The Gathering, my reunion of family and friends, was a big success.

Recently, I hosted a gathering of family and friends in south Georgia, Lake Blackshear Resort and Golf Club. Located on the water, with beautiful grounds and walking trails, the conference center has a good restaurant open from breakfast through dinner. The staff is friendly and helpful. Down by the marina the young people liked the casual bar and grill where a live band plays on weekends.

The weather couldn’t have been better. Warm sunny days and cool evenings. Almost sounds like the mountains where I live now. Perfect for fishing, for hiking, for playing golf, and for taking family pictures. The town nearest the resort is Cordele, Georgia, just off of Interstate 75. 

Those of us who planned to stay overnight were housed in a villa, where each had a  private room with refrigerator, and a private screened porch overlooking the lake. My room was fresh and clean with no chemical smells from “air freshener” or harsh cleaning products. I requested housekeeping do this for me, and I was happy to find Laverne had done everything just as I wanted and needed.

My brother Max, who has been very ill, was there and he even stood at the podium after our meal and told some of his famous stories about his brothers, Rex and Hal, and about his favorite topic, our brother, Ray.

Max, age 84, tells stories about his brothers and himself

Our afternoon entertainment included a trombone solo by thirteen year old Coy, my great nephew who is named for my father. The piece he played, we learned later, was a haunting melody written for the people of Japan after the tsunami.

Coy White playing a beautiful trombone solo 

Newest member of our family, Elliot with his proud father

Our Master of Ceremonies was Stu, my BIL, married to my sister Gay, and he was his witty self, doing a great job of keeping things moving. Gay, who is shy and never speaks before a group, stood up and talked about her life-long relationship, from her earliest memory, with our brother, Max. She had us laughing and smiling and even crying before she finished. I wish I had it recorded because I’ll not likely have the experience of hearing her do that again. 

Stu Moring relaxing after acting as MC for the reunion

My cousin Pam read her lovely poetry. One was about her sister who died at the age of 24, mother of two little children who are all grown up now. One of those children, her son Brad, was present. 

Good food and good fun

During the entire meal, which drew high praise from our guests, a slideshow of family pictures flashed on a large screen so everyone could see them. Even after the planned events were over, most of the family lingered and sat around commenting on the pictures as we ran the slideshow again. It seemed to me that no one was anxious to see the day end.

What the future holds

I looked at all those people who are related to me in some way, and I felt a huge lump in my throat. I wanted to hug each one of them and thank them for being a part of my life. My nephews and nieces, who will carry on the family gatherings in the future, will talk about my mother and father, my brothers and sisters, long after we are all gone. I hope they laugh as they did this day, and that they will feel blessed to have had some pretty neat ancestors. 

As each one left late in the afternoon, they hugged me and thanked me for organizing the reunion and bringing us all together. I thanked them for coming because it meant so much for me to see all of my family together for a happy event and to see them enjoy each other in a gorgeous setting in the land where I was born and grew up. South Georgia is unusually pretty in the spring, and Lake Blackshear Resort is one of the prettiest places to see it. 

Sleeping to the Sound of Rain

I sit here tonight with my window open just enough to hear the rain coming in quick showers, taking me back to my youth when windows were open most of the time.
Cool night air drifted in and lifted heavy summer heat, and in the southern winter season, temperatures seldom dropped extremely low.

With the unusually warm weather here in the mountains, and with me being such a hot natured person, I joy in the fresh air and the rain erasing the dry atmosphere inside our house which stays closed and heated by electricity.

Rain's peaceful sound soothes restlessness or calms anxiety in the night. Like nature's lullaby, its tones and rhythms hypnotize and send me off to dreamland.

Sounds bring back memories and I often use sounds in my classes to dredge up forgotten moments of the past.

When I hear the rain coming in waves, growing louder and louder, then fading softly away, I remember the sudden storms that often woke me in the night, summer storms with thunder rumbling in the distance, moving ever closer as I lay in my bed tuned in to the track the rain traveled.

Southwest Georgia can have the most turbulent weather in summer when electrical storms pop up suddenly, and lightning slashes the sky from top to bottom, tearing apart the fabric holding the heavens.

As a child I shivered with fear, covered my head with my pillow and waited for the sounds of the storm to pass. When I heard the thunder softly rumbling far, far away, I breathed a sigh of relief and finally slept.

Tonight I have no fear as rain plunks down on the tin roof of the carport, the asphalt driveway, wrapping the winter-bare trees in sheets of water.

We still need rain to end the drought that's dried up wells and left lakes receding from their bank.

Tomorrow will likely be another foggy, misty day where we can barely make out Brasstown Bald many miles across Lake Chatuge. I don't mind at all. Today was one of those days, and I stayed in my pajamas and worked on my poetry chapbook, hoping to submit it before next week is done. Sometimes " bad" weather is actually quite good for those of us who enjoy writing and reading and huddling inside all day. We get an enforced holiday from the world.

I think I'll turn in and go to sleep listening to that droning sound of delicious rain. Good night.

Thanksgiving, Family, Food, and Days Gone By

Part of the Council Clan at the Big House

With Thanksgiving coming up, my thoughts turn to the holidays of the past. It was a big, big day in our home where I lived with my parents and my younger sister, Gay. Big sister June and her husband Stan, and their little girls arrived the evening before Turkey day. When we heard their car drive up, it was celebration time. "They're here. June and Stan are here!"

Mother had been busy all week sprucing up the house and buying extra groceries. The twenty pound turkey had been thawing for three days.

Wednesday night my brothers, their wives and children came. The noise level rose and became a cacophony of sounds with the greetings, hugs, laughter and nine kids running in and out of the back door of the farm house. November weather in south Georgia is perfect for playing outside. The sticky summer humidity dissipates. Evenings turn crisp and cool.

On Thanksgiving day, Mother woke early to start cooking the turkey and the cornbread dressing for a noon day meal. We girls set the tables and filled glasses with ice for the sweet tea everyone drank except Daddy. His place was set with a huge cup of coffee.

We set two tables -- one for adults and one for the children. Mother made oyster dressing in her old yellow casserole dish, deep and large as a roaster, but she also made a smaller pan of dressing without oysters just for me. That was the kind of mother she was.

We piled our plates with turkey, giblet gravy and dressing, sweet potato souffle with nuts and marshmallows, jellied cranberry sauce, green beans, Lima beans, salads of all kinds and rolls or biscuits.

Three or four different desserts lined the buffet. Mother made sure we had chocolate -- chocolate pie or chocolate cake. Someone usually brought pecan pie or lemon pie. Mother also made a delicious banana pudding.

No one worried about his waistline that day. We sat around the dining table which had been stretched to its limits with two wide leaves, and we talked all afternoon. Occasionally one of us got up and helped ourselves to more dessert. We caught up on all the news from all the families.

Daddy withdrew along with some of the brothers to sit before the TV and pull for his favorite football team.

On Friday after Thanksgiving, we didn't head for the stores to shop. Mother and Stan pulled out all the spices, candied fruit and pecans and began the ritual of making the annual fruitcakes. No one else was allowed to help, and therefore, now that Mother and Stan are gone, no one knows the recipe. Once the cakes began cooking in Mother's large pressure cooker, the aroma of Christmas permeated our house. Mother's recipe required bourbon, and she and Stan poured some for the cake and a sip or two for themselves. She claimed the bourbon was the ingredient that kept the cakes moist. I think it kept the cooks happy, too.


When done, and cooled, the cakes were wrapped and stored in the cupboard. Once a week for the next month, Mother unwrapped the cakes and poured a little more bourbon over them; and wrapped them again. They would not be eaten until we gathered for Christmas dinner when Stan, June and the girls would be home again.

On Sunday, at the end of the long Thanksgiving weekend, June and her family drove away and the party was over. The only remnant left of Thanksgiving was the bare turkey carcass. Quiet settled on the house like a somber spirit. Mother, missing her oldest daughter already, sat down in her favorite chair, no doubt tired from constant cooking and dish washing.

I sensed Mother's sadness, and I felt a little sorrow also. Perhaps she knew what I didn't know at the time, but I've learned. Those family holidays together were more precious than I, so young at the time, could ever imagine. But she knew. And now I know.