Moral Monday in Asheville

Moral Mondays are the liberal/progressive response to the recent dire excesses of the Republican controlled North Carolina legislature.  There have been multiple Moral Monday demonstrations in Raleigh, the state capitol, and now the the legislature is no longer in session, the demonstrations have gone on the road. 

An  estimated eight to ten thousand folks showed up in Asheville yesterday, toting signs that addressed many of the concerns raised by recent bills passed -- bills that would put new restrictions on abortion clinics . . .

There's so much to be alarmed about: a budget that denies our teachers raises (while the governor's cabinet all got raises,)  a move to take control of Asheville's water system away from the local government, laws that make voting more difficult, a green light to the potentially devastating practice known as fracking . . . .  the list goes on and on.

Here's a link that includes excerpts from the powerful speech by the Reverend William Barber, head of the North Carolina's NAACP (the historic National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.

The crowd was a wonderful, diverse bunch of folks. There was singing, much of which hearkened back to the civil rights movement. ("I didn't think we;d have to do this again, said another white-haired woman at my side.')

So much happened so quickly in our state government that  many of us are still reeling in disbelief.  "They did WHAT?"

But there's a change coming . . . so many different groups gathering with various causes but united by a common interest -- to vote the right-wingers out.

 

It felt good to be a part of what I hope will be the beginning of a turn around to take our state back to the progressive side of history. . .

 Here's a LINK to a web album with lots more pictures and lots more signs.

A Land Remembered

Thanks to Patrick D. Smith's A Land Remembered, I spent most of yesterday wandering through the Florida of long ago -- a Florida without high rises, condominiums, traffic jams, air conditioning, or Mickey Mouse. It's a Florida of open ranges and wild cattle, river boats and ox carts, hardy men and women known as Crackers, and hardy horses called Marshtackies. It's a Florida, bits of which were still in evidence when I was growing up in the Fifties, and even more bits of which seem to be lurking in my genetic memory.

Smith's book traces the fortunes of the MacIveys, a mythical pioneer family that came to Florida from Georgia in hopes of avoiding being caught up in the conflict of the Civil War.  Frustrated in their attempts at farming by the poor soil and the wild creatures that destroy crops and kill livestock, the MacIveys begin rounding up wild cattle to take to the ports and sell. Smith paints a vivid picture of the cow towns and the lawless society that flourished at the time, as well as a bitter-sweet evocation of the natural beauty and rich wildlife of the yet unspoiled land.

We follow three generations of MacIveys through hard times and better times, cattle drives, growing success, the coming of orange groves and railroads, and through it all, the close ties to the land and the acquisition of more and more of that land.

The MacIveys are iconic rather than deeply realistic -- they serve as the vehicle to impart Florida's almost forgotten past. Still, I felt that I recognized these people -- just as my Miss Birdie is an amalgam of several women I knew, the MacIveys encompass many varied experiences. 

The book is a terrific read and a painless way to learn some history.  In fact, a bowdlerized version is used as a text book in some Florida schools.

Florida's rowdy past may be a surprise to many. Nowadays, Florida is synonymous with sun and sand and Disney, with retirees from the North and urban sprawl and too many people.

But before that, and not so long ago either, Florida was a wild land of swamps and prairies and oak hammocks, of cowboys and farmers and outlaws  -- a land every bit as wild as the Wild West.

Highly recommended.

 

Pleasing Things

 

 

 

 

 

Is It Caturday Already?

 

 

 

 

 

Late Afternoon Stroll

Come along. . .

Willa's waiting . . .

The Italian Arum seed heads are ripening . . . 

The sweet smell of milkweed fills the air . . .

Too early for this . . .

The path into the woods . . .

Sunlight through the leaves . . .

Hmm . . . who was this?

The graceful curve of a pokeweed bloom . . .

 

Cloud shadows on the mountains . . . 
And a last kiss of the sun, glistening on ferns. 

 

This Is Not My Hammock

 Back in 1966, during John's final months in the Marines, we bought a hammock at Pawley's Island. John was stationed at Beaufort, SC and we were living in a non-air conditioned house. He went to work in a air conditioned trailer -- I spent most of my days reading in the hammock under the big oak in the yard. Really, it was too hot to do anything else.

When we moved to the farm, we put up the hammock. The conditions were less than ideal -- the only big trees near the house were on a slope which made getting into the hammock challenging and getting out, downright dangerous.  Besides, we had a three year old to deal with, a garden to tend, a cow to milk, and a house to finish.  The hammock hung there forlornly and, come winter, we stored it in the barn where the rats chewed it to bits.

But it's such a tantalizing thought -- to head out to the hammock with a good book, some sandwiches, and a jug of lemonade . . .

Never mind that, even without the cow to milk and the three year old to tend, I still stay pretty busy. Never mind that we still don't have a proper level site -- when I saw this hammock the other day, I was consumed with a completely irrational lust for the dolce far niente sort of a life that a hammock implies. 

A big tree, like the one in the picture, is essential. Birdsong, a gentle breeze, sunlight twinkling through the leaves, maybe the smell of freshly-mown grass --  I take another sip of lemonade and turn the page. . .

 One of my friends used to fantasize about an elegant croquet game with the ladies in lacy white dresses and strawberries, champagne, and little cucumber sandwiches for refreshments . . . my grandmother wanted to sit in the shade by a river with a cane pole . . .

What's your idea of a perfect lazy summer day?