'Bind Us Together': Celebrating Five Years of Blogging and a Journey Home to Southern Illinois

Rappelling ropes bound to a tree at Giant City State Park

It might not seem like much to you, but a 5-year blogiversary is a huge milestone--not millstone--for me. The reason I threw that millstone in there? Some years back when we lived in Paducah, Kentucky, we (SAM, Daughter, and I) attended a church where the people loved to sing a particular hymn at the end of each service. I guess our family has a strange sense of humor because we used to joke about it every Sunday after church. 

"Bind us together with shoelace and leather! Bind us together, O Lard!" If you've ever lived in the South, you know what I mean. It may be a deep-fried life, hot as hell sometimes and crisp with promise and not much else, but at least you can depend on your friends and family through good as well as bad times. They lift you up instead of dragging you down like a millstone around your neck. 

Rappelling ropes bound to people below 

SAM on a trail in Giant City State Park, March 15, 2013

No, it's not really the "lard" that flavors life in the South. And, yes, I'm including life in Southern Illinois too. There is something mysterious and wonderful about that place.

 

I moved there the summer before my junior year in high school, a confusing and vulnerable time for any young person. Life could have taken a wrong turn for me, but somehow things worked out. Everywhere I looked and listened, people were talking about Jesus. "Jesus Saves!" signs were posted on telephone poles and trees alongside country roads we took to school and work each day. My dad would poke a little fun at them and remark "Oh yeah? Moses invests!" He didn't mean any disrespect. The move meant big changes for him too. Back then, at least to me, he seemed to take everything in stride. But he was probably just as confused and vulnerable as I was. I think we all are at one time or another. We might think we can handle it alone, but we can't. 

Ties that bind us together: they're not lard, and they aren't shoelace and leather. Joking aside, somehow, somewhere we find the ones that fit--if we're prayed for, lifted up, blessed by and with family and friends.

Thank you, blogging friends, for sharing the past five years with me. I've enjoyed your good company along the way.

Herb of Remembrance: Rosemary in the Garden and on the Brain

The skies have been leaden and
Some palm fronds are dead in
The tropical garden, you see.






No, spring time's not here yet
Vernal Equinox is its outset--
This fact--I have known it for years.

Still, the bulbs and some rhizomes
Pop some color into my home's
Drab winter garden and pots.

But the best thing in bloom now
Isn't showy or highbrow
It's the Herb of Remembrance; it's Rosemary.



This quite humble herb
Is used by cooks quite superb
In dishes with fishes and chicken

But the way I prefer mine
Is smelled like fine wine
With a waft of the scent to my brain

(It helps me work on my thinking
Instead of wine drinking
Too much in the afternoon warmth.)

Rosmarinus officinalis 'prostratus'
Is friendlier to visitors than the "Catus"
As it won't mind a pinch or a snip or a tug

So give it a try
If you chance to stop by--
Your brain and I
Will be ever so glad that you did!