Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Nature's Cure: Part II of "To Grandmother's House We Go!"

And I Think To Myself, What A Wonderful World!

Play video for music and scroll on...
(Trust me, it's better with some Armstrong) 

Josh and I went to Lenoir City this weekend for an early Independence Day celebration with my mom's side of our family. This post isn't related to that holiday of fireworks. However, all pictures taken shall instead serve as part II of my "To Grandmother's House We Go" blog post. I hope there will be many parts to this saga. For those of you just 'tuning in'... My Mamaw Rose and Papa Jim (yes we're Southern as it gets), just so happen to own the best property in East Tennessee. At least, in my small town country girl opinion- theirs is the most relaxing oasis on the planet. This Southern girl has traveled afar- to England, France, Germany, etc., but this has always been the only place where I find myself...where I can fully relax and listen to all that surrounds me....I hope these pictures will capture the beauty of what magnificent feeling they give to my soul, but I know they won't do the same for you. You have TO BE THERE to hear the faint sounds of singing birds- the whispers of warm summer breezes that rustle leaves in bordering forests that surround my grandparents' home. Yes, you have to stand on edges of their property while you overlook a crystal blue lake- if you are to understand the pure feelings I get when I'm home... away from home.

Potted plants are abundantly scattered about my beloved relatives' home exterior. Although Mamaw and Papa's skin color is of natural pinkish-tanish shading, their thumbs are greener than any beautiful plant that they diligently nurture to reach horticultural maximum of aesthetically pleasing potential.

Although this particular wind chime was featured in my first "To G-ma's house we go!" post, I couldn't resist taking another picture of this mystifying object, on this visit. A new fence had been built to separate yard space from surrounding forests, so I had a plausible excuse to re-photograph this melodic hanging instrument. Why not document a different background? At least it gave me a good reason to re-adjust and re-do my previous photographic attempt.

A tiny man stands watch over gardens of splendor that are seated below him. He stands boldly, atop a squirrel feeder, keeping watch over all outside oasis occurrences. My cousins and I used to play with this "guard". If you were born in the late 80's-90's, you'll recognize him immediately. His attached-to-foot cube can easily fasten to plastic, brightly colored toy blocks...This blue block-building castle topper got bored with his useless  occupation and ventured outside to carry out more fulfilling garden-watching responsibilities.

A new, wooden property feature was installed on the property since my last visit. This fence is sure to catch one's eye with neutral, rich color that starkly contrasts against a backdrop of outlying green forage that surrounds it.

When turning around a side corner of my cottage retreat, my ears were filled with a glorious melodic symphony, orchestrated by wind chimes hanging atop this pale blue staircase.

I stopped to sit under some limited shade, afforded by tall trees, on this heated first day of July. Listening to enchanting chimes, I knew the echoes of music were unfamiliar. I'd meant to ask Mamaw what magical instrument she'd added to her back porch decor and where she'd bought such a mesmerizing mobile of enchanting wind chimes that sang to the wind like echoing angels. I later learned- while writing this post, actually- that my husband had been told the secret of chime origin, as well as what differentiated its melodic tune from all others similar to it. Mamaw had revealed to Josh that she went to a "special wind chime shop"- I concluded at the end of my spouse's non-specific male-minded re-telling of a shopping story, that I'd need to ask my grandmother again where she bought these if would ever hear this key-of-E symphony in my own backyard someday. I have a feeling that "special little wind chime shop" is too vague a name for one to ever find and purchase this specific limited edition property feature. If, in fact, Mamaw bought magical chimes at said special shop- I at least would need to know what city and state the little place lives that exports such delightfully pure happiness in the form of ear-gasmic rythms.

Peering through my sources of shade, I smiled to myself- and to a vibrant purple bench that always persuasively coaxes me to capture its beauty on film, regardless of how many times I've photographed it in the past. A new angle afforded me reasons to divulge in my subject's tempting pleas, so I took another picture of this vainly gorgeous garden seat and felt justified by my repetitious choice of photographic redundancy. 
I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.... People think pleasing God is all God care about.  But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back. 
 -Alice Walker, The Color Purple, 1982

I've previously stated that my Mamaw invented "shabby-chic" decor. Here's another example to prove that country quaintness is a style created and perfected by Roseltha Cox. Pinteresters, write that name down and remember it when you re-pin cliche 'shabby-chic' styles that have lost their dainty appeal by forgetting their original inventor's original and insightful applications of beauty.

Moss covered panels glistened in sunlight as birds chirped along with airs filled by enduring wind chime music. I was healed again, as I always am, by nature's splendor that always welcomes me here- at one of my favorite places in the world.

I went through a brief obsession with all things horses when I was a little girl. After collecting toy ponies and sketching horseshoes for about a year of my childhood, I am delighted that I've retained a bit of my child-like wonder to still marvel at horsey paraphernalia. This horseshoe couldn't escape my camera's grasp when I spotted it hanging decoratively on this fence.

Same shot, different day. Can you spot the differences in this one and my purple bench shot in my first Grandmother's House blog post? I'll give you a clue: A certain birdie rental has been relocated. :)

I can't help but feel happy when I see a pink flower. Overjoyed is used, rather than happy, when I see a bushel of pale pink and yellow what-nots that fill large pots and vases around this garden of glory.

This picture was obviously not taken by Mr. Stylus, for he misses the best opportunities for animal & insect photography. Using my mom's frequently kidnapped camera (again), I crouched down beside this flower and tried to keep from startling this weird little bug. I have no idea what it is, but it posed willingly as I snapped away!

Little creepy crawler stood motionless on bright branching petals, drinking yellow nectar that must have a side-effect of complete relaxation, for it's consumer didn't move an appendage while I crept closer to get a better shot of its sweet summertime sipping.

Impeccable camouflaged coating, don't you agree?

I don't normally like bugs. However, the surface dweller that sat upon this blindingly radiant flower moved about (eventually), with such grace and poise that I left this scene pondering why I'd always despised insects without first observing their microscopic motions of magnificence.

Industrialism and natural creationism (or evolutionism, or atheism, whatever, whatever) combine in a way that I am only able to fully appreciate when I am here. Beyond this man-made electrical tower, glimmering waters beckon below- creating a strange mixture in one's observing mind of both admiration and disdain. I was disgusted, for my lake view was obstructed by zig-zagging power lines that extended down my hilltop location- to mar an otherwise perfect view of land, sky, and water. I still found myself appreciative that my individual geographic standing location afforded, perfectly balancing untouched gifts of creation- both industrial and naturalistic. I am reminded by this picture that our world of modern technology can, in fact, dwell peacefully with treasures that were here before us all. 

 Great things are done when men and mountains meet.  This is not done by jostling in the street.  
-William Blake

Skies of Blue...

The house that sits in my "wonderful world"...

-Pablo Picasso

Adopt the pace of nature:  her secret is patience. 
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.  
-Lao Tzu

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. 
-William Shakespeare

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.

-Walt Whitman

-Natalie Kocsis 

One of my favorite pictures of one of my favorite things.

This speckled emerald bench sits invitingly upon mossy stones, in a place where nature cures all my worries, and where love warms my soul.

Worry is like a rocking chair- it gives you something to do but doesn’t get you anywhere. 


I miss Mayberry, sittin’ on the porch, drinkin ice cold cherry coke, where everything is black and white.
-Rascal Flatts

Is there any place better to sit during the summertime, than on a quaint little country porch- watching as a ceiling fan slowly twirls above you? I 'reckon' not...

Sipping iced tea and gazing out into the wilderness of East Tennessee are two of my favorite things to do at this little social spot. Many cups of piping hot coffee have been downed by family members, on brisker chilly mornings. However, on this day that occurred in early July, a heat wave still had not subsided in Lenoir City and iced beverages were selected over robust coffee, which would have been torture to drink.

I remember this wood box- It's been a staple of my grandparents' home for as long as I am able to recall. I know how to pronounce it's engraved letters now, though as a child I slowly sounded out this word as: kind lynn. I had no idea what it meant at that time, and remember asking my Mamaw why that word was written on this box. She'd explained to her bewildered grandchild that it meant "firewood". I must not have remembered her correction of my pronunciation- or perhaps, she did not criticize it at the time. Either way, I thought "kind lynn" meant firewood for quite some time thereafter. I now know this box' name is pronounced in the South as 'kinlin'. More articulate Southerners say kindlin with some verbal emphasis or even, acknowledgement of the letter g. Still, to this day, I read kind-lynn every time I see this chest and I don't think has ever contained any kindlin. No wonder this box has always confused me! :) I'll have to open it next time to confirm its contents to provide a more accurate inventory list- This gives me a perfectly excusable reason to make a trilogy of "To Grandmother's House We Go!" blog posts...for I do love to visit this wonderful world!

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