From number one national rankings in the late 1930's to strong seasons in the mid 1950's, to the dismal swamps of despair in the 1960's through the 1980's. A strong resurgence in the 1990's and then the glory years with head coach Gary Paterson. What a jewel of a coach, a rare combination of tenacity and teaching that turns 3 star recruits into competitors with the best of them. Leadership of the highest caliber that leads to increasing achievements over a period of years. Even after disastrous injuries ruined their entrance to the Big Twelve Conference, the Horned Frogs under Paterson came back with a vengeance and tied for the conference title. Got to love 'em for playing in almost every bowl that exists, including the Cotton, Sugar, Orange, Fiesta, Peach and Rose Bowls.

Coach "P"

ODE TO THE TOAD

I am an old man with a story to tell
I have been around, so I know it well.
There is a little critter that crawls on the ground,
He’s not very big, and hardly makes a sound.

To those in his world he seems a mighty brute,
His head is filled with horns, none would call cute
A double row of spikes venture down his back,
And the end on his tail will give you quite a whack.

His tongue is mighty quick, when he gobbles up his prey,
He spits blood from-his-eyes, his foes to keep away.
I’m talking about horned toads man, horned toads,
Not a frog, but a lizard, found on Texas roads.

Cousins dressed in purple, can be found in the town,
With spikes-of-a-different sort, they make their rivals frown.
They run down the middle, they pass around the end,
They kick it through the goal posts, few can ere’ defend.

Many have their doubts, think they’re out of their league
And predict they will fail, at the end in fatigue.
Many teams have traveled to this cow town abode,
Horns and Bears and Badgers have fallen to the toad.

Razorbacks and Raiders have succombed to this critter,
Sooners and Buckeyes have stumbled in a twitter.
Look into your history and it may seem a load,
But the Rolling Crimson Tide, lost three to the toad.

So hearken all you nay-says, and read your history well,
The toad that lurks within your sights may ring your final bell.
When the season has been ended, with the last tick of the clock,
The purple frogs are sure to win, and none will dare to mock.

So fasten up your helmets, put on some extra fat,
Cause the boys dressed in purple, ‘gonna take you to the mat.
Talking about horned frogs man, the purple strength of will,
The ones who wind up champs, at the top of the hill.

By David L Warbritton Sr

Beat Wisconsin in the Rose Bowl

 The stadium was rebuilt in recent years and it is now a beautiful place to watch the games.

If you love football, why not be like me and pick a team with a remarkable legacy of overcoming failures and bouncing back to be a winner. The TCU Horned Frogs are all that and more and the future is amazingly bright. Last season, 2014, they finished 12-1 and won the Peach Bowl. The final national coaches poll ranked them number three. Hang around me for a while and I will teach you how to be Horned Frog born and bred.

 

The HORNED FROG (actually a lizard) has been TCU's mascot longer than TCU has been the University's name. Four students helped make the decision in 1897, when AddRan Christian University (renamed TCU in 1902) was located in Waco. Here are some other facts about the horned frog, one of the country's most distinctive mascots: The scientific name for this Texas reptile is Phrynosoma cornutum; in Greek, phrynos means "a toad" and soma means "body" in Latin, cornutus means "horned." 

A HORNED FROG's primary diet is red harvester ants; they'd like 80 to 100 a day. Unfortunately, red ants are falling victim to insecticides and to more aggressive fire ants in much of Texas. The typical HORNED FROG is three to five inches long.
HORNED FROGS are cold-blooded animals and have an unusual pineal gland, resembling a "third eye" on the top of the head, which zoologists believe is part of their system of thermoregulation. When angered or frightened, horned frogs can squirt a fine, four-foot stream of blood from their eyes. 

The HORNED FROG was named the State Reptile of Texas in 1992. In stories of Native Americans in the Southwest, horned frogs are depicted as ancient, powerful and respected. Archaeologists find horned frogs on petroglyphs, pottery and other crafts painted hundreds of years before Columbus set sail for America. In some parts of Mexico, folklore persists that these creatures which weep tears of blood are sacred.

Is there a Heaven?

DRAGONFLIES (A FABLE)

Down below the surface of a quiet pond lived a little colony of water bugs. They were a happy colony, living far away from the sun.
For many months they were very busy, scurrying over the soft mud on the bottom of the pond. They noticed that every once in a while one of their colony seemed to lose interest in going about its business with its friends. Clinging to the stem of a pond lily, it gradually climbed out of sight and was never seen again.
“Look!” said one of the water bugs to another. “One of our colony is climbing up the lily stalk. Where do you suppose she is going?” Up, up, up it went slowly. Even as they watched, the water bug disappeared from sight. Its friends waited and waited but it didn’t return. “That’s funny!” said one water bug to another. “Wasn’t she happy here?” asked a second water bug. “Where do you suppose she went?” wondered a third. No one had an answer. They were greatly puzzled.
Finally one of the water bugs, a leader in the colony, gathered them all together. “I have an idea”, he said. “The next one of us who climbs up the lily stalk must promise to come back and tell us where he or she went and why.” “We promise,” they said solemnly.
One spring day, not long after, the very water bug who had suggested the plan found himself climbing up the lily stalk. Up, up, up he went. Before he knew what was happening, he had broken through the surface of the water, and fallen onto the broad, green lily pad above.
He was so tired, and the sun felt so warm, that he decided to take a nap. As he slept, his body changed and when he awoke, he had turned into a beautiful blue-tailed dragonfly with broad wings and a slender body designed for flying.
He couldn’t believe the startling change he saw in his body. His movement revealed four silver wings and a long tail. Even as he struggled, he felt an impulse to move his wings. The warmth of the sun soon dried the moisture from the new body. He moved his wings again and suddenly found himself up above the water. He had become a dragonfly.
Swooping and dipping in great curves, he flew through the air. He felt exhilarated in his new environment. By and by, the new dragonfly lighted happily on a lily pad to rest. Then it was that he chanced to look below to the bottom of the pond. Why, he was right above his old friends, the water bugs! There they were, scurrying about, just as he had been doing some time before. Then the dragonfly remembered the promise: “The next one of us who climbs up the lily stalk will come back and tell where he or she went and why.”
Without thinking, the dragonfly darted down. Suddenly he hit the surface of the water and bounced away. Now that he was a dragonfly, he could no longer go into the water. “I can’t return!” he said in dismay. “At least I tried, but I can’t keep my promise. Even if I could go back, not one of the water bugs would know me in my new body. I guess I’ll just have to wait until they become dragonflies too. Then they’ll understand what happened to me, and where I went.” And the dragonfly winged off happily into its wonderful new world of sun and air.
And that’s the story of the dragonfly.

So, I’ll ask again… is there a Heaven?

Copied from Doris Stickney