Pontotoc Native Introducing Wayne Carter
Each of us feels an obligation to pass along our experiences, knowledge, and wisdom, yes wisdom, because nobody lives this long without acquiring a degree of wisdom. We find writing an enjoyable means to share our reflections of yesterday, our aspirations to meet the challenges of today, and our dreams of an even better tomorrow. We believe our readership will benefit from our shared experiences and thoughts, as well as those of contributing authors. Oh, we will benefit, too, just not in a financial sense. Our reward is to be found in the satisfaction of writing and in the occasional response from a reader who enjoys our writing. Please forgive my philosophical diversion, and allow me to return to introducing myself. I’m not the seventh son of a seventh son, as there weren’t that many in my family. However, I am the second son of a second son and would note that in my granddad’s family, Dad’s family, and Dad’s sister’s family the children born to each fit neatly into the same pattern, two boys, a girl, and a boy. Of the editors of this newsletter, I am the only Pontotoc native still living in Pontotoc. If I’m lucky, I’ll die here and will be interred in some fashion here. I’ve not been a permanent resident of Pontotoc my entire life, but of the places I’ve hung my figurative hat, I love Pontotoc the best. While there are landscapes made lusher with beauty than these fair hills of Pontotoc, regions whose climate is more favorable than our temperate one, skies actually bluer, and economic opportunities greater, there is no place on God’s green earth I’d rather call home. Carl Wayne was lucky enough to marry a native of Pontotoc County, owns land here, and finds reasons to frequently visit his in-laws in the Hurricane community. Ralph Jones is a Pontotoc native but makes his home across the state line in Germantown, Tennessee. My blood and the blood of each of my co-editors runs with a particular red hue, not universally common, and is one due in part to stains left by the red clay hills of Pontotoc on the very souls of each of us. That which binds the three of us to Pontotoc and Pontotoc County is a force many experience but few can fully explain. There’s something about sweet Pontotoc that beckons her sons and daughters, as well as a great many who simply have visited here, to return to Pontotoc if not physically to this place, at least to experience her in the emotional or spiritual sense. (If you’re counting, this was the second introduction diversion.) My wife, Barbara, and I have two children – one daughter and one son – and three granddaughters. Barbara is the Director of Pontotoc County Habitat for Humanity. Incidentally, Barbara was born and educated in Ripley, Mississippi, where we met each other and were married. Having lived in Pontotoc more than thirty-eight years, she has counted my hometown as her hometown for most all of her years here. Presently, I work for SUPERVALU, a wholesale grocer with a national presence, which in addition to selling grocery and perishable items to independent retailers also provides various retail services to the supermarkets it supplies. My work area is Retail Technology, and this job affords enough training and teaching opportunities for me to utilize some of the skills I acquired as a math teacher in a former career. I expect to retire sometime next year. Regardless of whatever computer expertise or training competence I possess, I’m a "meat man" at heart. In my early teen years, I learned how to cut meat under the watchful eye of my dad along with Stephen Vinoy Grey and Thurman Wood, butchers, who worked for Dad in the fifties at Carter and Austin Grocery and Market. I began my career with SUPERVALU as a meat cutter. While, I no longer ply the meat-cutting trade, I still enjoy cutting-up fryers into eleven separate pieces, including a pulley bone, whenever I have a hankering for Southern fried chicken, home style. And, if I want a really good batch of stew meat or ground beef, I buy a boneless chuck roast and cube it with a boning knife or else grind it with the grinder attachment of our Kitchen-Aid mixer. Furthermore, I keep a commercial meat-slicer around for slicing country ham, which I de-bone at home. The country ham is distributed largely to friends and family during the Christmas season. Sorry, at this time the ham-list is closed, but I do accept bribes, such as slicing a ham "on the halves," or retaining a generous portion, thereof. For the past twelve years, I was the sole editor and publisher of the Ridge Rider News, a weekly newsletter and a labor of love from which I retired five months ago. The six hundred twenty-six issues, which span more than a decade, may be viewed at http://rrnews.org/archives.html My favorite hobby is fishing, and second to that is writing. Between the two, and the time I spend doing yard work, I manage to maintain enough sanity to avoid being institutionalized. I would be remiss not to mention I am a Christian, secure in the knowledge of my salvation through Jesus the Christ, my LORD. I remain a member of the church where I first professed Jesus as LORD and Savior, forty-four years ago, namely, The First Baptist Church, Pontotoc, Mississippi. I trust readers, who do not know me, will indulge my tendency to "vent," when deemed necessary, forgive my emotional transparency and failure to guard my feelings, and above all else, indulge my propensity toward long-windedness. Rest assured, I don’t take myself too seriously, and neither should you. As Thanksgiving approaches, I believe it’s appropriate to mention my thankfulness for my co-editors. Carl Wayne asked if he might continue my weekly newsletter on a less demanding schedule and enlisted Ralph as a co-conspirator. I agreed to help them, as neither wanted the job of publishing and emailing The Bodock Post. I could not have asked for a better pair with whom to start a new journey. I look forward to a long association with this newsletter and its editors and our readers.
Thankful Gardener Of Beauty And Bounty
We gardeners have oodles to be thankful for, and that enjoyment grows with the years as we try more, learn more, share more, and reap more. Like one’s love for family and friends, the love of Mother Nature's beauty and bounty grows with the years. Dandelions are not weeds to me; they have pretty yellow flowers and delicate puff balls the goldfinches feast upon. The clover in my Bermuda grass is not a weed; it has dainty leaves which delight thegranddarlings when they find a rare four leaf clover, and its bloom brings the honeybees to harvest the nectar and make sweet honey for my breakfast. The thorns on Thornton, my pyracantha, and Hester, my hawthorne tree, are a beauty unto themselves. They only harm when I am careless. Gomez and Morticia Addams cultivated roses for the thorns and discarded the rose flowers. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Thornton's thorns help protect my homebird sparrows which roost in him out of the wind. Worms we find washed onto the driveway and sidewalks after a rain aren't yucky; they are industrious little fellows that till the soil and turn organic material into rich humus. They are Mother Nature's little plows. The rain is welcome even if it comes in torrents. The aquifer needs to be replenished. The creeks and rivers need an occasional cleansing of snags and sand bars. The ground needs a good soaking to put what the old folks call seasoning in it. My wife Mimi says it might help clean my car. Gardeners can also be thankful for the wind. It brings the rain. It brings welcome relief from torrid late summer temperatures. It prunes the trees and shrubs of old and diseased limbs. It distributes seeds and spores and pollen. It brings the sweet aroma of honeysuckle, ripening corn, gardenias, and winter daphnes to me. I once heard a preacher preach on manure - the lesson being the Good Lord uses for good what we find soiled and worthless. Manure makes excellent compost, whether from farm animals or worm casting. Gardeners call horse manure "gold." Mind you composted manure is easier on one's nose, and is tolerated better by Mimi. Uncle Aubrey of Laws Hill MS spreads manure from his chicken house and barn directly onto his garden and pasture, but it's far from the house so Auntie doesn't complain. We can even be thankful for manure or at least thankful for the beauty and bounty we reap from its effect. Stalks and stems in the garden or farm have long been considered a nuisance. We either burned them or plowed them under. Nowadays we understand the value of biomass, whether for making fuel or for building a deep humus so we need to till little, if any. We are thankful for the changing of the seasons. Each has its own beauty and purpose: the hope of spring, the growth of summer, the harvest of autumn, and winter's rest. We mark time with the equinoxes, the solstices, dogwood winter, blackberry winter, April showers, May flowers, July 'maters regardless of when we planted them, the dog days of summer, Indian summer, and the falling of the leaves to end one cycle and begin another. I am also thankful my grown children have some interest in gardening and have worked to beautify their own yards, more so than I did at their age. Perhaps the granddarlings will find Mother Nature and gardening to be fascinating and a delight to their senses. Photo: Thanks to Grandma G. http://aphotosworth.blogspot.com By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
Count Your Blessings Yes Really...And Be Surprised This old hymn* said it well; "When upon life’s billows you are tempest tossed, When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost, Count your many blessings, name them one by one, And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done." With our country in such a state of turmoil, America needs to return to the Lord’s Table as we celebrate this Thanksgiving season. So many things are hammering at the door; the economy is in shambles, a very scary election is upon us, huge companies and banks are closing shop, our planet is getting too hot (or so they say), and it seems every newspaper and T.V. is proclaiming doom and gloom. The "Chicken Littles" of our country are running to and fro wringing their hands and shouting, "The Sky is Falling, The Sky is Falling!" Well here is news for you Mr. Little, the sky’s not falling! There’s no panic in heaven, and our Bible says, "Let not your heart be troubled, you believe in God…" He is still in control, Mr. Little. You may rant and rave all you please, but ultimately our Lord will have the final word. Our pastor often said that when we count our blessings, count only those that money cannot buy and death cannot steal. Why not count your blessing today and be truly thankful? Think of all we have to be thankful for here in our great country. So many blessings were handed to us on a silver platter, and many of our people are throwing them away like leftovers on a paper plate. They think freedom is free, that happiness is their right, that prosperity comes from the government, that taking care of business is a chore for someone else, and that "In God We Trust" is old hat. However, truths of yesterday are still truths today: hit a finger and it still hurts; sow bad seeds and reap a bad harvest; take prayer from schools and graduate rebels; remove the Bible from classrooms and foster agnostics; turn from God and reap the whirlwind. So many today are only counting "things" as valuable, the house, car, boat, pleasure, the bank account, the…whatever. These may be gone in a tumble of the economy. But, the things that really matter will go on regardless of world conditions – the love of God – a friend – a kiss of a child – a hug from mom – the help from a neighbor – the grace to bear heartache sent from above – all prized possessions. There are probably few, totally self-made people today, and although they may not want to admit it, they stand on the shoulders of those who have gone on before them. They got to where they are, not by laying a foundation and building on it; chances are, they build on another’s foundation. In this season let’s be thankful for that good foundation our parents, grandparents and others left so that we might build a better tomorrow. The planter of a tree may enjoy seeing it grow, but it will be the children who play in its shade. May we be thankful enough to add to what was given to us so freely, to teach our children thusly, so that our children and grandchildren may be thankful and do the same for their little ones. May we come back to the truths that have, in many cases, slipped away.
May we be thankful today for FREEDOM: freedom from tyranny, freedom to worship as we please, freedom to pursue our dreams, freedom to enjoy the fruits of our labor, freedom to raise and enjoy our family, and so many more freedoms. May we be thankful for FAMILY, FRIENDS AND OTHERS: for leaders who look over our great country, for our military that protects our great land, for pastors and teachers who minister to us, for children who give us hope for tomorrow’s world, and so many more blessings of friends and family. For all our blessings, we are truly THANKFUL! By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor * "Count Your Blessings" by Johnson Oatman,Jr. 1856-1926 Edwin O. Excell, 1851-1921
Dinosaurs Sighted West Of Banner While dinosaurs did indeed once prowl Northeast Mississippi, one hardly expects to find a fossilized bone, let alone a whole dinosaur. However, I not only found one dinosaur, I found three of them, and I’m not referring to whole fossils, either. As I topped a rise along the Northwest Passage (my terminology for the route north of Bruce, Mississippi connecting Banner and Coffeeville), they stood silently on the south side of the road, their profiles rising above the waist-high weeds and grasses covering much of their lower body parts. I’m not certain which type of dinosaurs they were, but they reminded me of a smaller version of the giant herbivore known as brontosaurus. Their long, rust-colored necks struck quite a contrast with the greenery surrounding them (maybe they were rustasauruses). Their heads were smaller than I would have imagined, but in the brief moments I glimpsed them, all three of them appeared to be munching while keeping an alert eye for possible predators. Oddly, they paid me no more attention than the grazing deer that I have often sighted along this particularly rural roadway. For the better part of two years, I always saw the three dinosaurs in the same field near an occupied mobile home, and each time I came upon them, I told myself I should stop and make their picture. But, I never seemed to have my camera handy, as it was always in my computer bag inside the trunk, which would have necessitated my stopping and getting out of the car rather than retrieving the camera from a handier storage compartment such as the glove box. Plus, I kept waiting for the perfect shot, something worthy of recognition in National Geographic, with perhaps a fog or an early morning mist to enshroud them. I reasoned I would title my photograph "Dinosaurs In The Mist." Something similar had worked for Dian Fossey and her Rwanda gorillas. Such a perfect picture would make me famous overnight. My wife used to collect pictures of old barns. Actually, she still does, but our daughter won’t let us display them, as she maintains they don’t go with our décor, décor which my daughter also chose. I helped Barbara, in her collecting, by photographing a few old barns on my treks around Mississippi and surrounding states. It’s hard for me to drive by an old barn, today, without thinking of the temporal nature of all things earthly, myself included. A lot of the barns I used to see are gone. Some have fallen in, but some have been torn down by the hands of men, and a few have suffered the wrath of a storm which hastened its demise.
With respect to procrastination, there’s a lesson to be learned here; one must "seize the day," or to use the Latin equivalent, carpe diem. Similarly, Robert Herrick reminded us in his To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time stating, "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying." Yes, opportunity was my fair friend, but alas in taking "The Road Less Traveled," I took it too quickly, never taking time to photograph the dinosaurs. The picture used in this article reminds me of one of my dinosaurs. It was taken by Matt Zaske of the University of Minnesota, who was kind enough to allow its use in The Bodock Post. By Wayne Carter, Associate Editor
Nip In The Air Can You Feel It Old Nip is in the air, and frankly and earnestly, I am enjoying him. Our earliest frost date is about October 15, depending how near the town's heat island you live. This morning my thermometer registered 43 degrees on my covered patio, which may have trapped warmer air. That's a mere 11 degrees above freezing. Except for last year, we always have a cool snap, as Uncle Aubrey calls it, during the Fair. Mimi and I went to the Fair this week. It seemed much smaller than it used to be. The school children had on coats this morning and are huddling as they await the school buses. Nip has turned their breath to vapor. They pretend to puff on cigarettes and grin as though they are getting away with a great sin. Nip has convinced my wife Mimi to scurry back and forth between the storage closets and wardrobe closets exchanging winter and summer wear. We have already picked and eaten messes of turnip greens and mustard greens. The collard greens are almost ready, but Uncle Aubrey of Laws Hill MS says they need a frost to sweeten them up. So we will wait. My fall bush beans are beginning to produce beans for a late feast. I still get a small 'mater or two most days, which I enjoy peeled and sliced and salted with my supper. I have a wealth of green 'maters coming on. I will pick them when the Jack Frost threatens, and let them ripen in paper sacks. This week we replaced the spare refrigerator we use for overflow and to hold the granddarlings' treats. We bought it with money we made more than thirty years ago selling a calf Mimi's daddy raised and gave to us. Mimi made sure I didn't go refrigerator shopping on an empty stomach. This also is the time of year when the sweet 'tater harvest is at its sweetest. Greens with chowchow, baked sweet 'taters with a little butter and cinnamon, hot crisp cornbread with real butter, and cold milk are all wonderful flavor combinations. Yum! I saw a medical article this week claiming the modern vegetable oils are worse than the natural ones like olive oil and real butter. It sounds right to me.
I hesitate to deadhead the zinnias and rudbeckias and crape myrtles. The birds will find and eat the berries and seeds when Old Nip has sent the bugs and worms to bed for the winter. My pyracantha, Thornton, had a nice crop of auburn berries, which the resident flock of sparrows devoured forthwith. Nip slows the growth of plants, but they still need water. Give them a good drink weekly if Mother Nature has not already done so. Don't fertilize anything which might put on new tender growth, since Old Nip will have his way with it. The top tips and windward sides of the Bradford pear trees have already been visited by Old Nip, and are showing their first blush of color, which spreads and deepens as Nip gets stronger. Again this year I plan to mulch my leaves through my lawnmower and cover the front beds with a warm blanket for the winter, which gradually turns into a rich humus for them to wake up and feed on next spring. We continue to see female and juvenile hummingbirds on the morning glories and Mimi's feeders. They will leave when they are good and ready. Last week I saw my first long stream of blackbirds as they fly to their evening roosts where they discuss the day's activities and cheat Old Nip with their shared body heat. Yesterday I saw a large flock of robins as Bubba and I were passing a football in the cool air. Fall is here. The change in seasons is welcome and needed. My next project is developing a list of my favorite things about the South. If you care to, please share your list with me. You may see them in a column one day. Photo: Thanks http://charmandgrace.com/CAGBlog By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
Sisters Are Wonderful A Visit With Mallie
A very kind and sweet lady who means so much to me, greets me at the door with a warm hug. Mallie Gillespie Tallant, now in her eighties has the noon meal prepared and on the table as I walk into her house. Rita, her daughter, is out on an errand but Rob her son-in-law is there and we all sit down to eat this wonderful country dinner. Many of you would call it lunch, but to us who grew up in the country it’s still dinner. Her two-bedroom apartment is decorated well and neat as a pin. The table is covered with assorted plates and dishes, all filled with wonderful things to eat. A ham has been cooked and sliced, string beans with slivers of ham throughout, a dish of macaroni and cheese, fresh cucumbers slices in a dish of vinegar and spices, and a heavenly dish of fried green tomatoes adorn the table. Of course there are assorted jars and dishes with pickles, onions, relishes and the rest of side dishes, most of which she had prepared herself. To top it all off was a pone of cracklin’ corn bread, hot from the oven. A quart-sized glass of sweet iced tea sits next to each plate. After grace was said, we dug into the goodies. After consuming all one could possibly hold, and then some, as we pushed back from the table she says to save a little room for home-made apple cobbler with ice cream. She had found just the right apples, green, hard and small, and even with arthritis in her hands she had peeled, cut, and cooked them into a most delicious cobbler. It was so good you might consider sassing your momma (some might, but not this boy). What a wonderful treat! Our black friends call it "soul food" but to Rob and me it’s just good down-home country cooking. To us who grew up in the Deep South it is standard bill of fare. Fancier and more expensive meals may be available somewhere, but none any better whatever the cost and whatever the ambiance (whatever that is). Mallie and I visited, told stories, reminisced, shared pictures and learned about what’s going on in the family both here and there. Mallie is no kin to me except by marriage. She married Leon, my cousin, in the 1950s. They had been sweethearts in high school but had married different partners and only later in life because of circumstances did they marry. If ever there was a marriage made in heaven surely this was one of them. He loved her and she loved him, and only death could separate them. One day they will be reunited in heaven, no doubt. Although first cousins, Leon and I grew up as brothers, since neither of us had any siblings. After Mallie and Leon married she accepted me as a brother and we have remained that way over all these years. Mallie and I try and keep in touch with one another with letters and phone calls as much as possible. Although Leon had none he accepted Mallie’s children and grandchildren as his very own and treated them as such. To the best of my knowledge they all loved him, as much as he did them. Later that afternoon we drove over to Robby and Rita’s lovely new home and continued our visit with them. You know how time flies when you are having fun and soon the shadows began to tell me that the day was about spent. All too soon, I was back in the "Mule" heading home. It was a most wonderful day! I thank the Lord for relatives and friends like those in Killen. It is always a pleasure and joy to visit with Mallie, my "sister." By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
Be Afraid America - Poised To Fall
Our nation is now embroiled in a war on terror the outcome of which will determine whether or not radical Islam moves ahead with plans to dominate our planet. We live in a most fearful time, and every Christian in America should be gravely concerned, even afraid of what the future holds. Be afraid America! A lie repeated often enough will by mere repetition convince many it is a truth. Liberals are sore losers (remember Al Gore). Our national media is controlled by liberals. Americans, as our enemies have observed, will not endure a prolonged military conflict, and they are right. The liberal media, along with their minions in the political realm have unfairly portrayed America as losing the war in Iraq right from the very beginning. Day after day, week after week, year after year, they have sought to portray our war efforts as futile, if not outright un-winnable. In their unrelenting efforts, enough Americans bought the politico/media babble to give the Democrats a majority in Congress in ‘06. Presently, the liberal media is poised to elect our next president. Be afraid America! Sexism in America is alive and well. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but I feel sorry for Hillary Clinton. The liberal media picked B. Hussien Obama as their candidate of choice for the Democrat Party months ago, and they have done all they can to protect Obama from deserving criticism. The Left-media purposefully chose to support a male candidate as opposed to a female candidate. That the male candidate has less political experience is of no consequence to liberals, and the fact that he’s Black shores up their motives for choosing him as altruistic. Be afraid America! Racism is flourishing in churches of the Black community. Many believe racism exists among Caucasians, alone, but Barrack Hussein Obama’s spiritual mentor is now recognized as hate monger of first order. Initially, Obama told his supporters he was not present in the congregation at the time Rev. Jeremiah Wright gave his famous "g.. d… America" oratory. Only after more clips of his mentor’s rage and an ill-timed talk show appearance did Obama "officially" distance himself from the Right Rev. Wright. Be afraid America! Socialism in America is on the rise. Months ago the Patriot Post reported, "According to my colleague, Cliff Kincaid, Accuracy in Media editor and president of the UN watchdog group America's Survival, Obama was mentored for most of his formative years by black radical Frank Marshall Davis, a Communist Party USA member. Obama had ‘a close relationship, almost like a son, with Davis,’ writes Kincaid." Be afraid America! Our fundamental freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution are at risk. Liberal Democrats have sought for years to ban individual ownership of guns. Actions such as the Brady Bill have helped erode our right as a free people to bear arms. Free speech continues under assault by liberals who believe any opinion that is contrary to their own should be suppressed. At the University level free speech is at the point of death. Be afraid America! Our political system though "of the people and by the people" is too divisive to govern "for the people." The two-party system is more partisan than ever. Democrats and Republicans are unable to work together for the good of the country as each is too busy trying to make the other party a villain or worse. Be afraid America! The next appointees to the Supreme Court may adhere to the belief of "a living Constitution." The next President of the United States will most likely need to find replacements for retiring justices. The Supreme Court may very well become a liberal-leaning one, delaying the possibility of Roe vs. Wade being overturned in our lifetime. Herein lies a prime example of how the Supreme Court can find a non-existent "women’s right to choose" in the Constitution of this United States of America. Be afraid America! Things will get worse! The optimistic side of my personality states things will get better regardless of the person in the White House, but my pessimistic side states things will get a lot worse before a turn for the better. I recently heard a preacher give false hope to his congregation by stating that for Christians "things are going to be okay." I agree that ultimately, good will triumph over evil and that Christians will ultimately be okay. But, a lot of pain and suffering, even death, may take place before things become okay. Be afraid America! A minority of voters will elect our next president! Historically, roughly one-half of all registered voters actually vote. And in the past several presidential elections the margin of victory was slim. Do the math; half of a half is a fourth, so our recent presidents have been chosen by slightly more than one fourth of all registered voters. I plan to vote in the next election, and I encourage you to make every effort to do likewise. Finally America, remember the political axiom, "He who robs Peter to give to Paul can always count on the support of Paul!" By Wayne Carter, Associate Editor
Voten’ Time Change to Whut Well now, youall know I ain’t too smart, but Iz got enuf sence to get out ‘n vote. A vote is a terrible thang to waste! No time left to say whut might have been, it’s time to shuck and shell the corn rite down to the nubbin’. Shuck off da fluff, and see whut the corn really look lik. One uv tha candidates talk ‘bout change, but don’t say what he gonna change; fact is, he don’t say much, jis kinda tickle ya ear. I afraid tha change he speak uf, we ain’t gonna lik. I’m feared o’ dat man, fer sure. He don’t have much sperience in doin’ nuthin, sept runnin’ his mouf, he seem to be more again’st our flag and country den any thang else. He been gittin’ lots o’ money frum some body, but he won’t tell just zackly who. He say that if push cum to shuv, he’d side wif da Muslims. Iz dat tha ones backing him? Do we want dem runin’ our country? I sho nuff scared of dis feller! The tuther un don’t say much about change, but he probably do a right good job fer our country. He be a ‘Merican thru and thru and a hero to boot. He suffered teruble at the hands o’ our enemys and eben put others afore hisself while in prison. He love our country an I’z believe he puts his country fore his sef and his purse. He iz da one I’z gonna vote fer. When it come to voten’ time, go make yo mark. As I said last time, Iffin’ ya can’t vote fer somebody, den vote against somebody. Iffin’ gud ‘Merica lovin’ folk don’t vote, we’z all gonna loose. Couzin’ Cornpone
Bubba Bodock Inconvenient Truth Due to recent economic conditions, especially the rising cost of electricity, gas, and oil, the light at the end of the tunnel has been turned off. We apologize for the inconvenience.
Our Mission It is our desire to provide a monthly newsletter about rural living with photographs of yesterday and today, including timely articles about conservative politics, religion, food, restaurant reviews, gardening, humor, history, and non-fiction columns by folks steeped in our Southern lifestyle. Copyright © 2008 The Bodock Post. Return to home page. Open This Issue with MS Word
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Welcome
to the third issue of The
Bodock PostI am Wayne Carter, and it’s my privilege to
edit this month’s issue. I truly hope our subscribers are enjoying the
many writing flavors shared by our editors and contributors. Among our three
editors, here at the Post, there is a wealth of experience and the
desire to share our experiences with others.
A friend once told me his family stopped
asking him to ask the blessing for Thanksgiving Dinner, since the food gets
cold before he runs out of things for which to be thankful. I can identify
with that.
May we be thankful for the
BLESSED HOPE IN OUR LORD: the gift of eternal life, of joy,
of hope and grace, of an eternal destination, and so many more gifts.
My three
dinosaurs have now gone the way of many an old barn, one day there, next
day gone. Oh, my dinosaurs weren’t real dinosaurs, except in my imagination.
They weren’t even real-looking enough to fool a five-year old. They
were actually old mechanized corn pickers that had rusted from lack of use.
There’s no telling how long they had been in the field before I first
discovered them. Apparently, the landowner tired of them or perhaps sold
them for scrap. All I really know is they are now gone, or would that be
extinct?
Nip hasn't
affected my flowers, yet. It seems the crape myrtles are blooming later than
usual. My encore azaleas are blooming again right on schedule. The zinnias
and rudbeckias, which came back from this year’s seeds, are blooming,
and everywhere I see pots of geraniums arrayed in splendor greater than Solomon
in all his glory. I hear the reblooming Irises are blooming now. My friend
Bill in Piperton says the first frost is six weeks after the goldenrod blooms,
which was mid September this year.
The tires on my little "Mule" hummed
away, eating up mile after mile of highway as I drove east on US 72 toward
Killen, Alabama. Although the "Mule," a two door Ford Explorer, appropriately
named by my precious granddaughter, Morgan, is almost fourteen years old
and has almost two hundred thousand miles recorded on the odometer, he still
clips right along keeping pace with the other traffic. A hundred and fifty
miles or so later we pull into the driveway of our destination.
This November, America will chart its destiny in whomever it chooses
as its next President. This may well be the most important presidential election
in our nation’s history. While no president can do all he or she promised
on the campaign trail, and no president can be any more effective than Congress
permits, every American President has political power, and how he or she
uses that power may affect human history in a profound way.