Seeing Southern
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      • An Inspirational Childhood | Gena Knox
      • Top Southern Chefs Dish Tailgating
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      • Celebrating Gone with the Wind
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      • A Sweet Onion of a Time
      • The Old Sautee Store
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      • Dawsonville Moonshine Festival
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the necessity of feeling uncomfortable

7/31/2015

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A ship is always safe at the shore - but that is NOT what it is built for. ~ Albert Einstein
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Albert nailed it. So did Virge Lovell in my book North Georgia Moonshine. In the first chapter he says, "Little boats stay close to shore; big boats venture forth more." Staying close to the shore is a sure thing, but they weren't designed to stay tied to the dock. I can see the likes of pirate Jack Sparrow and Captain Ahab planning their next voyage, ordering a dinky ship because after all, it would simply be tied to the shore. What's the use?

Same with Jack (the horse with his neck stuck out). There's a treat in that hand, but to get it, you have to reach for it. You have to stick your neck out. You have to feel uncomfortable.

Someone recently said, "If you're not uncomfortable, you're not growing." I brushed it off first, but then last weekend, in a situation where I wore distress and agony as accessories, I realized (much later) what she meant. During the moment, all I felt was pain. Afterwards, I all I wanted was to reclaim the moment and offer a do-over to redeem myself. Being that uncomfortable made me realize I had a lot to learn, and I had better get to it.

Days later, I realized the situation wasn't as bad as my mind made it seem, but I had learned what subconsciously I hoped I would. I figured out my next steps, my strengths, my weaknesses, my goals and my where I want this adventure to head.

Staying tied to the shore just isn't an option; I'm a big boat with numerous unknown ports of call. I will stick my neck out (which comes with an colossal amount of angst) even to the point of feeling uncomfortable. There's a cookie waiting for me. I want it. I want it all.  I was made for so much more.



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For this reason

7/21/2015

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I looked up and saw the grin. Immediately, I caught my breath and I remembered - picnics under the tree, Grandma Franklin, the Elvis moment - all surfaced. I gasped. She gasped. And the rest was a reunion of best friends.

My memory has never been too favorable; there are jabs at the past, flashes of light that will illuminate certain moments. At this age, flashes of light are favorable. I need jabs. I need reminders. The grin was my jab.

It had been at least 35 years since I had seen Sharon Franklin. She lived in Woodstock; I lived in Clarkesville. The summer brought us together as she would spend three months with her Grandma Franklin on the hill in the little brick house underneath the towering oak tree. I can't for the life of me tell you how we met. All I know is that we were inseparable. We were besties before besties were cool.  We swooned over Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy, vowing I would marry Bobby and she, David ( I think Peter Frampton was in the mix somehow?), and we'd be happy forever. Instead, she married Ricky, a pure stud in Habersham speak. I was jealous. I started college with no Bobby in my future and certainly no Ricky along the way. Sharon settled down with Ricky, made babies and well, our lives drifted apart. Until last Saturday . . .

You never forget those who make you feel good about yourself, those that just make you so stinking happy. Sharon make me stinking happy. Our hot summers spent in the shadows of Grandma Franklin and the old oak tree prepared us for life, although we had no clue that that was happening. Those summers taught us to delight in the simple things, the beauty of best friends, the wonder of really old people, that laughter cools just like lemonade, that going places is overrated, and jumping sky-high on beds won't bring down the house. True friendship requires bed jumping and lemonade sipping and secret sharing.

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Last Saturday, Sharon smiled and I cried; I felt Grandma Franklin and mama doing their happy dances in heaven for the girls were back together. Time and geography may have separated us, but in a split second, we were back on the hill, underneath the oak tree, running silly.  We exchanged numbers, and I promised I would not let time separate us again.

My book has given me earnings that weren't penciled in my contract. I got to return home, to hear heart-felt stories of how much the community loved my mama and daddy, to be part of a family again and visit with relatives that I miss so much my body aches, and this - for this reason - I am most thankful; I made a new best friend with my old friend Sharon.
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He's right there inside my phone

7/17/2015

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"You just open my phone, and ther' he is, Jesus Christ." She paused to inhale more oxygen from her tank that was anchored to her walker and fed life juice directly through a clear tube into her nostrils. Talking constantly, especially at an elevated volume, takes its toll; it devours the oxygen in a split second. She continued, "He's right there inside my phone" holding the screen within a couple of inches from her eyes, and yes, confirming He is still there.  Her grandson sat to her right, folded into the waiting room chair, legs in braces tucked underneath him,  and listened intently looking down every now and then while shoving the hem of his dirty white t-shirt into his mouth.

"Take that shirt outta yo’ mouth," shouted a man a few feet away who sat beside two other women in the family. The young boy obeyed, removing the slobbered edge of cloth from his mouth; he then unfolded his legs and moved his face to within a few inches of the woman’s.

"Remember when I ate that Big Mac," he asked.

"I sho do," she responded.

I had read the same page of "Go Set a Watchman" at least ten times, and hearing this conversation and facsimiles of it for the last hour, I couldn't begin to tell you what my story was about. However, I could tell you theirs. So could every other person in the doctor's waiting room. It was the first time I can honestly say that I considered walking away from an appointment. I had already been waiting 90 minutes, and my patience for the doctor and for my surroundings were being shaved thin. The volume was becoming unbearable.

But instead, I stayed. It was that Southern guilt thing that was pounded in my head as a child. Stay true to your word (and your appointments) said the mama-woman who sat beside me as I screamed in Dr. Lumsten's small country medical office waiting to receive my antibiotics for whatever ailed me during that mountain winter.

A squirming 55-year old is never pretty, so in bidding my time, I turned to my cell phone. I looked at the screen, imagining the visage of Jesus Christ staring up at me; I quietly sighed adding a modest laugh. Then, I subconsciously remembered my versions of the last time I ate a Big Mac, when paw-paw took the kids for a sleep-over, when granny had to be taken by ambulance to the ER, being told to sit still, stop rubbing my nose on my sleeve, working puzzles to pass the time. It was a circus, and I was the man in the audience who sat in awe with his mouth wide open in disbelief.

There are reasons we are dropped into situations, and I soon would decipher my reason. Not to intentionally make me late to an appointment or to irritate me, but to remind me of who I am right now and the life I choose to live. I dare not judge, but I there are differences in people, their values, expectations, manners - yes, bath rituals - plus the way people choose to live their lives in private as well as in public. Different is uncomfortable; it doesn't mean different is bad, it's just peculiar, strange, and contrary. This kind of different transcended the physical and lay solely in the verbose noise that beat against these four walls. I'm the shy, quiet, be polite and courteous, take-whatever-comes-and-bear it, don't cause trouble, and eventually, what needs to happen will. Others make their presence known, screaming their circumstances from the roof-tops, demanding to be seen and heard, not backing down ever and to hell with the rest of the world who happens to be within earshot. I could have very well have been in that walker with Jesus Christ as my screensaver - that I could deal with, but I could have been a screamer. This became my flash-forward / eye-opener / flashback all in one – a return to a time when all the tanks of oxygen in the world couldn’t provide sufficient life support, and that, shook me to my core. Although this lady and her boisterous brood raised my eyebrows, they served the purpose of reminding me to be grateful for what I have, grateful for what I did not have and grateful for where I’m headed.

After 3 hours, I left the office shaking, tears popping up in the corners so my eyes; I questioned my craziness all the way home. As home came into view and I parked in my spot, I silenced the engine and sat. I looked to the right - there's Cody and Silas, barking and chasing each other, each wanting theirs to be the first head I touched; and, I am home, a sanctuary where I don't have to scream to be heard. Whoever I choose to be my screensaver need not be broadcast. I am home and safe.

I'm not sure why God uses certain situations to awaken us to His grace in our lives, but today, He used a medical office in downtown Athens and a most interesting family that I had never met or will ever meet again to deliver His message. A reminder that whether or not His face IS my screensaver or not, that He's always watching and providing a kick in the butt should I need it.

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people like me

7/11/2015

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There are moments when my naivete has served me well. I've never been one "of this world" as I remember mama warning me against. I was always the one in high school without a date on Friday night, and I never went to prom. (the horror!) I remember my first kiss like it was yesterday; I'm sure the young man does not. and by the way, I don't fault him for that. I was never part of the in-crowd who tailgated during college,
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Possum Hollow, Hiawassee, GA
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Mama and her sister, Elise
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Papa Hill and Ty
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Mama with Logan & Ty at her homeplace in Athens, Ga.
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Ty remembering Papa Hill
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Veta and Neil with family around the dinner table.
inhaled pot, slurped kegs, and, I was never invited to. My second home during all of my college years was the BSU (that's the 'old' Baptist Student Union - I suppose now the name has to be more in tune with the times for there's a new name plastered on the UGA building) and felt safe from the world's odd quirks. I went to church on Sunday and Wednesday, and I felt right at home in my skin. Frankly, I knew no other skin, no other way of life. 

My Southern roots run deep, and for the life of me, I can't imagine letting go of them. Even though I admittedly lived a sheltered existence growing up, I learned truths and values that have become cornerstones for the life I lead at this very moment. Don't get me wrong, I did battle with mama's outrageous rules regarding too much TV, drinking those nasty cola sodas and going to moving picture shows, but as the only kid in the house, I conceded. Mama won every battle; one might say, she won every war. The old ways, as I like to say, have served me well. Unfortunately, I feel like the odd man out these days, but I know I can't be the only one that clings to a simpler time. I recently conversed with a youngster at the Cigar Shop in Athens; as he smoked his vintage 1950s pipe, he told me of building his own home and living like his grandparents did. Then, there's the bee guy who praises the days of old, "living off the land" and oozes happy! Makes my heart sing when I hear that these young ones "get it."

I worry about people who are like me who were raised to be one way and now the world tells us we must be another. If our parents and grandparents were called America's Greatest Generation, why are we forgetting the lives they led, the ways they taught? Am I becoming cynical of this new world? Is this a product of the double-nickle age? Do I hide my values and traditions inside a secure bubble so they will not be broken and people will not disappoint? People tell me times are different. I agree to a certain degree, but I hold on to the fact that the human heart still yearns and beats in the same rhythm it did a 100 years ago. I don't want to forget dinner-on-the-grounds, Tupperware, sauerkraut in the jug on the back porch, saying prayers and knowing that because of those prayers lifted skyward, everything will be alright.
So, in an effort to not lose the past, the next project begins. Syncing photography and words, Seeing Southern will capture the stories and the people who helped shape most of us Baby Boomers. For that, we do not apologize nor do we shrink from the changing times. For people like me, we still have stories rumbling inside that have yet to surface. And for the current generation that right now seems to be moving too fast to listen, there's much to learn. Even if times change, people, for the most part, do not.

I like to think that there are people like me.
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    Whether it is exploring this amazing world or being content on my own piece of real estate near Athens, Georgia, I'm spinning stories and fashioning tales from a Southern perspective. As an editor and writer, I get to meet incredible people and share their stories. As a photographer, I get to cement these moments in time. As a wife and mother, I'm always excited to see what's around the next corner, For it's anything but ordinary.
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P.O. Box 277, Farmington, Georgia  30638 | SeeingSouthern@gmail.com | SeeingSouthernPhotography@gmail.com
  • Seeing Southern
  • Seeing Southern People
    • Easy Like Sunday Morning | Jimmy Carter
    • Easy Like Sunday Morning | Jimmy Carter | Part 2
    • The Last Backyard Juke Joint in America
    • The Causeway Storyteller
    • A Love Letter to a Moonshiner
    • Her Story | Dolly Parton
    • An Author | A Dream Comes True
    • His Story | Andrew McCarthy
    • His Major League Story | Clint Frazier
    • Ann Chapin | Holy Inspiration
    • Her Story | Juette Logan Hill
    • His Musical Story | Brent Cobb
    • Her Story | Julia Elizabeth Synder Nobles
    • Florida Georgia Line | Georgia Theatre
    • His Story | Private First Class Lloyd Carter
  • Two Coots Travel
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      • Happy New Year Road Trip
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      • People and Places of Key West
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      • Hot Blues on a Humid Georgia Day | Blind Willie McTell
      • Thomasville Rose Festival + Due South
      • It's Who We Are: Storytellers
      • Telling Stories in Young Harris
      • A Colonel and a Governor
      • It's All About the Blues
      • Time for 'Shine in Dawsonville
      • Climbing Higher at Aska >
        • Favorite Aska Recipes
      • It's All About the Animals | Georgia Wildlife Center
      • A Walk to Remember
      • Boys and Their Toys | Tank Town USA
      • Apple Pickin'' at Mercier Orchards
      • A Family Affair | Georgia Mountain Fair
      • All Aboard | Blue Ridge Scenic Railroad
      • Shrimp (and Grits)
      • The Blues of Blind Willie | 2014
      • A Fresh Look at the Prince
      • Taking Home the Golden Onion
      • The Farmhouse Inn | Hundred Acre Farm
      • Tally Ho! | Belle Mead Hunt Club
      • An Inspirational Childhood | Gena Knox
      • Top Southern Chefs Dish Tailgating
      • Pure Southern Sweetness | Sorghum
      • Celebrating Gone with the Wind
      • When in (Georgia's) ROME
      • A Slice of Buttermilk Pie | Yesterdays
      • Mud, Sweat and a Few Tears
      • Georgia's Sunflower Festival
      • St. Mary's | Georgia's Pathway
      • Get Fired Up In Macon
      • A Splash in the Historic Heartland
      • Cakes & Ale
      • A Sweet Onion of a Time
      • The Old Sautee Store
      • Cumberland Island
      • Fun Behind the Lens | GAC
      • Monroe Girls Corps
      • The Destruction of Tara
      • Dawsonville Moonshine Festival
      • Oktoberfest in Helen
      • Blairsville Sorghum Festival
      • The Battle of Chickamauga
      • One Ball | Two Weddings
      • The Battle of Tunnel Hill
      • The Battle of Resaca
      • Happy Plus 2 | Father Luke
      • Jason Aldean | Night Train | Sanford Stadium
      • The Makin' of Round Here
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      • Tasting Sylva: Come for the Beer
      • The Super Bowl . . . of Sorts
      • A Total Eclipse of the Sun
      • The Great Smoky Mountain Railroad
      • Getaway to Bryson City
      • Running For The Pot Of Gold
      • Mama to Son | Harris Leatherworks
      • The Earthy Balance of the Yadkin Valley
    • Seeing South Carolina >
      • Old 96 District
      • The Lowcountry of South Carolina
      • A Taste of Gullah
      • Left Hand, Right Hand | Zipline Hilton Head
      • Siesta at Sonesta
      • A State of Euphoia 2013 >
        • Taste of the South | Euphoria
        • Find Euphoria in Greenville
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      • Soggy Bottom Boys Reunited
      • Graceland
      • The Magic in the Holler | Gatlinburg
      • Working Class Art | Robert Alewine
      • What Would Wilma Maples Think?
      • Storytelling Festival
      • Smoky Mountain Fireflies
      • Robert Tino's Appalachian View
      • Love's Farewell Tour | International Storytelling Festival
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      • For the Love of the Train
      • A Night with the Salem Red Sox
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        • 10 Days | 2 Coots | 1 Paradise
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        • The Rising of Noelle-Ange
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        • Pack Lighter, Travel Better
        • Outside the Box | Medical Tourism
        • Only on Osa
        • Eating My Way Down Calle 33
      • Seeing Europe | Viking River Cruises 2019 >
        • Amsterdam Ramblings
        • Travel Like a Viking | Rhine River
        • Travel Like A Vking | The Alruna's Allure
      • Seeing Greece 2018 >
        • Two Coots Go Greek
        • The Poet Sandlemaker
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