This should be easy!
Shrimp Poboys. Mardi Gras. Spanish Moss. Food everywhere. Kat's friends--Gumbo Writer!
Where am I?
Showing posts with label tourists. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tourists. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Book Give-away: Day 4, where's Kat?
Major Rivers - Tombigbee River, (name removed!), Tennessee River, Chattahoochee RiverMajor Lakes -Guntersville Lake, Wilson Lake, Martin Lake, West Point Lake, Lewis Smith LakeHighest Point - Cheaha Mountain - 2407 feet, (734 m) above sea level
Bordering States - Florida, Georgia, Mississippi, Tennessee
Bordering Body of Water - Gulf of Mexico
agriculture (cotton, corn, peanuts, soybeans, poultry, and livestock), hydroelectric power, mining (coal, limestone, iron ore), steel-making
There's a country band with this state's name as the band name!
Where am I?
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Book Give-away day 3: where in the world is Kat ?
I have left Good Man Roger!
Oh, it's not what you think - I've only left him in the little log house, rocking on the porch to wait for me - so I could make a little journey. So my friends, if I can't always stop by to visit you, you will know why! I love a good road trip....
The name of its capital city is oftimes changed where three letters are replaced to call it HOT____...
Facts:
State Insect
Honey bee
State Reptile
Gopher tortoise
State Fish
Largemouth bass
State Shell
Knobbed whelk
Plant Symbols:
State Flower
Cherokee rose(Rosa laevigata)
State Wildflower
Azalea
State Tree
Live oak
Where am I?
Oh, it's not what you think - I've only left him in the little log house, rocking on the porch to wait for me - so I could make a little journey. So my friends, if I can't always stop by to visit you, you will know why! I love a good road trip....
The name of its capital city is oftimes changed where three letters are replaced to call it HOT____...
Facts:
State Insect
Honey bee
State Reptile
Gopher tortoise
State Fish
Largemouth bass
State Shell
Knobbed whelk
Plant Symbols:
State Flower
Cherokee rose(Rosa laevigata)
State Wildflower
Azalea
State Tree
Live oak
Where am I?
Friday, February 20, 2009
Day One of book give-away: Where is Kat Magendie
THE INSTRUCTIONS ARE POSTED ABOVE!
...somewhere close by in a neighbor state, Haywood county borders this state!
The three stars on the flag represent the three different land forms in This State. Mountains in the east, highlands in the middle and lowlands in the west. On the flag these regions are bound together in an unbroken circle. The field is crimson with a blue background for the stars. The final blue strip relieves the sameness of the crimson field and prevents the flag from showing too much crimson when it is limp.
Where am I ?
------
next installment of short story The Fishing Day (only one more left!):
A butterfly drifts between them and the father first thinks it is a leaf. For as beautiful and graceful as the creature is, it seems to fly haphazardly, as if the wind lifts the wings in one direction and the next, pushing the light body where it does not want to go. Yet the butterfly gets to its destination despite the breeze. It lands on the father’s head and the daughter laughs, pointing at it, her other hand held over her mouth. She looks the same. But nothing will be the same ever again. He cannot force time to his will. The butterfly leaves the man, glides to a clover, and is still.
“Daddy? Do you want to know now?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Have I told you that I love you more than life itself?”
“Lots of times.”
The father is not sure if she is telling the truth. He remembers her disappointed looks when he came home late from work again and again. Sometimes she had already been sleeping, her face cleared of his mistakes. The man remembers every error, the biggest of them he hides behind the smaller ones.
The father says, “I’m sorry I was so angry when you broke my baseball trophy. That stupid trophy I got in junior high school.” He runs his fingers through his hair and the ends stand up from the fish slime still sticky on his hand. “How could I have become so angry with you over such silly things?” He has difficult time breathing and it feels as if his feet are sinking in the soft soil. He imagines if he stands here long enough, he will simply disappear into the earth.
“You already told me you were sorry, remember?”
The father does not hear her. He stares into the light of the sun, blinking into his blindness.
“You’re a good doctor, Daddy, and good doctors are busy.”
The father becomes agitated, gesturing in the air, reaching towards her and pulling back. He says to himself, “All those hours.” And he does not know if it is the lost ones or the ones to come that he is most sorry about.
“People worry about things that don’t really matter. It’s silly.” She bends down and plucks three clover flowers, smells them, and then puts them in her pocket. “I did stupid stuff. Like when I told you to get out of my room when you were only trying to say hello. It was that day Kelly called me a name and we weren't best friends anymore. I was mad at Kelly, but I yelled at you.” The daughter turns her attention to the shadows lengthening across the pond.
The father follows her gaze, silent a moment before he says, “The day you needed me most I was helping that little boy.” He watches a bird fly into the willow and disappear. “Your mother paged me, and I ignored her.”
“But you came. I smelled your soap when you bent over me and put the stethoscope on my chest. It made me feel safe.”
“Oh god.” The man puts his head in his hands and sobs, wide thin shoulders shaking. He lifts his head. “I’ve wanted to tell you these things for so long.”.... continued to ending tomorrow...
...somewhere close by in a neighbor state, Haywood county borders this state!
The three stars on the flag represent the three different land forms in This State. Mountains in the east, highlands in the middle and lowlands in the west. On the flag these regions are bound together in an unbroken circle. The field is crimson with a blue background for the stars. The final blue strip relieves the sameness of the crimson field and prevents the flag from showing too much crimson when it is limp.
Where am I ?
------
next installment of short story The Fishing Day (only one more left!):
A butterfly drifts between them and the father first thinks it is a leaf. For as beautiful and graceful as the creature is, it seems to fly haphazardly, as if the wind lifts the wings in one direction and the next, pushing the light body where it does not want to go. Yet the butterfly gets to its destination despite the breeze. It lands on the father’s head and the daughter laughs, pointing at it, her other hand held over her mouth. She looks the same. But nothing will be the same ever again. He cannot force time to his will. The butterfly leaves the man, glides to a clover, and is still.
“Daddy? Do you want to know now?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Have I told you that I love you more than life itself?”
“Lots of times.”
The father is not sure if she is telling the truth. He remembers her disappointed looks when he came home late from work again and again. Sometimes she had already been sleeping, her face cleared of his mistakes. The man remembers every error, the biggest of them he hides behind the smaller ones.
The father says, “I’m sorry I was so angry when you broke my baseball trophy. That stupid trophy I got in junior high school.” He runs his fingers through his hair and the ends stand up from the fish slime still sticky on his hand. “How could I have become so angry with you over such silly things?” He has difficult time breathing and it feels as if his feet are sinking in the soft soil. He imagines if he stands here long enough, he will simply disappear into the earth.
“You already told me you were sorry, remember?”
The father does not hear her. He stares into the light of the sun, blinking into his blindness.
“You’re a good doctor, Daddy, and good doctors are busy.”
The father becomes agitated, gesturing in the air, reaching towards her and pulling back. He says to himself, “All those hours.” And he does not know if it is the lost ones or the ones to come that he is most sorry about.
“People worry about things that don’t really matter. It’s silly.” She bends down and plucks three clover flowers, smells them, and then puts them in her pocket. “I did stupid stuff. Like when I told you to get out of my room when you were only trying to say hello. It was that day Kelly called me a name and we weren't best friends anymore. I was mad at Kelly, but I yelled at you.” The daughter turns her attention to the shadows lengthening across the pond.
The father follows her gaze, silent a moment before he says, “The day you needed me most I was helping that little boy.” He watches a bird fly into the willow and disappear. “Your mother paged me, and I ignored her.”
“But you came. I smelled your soap when you bent over me and put the stethoscope on my chest. It made me feel safe.”
“Oh god.” The man puts his head in his hands and sobs, wide thin shoulders shaking. He lifts his head. “I’ve wanted to tell you these things for so long.”.... continued to ending tomorrow...
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Walking in a winter wander-land...
In our cove at Killian Knob, we walk, and we point to tracks. There, tire tracks where a tourist started up and then had to turn around...the tracks abruptly stop and I can imagine the terror of the tourist as they contemplate what to do, then deciding to just give up and turn around, park down and walk up; slip-slidy steps. Or, the sliding SUV tracks for the tourist who decides to try to make it up the steep part of the road-oops-tracks in the ditch.
There is the bunny tracks, then the tracks that follow it.
There is blood on the snow, just a little.
The bear tracks that morning.
We see a pair of feline tracks and those tracks go up almost every driveway in the cove--GMR calls it our "Security Cat" of the cove. We laugh.
Deer leave delicate musings.
A soft white feather is frozen; it looks like a strange snowflake, it's feather tips pointing to a blazing blue sky full of crystals.
Our tracks - big ones, smaller ones, doggie ones.
Fat lazy Labrador paw and snout tracks here, there, here there, here there, here there.
Some of the tracks disappear over the edge and towards the creek where the water is cold and icy. Some disappear and maybe forever.
We pause at human prints. Who? Who is walking in our cove? Go Home, we sometimes say, even though we know we shouldn't. If the tourist is loud and leaves lights blaring, we glare at their footprints. If the tourist is respectful of our mountain quiet and dark, we fondly say, "Oh, look, they took a walk." Sometimes there is a commotion in the snow - dogs or children or adults playing, rough-housing, having the time of their lives --maybe up from Florida - waking astounded by snow snow snow!
Sometimes, the tracks are unknown - we peer at them closely...what is that? That's feline, but large, or, that's canine and large and hungry and hunting.
Once, half a rabbit - luckily the upper half. We hurried on, sure we'd interrupted something's meal. We imagined eyes watching, waiting for us to move on...hurry...hurry.
A leaf frozen in a cup with a tiny frozen lake inside for tiny unseen skaters to fly upon.
One perfect snowflake with all its points showing upon Fat Lazy Labrador Jake's black coat.
A headless snowman the tourists' kids fashioned and then abandoned for Florida's sand sculptures.
A shiver of pleasure - the cold is not so bad. the cold clears the head. the cold is a part of the mountain winter. the cold brings snow and fireplace fires and hot chocolate and mittens on grown women and scarfs flying behind as multi-colored flags and furry boots and breath that can be seen and it is good.
Icicles pearl on branch.
Ice sculpture at the drainage pipe -making the ugly breathtaking.
Our tracks lead home to the little log house. We were THERE they say...and there! Our tracks announce our walk. Our tracks fall away and then lead back.
one tiny set of tracks hurries to safety.
Security Cat knows all.
There is the bunny tracks, then the tracks that follow it.
There is blood on the snow, just a little.
The bear tracks that morning.
We see a pair of feline tracks and those tracks go up almost every driveway in the cove--GMR calls it our "Security Cat" of the cove. We laugh.
Deer leave delicate musings.
A soft white feather is frozen; it looks like a strange snowflake, it's feather tips pointing to a blazing blue sky full of crystals.
Our tracks - big ones, smaller ones, doggie ones.
Fat lazy Labrador paw and snout tracks here, there, here there, here there, here there.
Some of the tracks disappear over the edge and towards the creek where the water is cold and icy. Some disappear and maybe forever.
We pause at human prints. Who? Who is walking in our cove? Go Home, we sometimes say, even though we know we shouldn't. If the tourist is loud and leaves lights blaring, we glare at their footprints. If the tourist is respectful of our mountain quiet and dark, we fondly say, "Oh, look, they took a walk." Sometimes there is a commotion in the snow - dogs or children or adults playing, rough-housing, having the time of their lives --maybe up from Florida - waking astounded by snow snow snow!
Sometimes, the tracks are unknown - we peer at them closely...what is that? That's feline, but large, or, that's canine and large and hungry and hunting.
Once, half a rabbit - luckily the upper half. We hurried on, sure we'd interrupted something's meal. We imagined eyes watching, waiting for us to move on...hurry...hurry.
A leaf frozen in a cup with a tiny frozen lake inside for tiny unseen skaters to fly upon.
One perfect snowflake with all its points showing upon Fat Lazy Labrador Jake's black coat.
A headless snowman the tourists' kids fashioned and then abandoned for Florida's sand sculptures.
A shiver of pleasure - the cold is not so bad. the cold clears the head. the cold is a part of the mountain winter. the cold brings snow and fireplace fires and hot chocolate and mittens on grown women and scarfs flying behind as multi-colored flags and furry boots and breath that can be seen and it is good.
Icicles pearl on branch.
Ice sculpture at the drainage pipe -making the ugly breathtaking.
Our tracks lead home to the little log house. We were THERE they say...and there! Our tracks announce our walk. Our tracks fall away and then lead back.
one tiny set of tracks hurries to safety.
Security Cat knows all.
(PS - one set of tracks I forgot - and until I was vacuuming and saw the little lost forgotten tuft of fur; well, she reminded me - my old girl's ghost tracks. How she loved her mountain walks...)
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