S: Photographs, Memories and More
FC: Photographs, Memories and More
1: Life brings simple pleasures to us every day. It is up to us to make them wonderful memories. CathyAllen
2: I was born Sammie Gaye Harvell on this farm that my Mom & Dad owned. It was homesteaded by her ancestors and passed down through the years. Mom and Dad bought her sisters part in it. This is where they had 8 children together. They raised 7 of us to maturity as the sister just older than I by 2 years had pneumonia as a baby and choke to death on phlegm when it started breaking up. I had 2 sisters and 1 brother older than I and 3 brothers younger. My older sister,Doris(age 60), passed away from cancer in 1992, 4 months later we lost Dad(age 84) to cancer also. My Mom lived to be 89 and a half we lost her in 2003. At present time my 4 brothers own the farm and are leasing it out to a neighbor to raise watermelons and pumpkins on. My next to youngest brother lives in the house Dad and Mom built in 1959 and makes his living doing freelance editorial cartoons. he says he's where he wants to spend the rest of his life. i love it down there also. It will always be the place I call Home. I spent many happy hours playing under the high built floor of the old house my granddad built and where I was born. A replica of it is on display in the Museum at Melbourne. The museum is housed in the same building as the Library. My brother that lives on the farm made the replica and donated it to the museum. I am very proud that they wanted to display this. Also many happy hours were spent in the creek and in the place people in the area called the Walker Hole,where I learned to swim. It was called that because it was just below my granddad's place.
5: Forever Child She's innocent forever Caught in that safe place Where knowledge eludes her And maturity is only a trickery of her face. She's my woman-child Trapped in a place forever-free She's a child in mind, but a full woman she'll never be. So, I guard this fae one of mine And try to protect her from harm. I treasure her open-hearted child view And try to live again in her charm. She keeps me young, too, This child of the Sidhe. She has me talking to flirting stars, Just my forever child and me.
6: Wolf Bayou A fictionalized story based upon a real trip taken on a hot summer's day. | By Dawn Roberson I was 15 the summer my dad showed us Wolf Bayou. Oh, we had seen further up along the bayou, where the highway crossed it, and where all the teenagers came to swim in the clear cold water as the humid heat of the Arkansas summers beat us. My dad wanted us to see where Wolf Bayou met the White River. I thought it was just another excuse to go fishing. I never cared that much about fishing back then. My dad had taken us on so many fishing trips that I had lost interest in the stillness of fishing. I wanted to explore the banks of whatever river or lake we had invaded. The smell of fish and river mud imprinted itself on my mind at an early age. I remember out-fishing my dad once when I had just turned 5 years old. On looking back, I smile at his mock indignation that I had caught a bigger fish than the greatest fisherman alive. It must have saddened him when I moved away from that desire to fish beside him to chase my dreams.
7: At that blossoming age, I wanted to find adventures along the way, not to sit by the water watching the stream pull at my fishing line and hoping to catch a bigger one than my dad. So, he let me go. He still had three younger children to pull into the boat with him, and my younger sister craved the attention. As the adventure began that day on Wolf Bayou, we all piled into the back of my dad's ugly old Dodge pickup, with its sage green sides a result of years of oxidation and neglect. Still, that old truck proved invaluable as the perfect vehicle for our jaunts into the woods every fall to hunt for possum grapes, elderberries and persimmons along the old logging roads, the air just crisp enough for us to need jackets during the day. We would pile into it on a fall morning, knowing that by nightfall we’d have sacks of the grapes, berries and fruit by the tailgate while we all huddled under a blanket wishing for warmer weather, and watching the stars fly by above us as we lay in the back of that old truck. Summer meant piling the back end with ice chests, lanterns and tents. That old green Dodge still proved itself on those bumpy dirt roads down to the river to places most people have forgotten about. That started this jaunt to Wolf Bayou, too. Loading up the old green Dodge, I felt the sweat trickle down my back before I could even get the ice chest lifted onto the tailgate. | I looked forward to sitting on the tire well and catching the wind as we went down the winding Arkansas highway. The scent of mimosa and honeysuckle along the route seemed heavenly to me, and I looked forward to it before we ever got that far, anticipating it every time. Like many of our camping, fishing or hunting trips, this family thing extended to my aunt, uncle and cousins. Looking forward to visiting with my cousin, Tanya, had always made the trips tolerable for me as I. She and I had bonded after I turned 13 and could understand her angst about boys a bit better. Still, I was the adventurer, while she was not. She lived vicariously through me, and laughed at my mishaps while longing to do the things I dared to do. I could talk her into exploring the depths of Blowing Cave with me in later years, but I could never coerce her into jumping from the bluffs with me into the cold water of the creek. She would be my partner on this trip to Wolf Bayou. I felt exhilarated at the prospects while she looked at me with dread, knowing I would take her places she would rather not go. She would be glad later. So, having loaded the old green Dodge with gear and kids, my dad set off with all of us ready for an adventure. My uncle Barney pulled the boat behind his truck till we got to the White River by Guion. My dad and uncle put the boat into the river where the ferry always landed back then. Of course the ferry is long gone now, and a bridge crosses the river now.
8: Crossing in the fog like that, the river current pushing against the sides of the ferry, I thought of Bilbo and Frodo on some of their adventures, caught up in my teenage musings of magical adventures filled with danger and excitement. Then, the scraping of the ferry along the sand and gravel combined with the jolt of the ferry stopping and woke me from my reverie. Three hours later, we bounced and scraped along the logging road to the point where we had to carry the camping gear the rest of the way to the bayou. I could feel the temperature of the air change as we neared the bayou, and I could smell the water at last, a crispness in the air like rain just before it falls. The cicadas drowned out the small quiet motor of the fishing boat as it moved carefully through the shallows to meet us at the mouth of the bayou. Watching for copperheads and rattlesnakes along the path, we stepped over poison ivy and briars to get to the path that deer had made down to the riverbank. I could hear Tanya muttering her discontent about spiders and mosquitoes as we slipped a little on the wet clay banks. She lifted her end of the ice chest a little too high and some of the cold ice water melting inside spilled down my arms when the lid loosened. I gasped with the shock of it, but reveled in the coolness while it lasted. We sat the ice chest on the bank, waiting for my mom and aunt to bring up the next one. My dad had the tent, and the rest of the gear with him, setting it down with a grunt as my uncle slid the boat up next to us. | My dad and uncle put the boat into the river where the ferry always landed back then. Of course the ferry is long gone now, and a bridge crosses the river now. Back then, however, if you wanted to cross the White River to get to Mountain View, you had to wait till 6 a.m. for the ferryman to get there. Dad and Uncle Barney had timed it so perfectly that they had already parked the truck and boat trailer, and my uncle and all the boys sat ready in the boat when the ferryman started across the river to meet us. The early heat made the air shimmer as I watched the morning mist on the river rise quickly, lending a magical quality the bluffs just up the river from us.
9: My sister chattered at my brothers, asking if they had caught any fish along the way. She had a jealous gleam in her eye when she saw the stringer already full of fish. She told my uncle that she had to go out on the next trip, adamant that she would out-fish them all, turning to give me a gloating smile. I shrugged my shoulders and helped Tanya lift the ice chest into the boat, while my mom and aunt did the same with the other ice chest. With the rest of our gear stored on the boat, we all headed up the shallow bayou, my uncle guiding the loaded boat through the shallows while we waded behind him. We reached a couple of spots where the drought of summer had made the bayou too shallow, so we lifted it over the sand bars and back on the other side. At last, we reached the camping spot my dad had decided on before we got there. The tents went up quickly, and it didn't take long for us all to grab quick sandwiches with handfuls of greasy potato chips and piles of pork and beans. We had worked up quite an appetite, and drank gallons of cherry Kool-Aid, it seemed. While all of our parents sat around the camp on sitting on stumps for chairs, we took off up the bayou. Tanya grumbled still about needing a nap, but followed me along the bayou. The sides of the bank had changed from red clay to white sand, and I found myself intrigued by the crystalline water that muddied quickly just a little further below us. I wanted to find the source of that clearness. The temperature of the water had changed, and as cold as the White River always felt, Wolf Bayou at this point felt even colder. | Our legs and feet turned red from the coldness, and Tanya stepped onto the bank too often for my liking as we moved our way upstream. The mud and gravel bottom had given way to nothing but sand, and the current flowed slow and easy. I could see brownies in the shadows of the deeper pools of the bayou. I had no interest in catching them, but I watched them dance underwater with awe. Tanya asked me how much further I wanted to go just as we rounded a bend in the bayou. I stopped with my mouth open, speechless at the view ahead of me. Wolf Bayou had become a magical place for me at that moment. On the right side the shore a small beach of white sand, the whitest sand I had ever seen, glistened like jewels. It sparkled like no other sand I had ever seen, diamonds of glitter reflecting in our eyes. The bayou curved gently to the right, gurgling on the rocks of the shallows above the beach. On the left side of Wolf Bayou towered a bluff about 50 feet high, overhung with giant oaks and sycamore. Creepers, moss and ferns had managed to grab onto the rock face all the way down. Without the shade of the giant trees, the bluff would have been baked every summer. Instead, a paradise of shade and green lay before us. On the upper side of the bluff, I saw the added source of the bayou's coldness, a spring of water bubbling from a spot just above where the bluff began, almost covered with ferns and moss, splashing down one side of the bluff.
10: At the base of the bluff, the water got deep for the first time since we began wading upstream. We waded from the sandy side of the bayou, swimming into the ice cold water towards the base of the bluff. Delighted, I found a small ledge under the water at the base of the bluff, and sat on it as I waited for Tanya to join me. The water was deep and blue, almost too blue to have imagined. I practiced diving, and slid below the water to explore the bottom of the bluff. I pushed my way down and felt my ears pop as I went deeper. I barely reached the bottom before I had to push up from the dark blueness, my lungs aching from my need. The sparkle of sunlight guiding me up, I grabbed Tanya's legs and pulled as I surfaced, laughing with delight as she squealed and slipped off of the ledge. We spent the rest of the day diving and then warming up on the crystalline sand. We built sand castles with the sand dribbled on like field stone the my mother had taught me, not piled and packed together like so many I had seen. My sand castles always looked magical with towers rising from the corners, no bulky towers, but tall and thin. I diverted a bit of the bayou to flow through my fortress moat. Tanya brought me a handful of sticks, indicating for me to make a bridge. I broke the twigs into equal lengths, completing my castle with small leaves on twigs planted at the top of all four towers. | Our moments of magic came to an abrupt halt as my brothers came bounding around the curve of the bayou, shouting and playing. They came crashing through the sand, oblivious to our castle, and destroyed it in a tumble of arms, legs and giggles. I stood up and sighed, my hands on my hips. I dusted the sand off of my blue jean cut offs and then off my hands, shaking my head. Tanya looked like a bullfrog about then, all puffed up. I thought she would surely yell at them for destroying our masterpiece when she suddenly burst out laughing. We looked at each other for just a second before we both began to run for the water at the same time, diving back into the depths again, and sliding beyond the reach of our brothers who could not swim as well. We spent the rest of that weekend savoring the magic of Wolf Bayou. Sometimes, when I walk along a new path, and smell the scent of honeysuckles or mimosa, I remember that morning in the back of the old green Dodge. When I smell the rain before it falls, I remember arriving at the bayou that morning. And when I see the sparkle on sand, I long for that one magical day on Wolf Bayou when I was still a girl dreaming of castles and magic and diving for invisible pearls. The End
11: Shadows and Reflections Waking up with thoughts of you... I search for what I yearn, but all I find is Pale shadows on the wall, all men are mere reflections of the man you are. In the light, you are obscured, a silhouette on the horizon. You are in the distance watching, but I cannot tell which way you turn. So, I look to where the light shines upon faces gone pale once more, those shadows of the silhouette. I look for the truth you know, and the wisdom you share. I find lies from them, and foolish thoughts hidden in the half-truths of almost the right one in a possible right place. I hope when there is nothing to hope for. I yearn for what cannot be. I love when I am not supposed to. I burn for what almost was. So, I am left empty of hope, and accepting what I cannot change. | I will love with all that I am, and continue in this pale land. So, I am left empty of hope, and accepting what I cannot change. I will love with all that I am, and continue in this pale land. You cannot change what you are. I cannot change what I've become. We cannot be what we might have wanted, For we are what we were supposed to be. Shifting sands, and a setting sun. Waves crashing on the rocks As I sit upon this shore. Forgotten dreams and a waning heart. Thoughts falling upon my soul As I drift out to sea. I see them lined upon the shore, waving as I leave once more. I tried to stay...to love...to be But I cannot remain forever caught in a place where I cannot see They were nothing more than shadows on the wall and reflections in the sea. The maelstrom takes me, and I am pulled down. I see you upon the rocks, but you cannot reach me by Dawn Roberson
12: Suzie and Sam | Wayne and Lisa
13: Nathan and Tess | Dawn and Bill
14: Inspiration comes from the most unlikely things at times. This morning, it came from my daughter, Alora. She just said, "Momma, momma! Come look at the sky! It's beautiful." In the dawn hours before the bus had picked her up for school, I stood out there with her and looked at the sky. | Suddenly, she exclaimed, "LOOK! A winking star! It's winking at you, Mom! It's flirting with you!" She continued to rattle about the star being magic and asking me if the star was a rocket. I told her, "No, it's not a rocket. It's like our sun, only very far away." Then, she looked back at the sky and said, "It likes you." Nothing more. Just a cut and dried, "It likes you." And as she got on the bus, I smiled and knew that this simple act of hers had changed the way my day would go. It's truly not the things in life which beat us down, but rather the attitude we bring to life and how we deal with those things which come at us. Alora has had more things to knock her down than most, yet she gets up every morning with this innocence that allows her to see magic in a winking star...to see sentience in everything around her, including that distant star. | With such inspiration before me, how could I do less than go out in the world today with a tiny piece of that joy clinging to me, looking for the same magic she sees in everything. I woke up feeling "blah," and in a single moment, Alora turned around the way I will look at this day. What would happen if each of us took a single moment to change someone else's life positively with just a tiny thought or gesture? By Dawn Roberson | Flirting Stars
15: Yesterday and Today By John Owen Harvell Yesterday has come and gone With all its good, with all its wrong. The things I should, but didn't do, The harm I did to God and you. Have left their print in heart and mind Tho I would leave them all behind Today I have a chance to mend the life that I have lived in sin. A chance to trust God's Holy Son Who died for me and everyone. My debt he paid on Calvary's Tree That He might live anew in me. Today I have a light to hold A light for some benighted soul. Lord may my light be bright and strong To guide the lost to thee and home. May I keep it all trimmed and bright For your coming, both day and night.
18: This is a conversation I had with Alora when she was about 10 years old. She's a LITTLE more mature, but she still sees the world through different eyes. My days with Alora have many beginnings, and I never know what she might say next. ALORA: You know a cat is like a person DAWN: How did you know that? ALORA: Because I am smart......He sleeps like a person.....Listen to him snore. DAWN:What else can you tell me about cats? ALORA: They're smart....that's pretty much it.....I'm hungry.Can I eat here in the morning? DAWN:We don't have any bagels. ALORA: Why don't we have any bagels? DAWN:You ate them all ALORA: No, I didn't....I only had one. We have one more bagel. DAWN:I don't think so. ALORA: I see London, I see France, I see someone's underpants. DAWN:Whose underpants do you see? ALORA: Mattie's...off of Zach and Cody. Now you know? DAWN:Anything else you want to tell me about cats? ALORA: No, but I'm about to lose my pillow......they're cool....cats are cool. DAWN: And so we returned back to the cat in our conversation, and she said to Timbre.....Let's go eat, kitty....let's go eat. and she walked out of the living room carrying the cat. I could hear the noises in the kitchen as she ran water to put in his bowl. He meowed a couple of times as she set the bowl in front of him, waiting for her to put the food in the other side of the bowl. The rest was a muffled conversation between Alora and Timbre as I heard the jingle of the bell on his collar. ALORA: You know the cat is acting strange. He has an unusual name and he's female hungry...... DAWN:What does THAT mean? ALORA:.....it means he's HUNGRY.
19: She snuggles Timbre to herself as she lines 15 dimes along the side of my desk. He tolerates her squishing him slightly with no complaint. He puts up with her carrying him around like an old Raggedy Ann doll, and never complains. But I hear it is my head.....He is so NOT into this. ALORA: Can I give the cat a bath? DAWN:Why? ALORA: Because he's dirty.....what makes him dirty.....being in his litter box....can I give him a bath, Mom? DAWN: no..... ALORA: why not.... DAWN: because they don't like water... ALORA: only from the sink..... DAWN: Huh?...... ALORA: they only like water from the sink...when their bowl goes dry.... DAWN: Ahhhhhh ALORA: Hip hip hooray for cats...Hip hip hooray Hip hip hooray....MEOOoooow!!!!!! When his tail twitches like that and his ears go back, he's not happy, Alora ALORA: Now, he is......when I am scratching his belly, I find his two titties.....what happens if someone pulls on them..... DAWN: It hurts him!!! Don't do that. ALORA: He's just a baby.... DAWN: No, not quite...... ALORA: He's two months old.... DAWN: No, 2 years..... ALORA: How did you like your food, cat? Holding him next to her again, she asks him, What's up? Give me a hug, cat!" ALORA: Mom, his middle name is Shawny.... DAWN: oh?.... ALORA: yes....he told me when we were sleeping....Timbre Shawny Nocturne.....and she turns to snuggle her face to his, repeating his name over and over to him.....MEOW! And I hear Timbre in my head......You wonder why I hide under the bed??
20: A family is pieced together with hope and faith. A family is quilted and bound with love and grace.
21: A poem written by GrandDad when he was apart from Grandmother Darling, while from you I'm far away, The minutes on leaden feet play. While I'm with you time seems to flee, When I'm away minutes are hours to me. Darling, you are the joy of my aching heart, ...And from your side may I never part. May our lives be as one for ever more. Till our Lord calls us to the heavenly shore. Although other homes by hatred are torn, May love for each other our hearts adorn. May your heart and my heart to each other be bound. Until on this earth we're no more to be found. While on this earth you and I may abide, May my time be spent close by your side. When troubles down here on this earth arise, May your sweet presence bring sunshine and skies. May I too help you your life troubles to meet Be understanding, patient, gentle, and sweet. May the cup of your love ever quinch my thirst, And from its sweet presence no more be curst. May the fountain of my love satisfy you, As we walk together our whole life though. ***by John Owen Harvell