(author unknown)
The boys had a blast. 
and climbed down into the old paper mill ruins.
The best part of the day (for them , anyway) was finding frog eggs in the river.
The boys had jars. They went prepared to catch bugs, but once they saw the eggs, they emptied those jars real quick. They spent much of their time trying to scoop eggs into their jars. It amazes me how much time goes by and how creative they are when they are exploring and discovering nature.
My favorite part of the day - the sound of the river and the beautiful falls.
So peaceful! 
to discover...
to imagine...
to learn...
to be free...
to delight...
...that is the beauty of childhood!
I remember receiving a huge candy cane from church every year. I think it lasted until the next Christmas (it was huge)!
I can only remember one white Christmas, but I'm sure there had to be others. That particular Christmas, we got a really cool snow toy (a big tube), and when we took it outside to enjoy rolling around in the snow, it cracked from the cold.
One of my most vivid memories is walking into the living room on Christmas morning to a room full of toys and gifts left unwrapped so we could dive right in. (Mom, was that because you ran out of time [which I can certainly understand now] or was it a conscious decision to leave them unwrapped? I'm thinking it could be a great time saver.) I'm pretty sure that was the Christmas all my dreams came true because under my Christmas tree sat a turntable and a set of Donny Osmond albums. I was in heaven!
I remember all the years of rehearsing Christmas plays and musicals to be performed before the church. If I could thank all those people who helped make that happen, I would. I am so grateful for the part they played in making me who I am today.
One of the highlights every year was spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with cousins. Every Christmas Eve, we would go to Nashville to be with my mom's family. After eating like crazy and spending wonderful time with our cousins and aunts and uncles, we would climb in the back of the old station wagon, all four of us stretched out under the glass roof, and we would search for Santa in the sky. If I remember correctly, the search usually ended in four sleeping kids. I don't ever recall walking into the house after one of those trips. Then the next day, we would open presents as a family and then spend the rest of the day with Dad's side of the family. Every Christmas should involve cousins. My cousins are part of some of my best memories. I'm sad we've all grown up and live so far apart.
I remember one special Christmas, a rather warm Christmas, spent with those Texan cousins. I remember late night whispers, spilled pickles and lots of giggles. You had to be there. Uncle Dean and Aunt Dixie woke up to the strong smell of pickle juice and woke us all by singing, "I'm Dreaming of a Green Pickle." We still all giggle when someone sings it!
Mom somehow managed to have great Christmas breakfasts. I remember the neighbors and the Hendersons coming over to eat mom's incredible biscuits and gravy, country ham, etc... And a favorite of our family - getting to eat baklava for breakfast! (How did you manage that with four children? You amaze me - always have!)
I remember competitive games of spoons at Granddaddy's house followed by turkey induced comas and long massage lines.
I remember Christmas carolling in Nashville with all the cousins. What fun we had and still have getting to sing together. It's just not often enough anymore.
I can't remember a Christmas when the Roysters (neighbors) didn't come over to say "Merry Christmas" and see all the presents. How special that is to me now as an adult to remember that consistency in my life. And now there will be one less this year as we said goodbye to Mr. Royster last winter. And while my family will not be there this year to celebrate with Granny and Papa, I know that on Christmas morning, Agnes, Jane, Ron and Anita and kids will probably walk over to say hi. And I will think of them so far away and be grateful for all the Christmas mornings that came before and for their unending friendship. I love you all!
Reflecting on how much I miss my family and living in the south made me think of some writing I did a few years ago. It paints a picture of what I miss most. I wrote this in my journal on July 4, 2005.
Here I am - my hometown. It's the 4th of July and I've come "home" to be with family. My husband, Ken, left our home in Wisconsin three days ago and headed north to the boundary waters to canoe and fish with friends. Determined not to be left alone with my children for the holiday, I packed us all like sardines into our Toyota Sienna, along with Sadie, the twelve-year-old daughter of a friend, and headed south with promises of fun and adventure.
The South has always been a place to look forward to for me. It's where I was born. It's where I went to school and made friends and fell in love. It's where I spent the 1st half of my life, and it's where all my family is now. I've been gone for 20 years now, but somehow, it still has a hold on me. It made me who I am today, and it's how I still define myself. I'm a Southerner. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but it's a label I wear like a badge of honor.
I've lived in the Midwest now for as long as I lived in the South, and yet, I am not a Midwesterner. And now, when I meet someone from the South, there is an instant comraderie - a quiet understanding that we are part of the same sorority, or should I say cult, where the foods we eat, the beverages we drink, and the words we say set us apart from all the rest. There's just something about the South, and now here I am - home!
Today, we spent the day with family. My siblings and I gathered our 12 children along with grandparents and great-grandparents to swim and celebrate together. I watched as cousins got reacquainted, as aunts and uncles held new nieces and nephews, as grandparents laughed at the adorable antics of grandchildren and as my mom reveled in the togetherness of family. It was a beautiful day full of sunshine, good food and fireworks, and I smiled as I watched my life replaying itself in the lives of my children.
The older children ran around the house in little clusters hunting for one another in a game of hide-and-seek until one by one they came and asked for jars to collect lightning bugs. The smaller children were shouting in delight everytime one would light up, and they would take off, hands in the air, trying to catch one for their collection. The goal - who could get the most in their jar? Just when they didn't think they could run another step, Granny came to the rescue with a batch of homemade vanilla ice cream. We sat on Mom's porch and ate until our teeth hurt from the cold. A sudden quietness fell over us as we relived a night like so many nights that had come before - in our childhood.
I remember the summer nights as a child...when we would gather the neighborhood kids for a huge game of "kick the can". Somehow our yard was always the starting point...Life was simple, neighborhoods were safe and homemade ice cream was always the perfect way to end the evening.
And now, my children run this same playing field, hide in the same bushes and sit on the same porch to catch their breath. They were not born here, and yet, they are southerners just like me. Someday, they might not think so, but for now, that's how I see them.
Well, as the day came to a close, we piled into our cars and headed out in search of fireworks to end our day together. We sat on a blanket in the middle of a dark soccer field. We sprayed bug spray, ate popcorn, and listened to the oohs & aahs of our children with each and every pop. When the show was over, it was one more game of freeze tag for the kids. I just sat back and thought how most people would see this day as boring or "small town", but to me, it was perfect!
