25th Anniversary Myrtle Beach Vacation! (published 8-23-2011)

Ah! Beach! Twenty-five years ago, newly married Mr. and Mrs. Appalachian Irishman spent their honeymoon at Myrtle Beach. Many things, in that resort city and in life, have changed. They beauty of the ocean, the reassuring repetition of the waves and tides, and Mr. and Mrs. Appalachian Irishman's love for each other have not.

Despite all the changes, of the last ten years or so in particular, Mrs. Appalachian Irishman's unconditional love suns Mr. Appalachian Irishman's heart and reassures him in waves.

Enjoy the photos!

August Dacha Time (published 8-4-2011)

Ah, August dacha time in Russia! When Mrs. Appalachian Irishman and I lived in Russia, August was the month when it seemed that half of the population of Moscow fled the city to enjoy a month at their summer dachas. The time was spent relaxing, socializing, enjoying the countryside, and tending the potatoes, cabbage, beets, and other crops that would sustain the family during the winter. The electric train rides between Moscow and Klin were often standing room only, as travelers came and went with gardening supplies or harvested crops. The aroma of fresh soil, harvested crops, and, yes, human sweat filled the wagons. We had opportunities to “go to dacha” with friends or to vacation, going to St. Petersburg, Turkey, and Ireland.

Americans need to slow down, stop, and take “dacha time” more frequently. We rush from task to task, work too many hours, endure too much stress, and lose our life balance in the process. A year, five years, or a decade goes by, and, looking back, we wonder how we came to the point in life where we are now. We bury ourselves in the darkness of our lives, failing to realize that the light is all around us.

This Appalachian Irishman has wandered through a decade of darkness—searching for understanding, purpose, motivation, and meaning, having faced a faith and career challenge—since his godly mother suffered a yearlong illness and passed, so traumatically and so early in her life, immediately after he and his devoted wife returned from Russia. A recent series of events has enlightened the Appalachian Irishman, causing him to renew, refresh, and refocus his life. It is his “dacha time.”

My dear, precious, and lovely Mrs. Appalachian Irishman has patiently endured and stood by her man’s side, even when he did not want her to do so. Her unconditional love brought her husband back from the brink. Words cannot express the depth of love, respect, and appreciation that I have for her. Thank you, my dear, for your patient long-suffering. Our renewal enlightens my renewal. The clouds have parted, and the future is filled with sunshine.

The Appalachian Irishman will take his “dacha time” now. He will find his center and pursue it in a meaningful focus and direction. God’s grace is there, as it has always been. He has just been waiting on me to find it again. Hum, where do we go from here? I drop the reins and look forward to God's guidance.

Tribute to Papaw Wood (published 3-14-2011)

Papaw Wood, my maternal grandfather, passed away on this day, March 14, in 1983. I'll never forget leaving the Morristown-Hamblen Hospital early Sunday morning, after staying the night shift with him, and thinking that Papaw was going to get better. At the time, I was attending East Tennessee State University (ETSU) in Johnson City and renting a small apartment. I came home on weekends and pulled shifts sitting with Papaw Wood at the hospital. The next morning, when I was at my apartment before my first class started, Mom called to say that her father had passed on.

Papaw was a farmer in his earlier years in Indiana, where my mother was born. Later, he worked for Prater's Furniture as a furniture mover in Morristown, Tennessee. In his retirement, Papaw worked part-time at a gas station in Bean Station, Tennessee.

Granny and Papaw Wood had one of those all too rare marriages. Papaw courted Granny all his life. They always had the spark! Even in their later years together, Papaw would sneak up behind Granny, reach behind her ear, and say, “I stole some sugar!” Granny would pretend to be annoyed, but then she would smile and say, “Oh, Aby!”

Papaw was married once before he met Granny. The first marriage didn’t work out. Some time after the divorce, as he enjoyed telling it, Papaw saw Granny walking down Main Street in Morristown and said, “There's the girl I'm going to marry!”

As a child, I spent a week during the summer with Granny and Papaw. I saw how they genuinely loved each other. Papaw taught me how to whittle, carve wood, tie rope, work in the garden, and so forth. He loved to tickle me until I couldn't breathe! Papaw's mother's maiden name was Bair, which he pronounced as “bear.” Papaw would give me “a big ol' bear (or Bair) hug,” as he called it. Papaw loved to pull pranks on Granny and other folks. I got a lot of my sense of humor from him.

For birthdays and holidays, we would either go to Granny and Papaw's in Bean Station, or they would come to Rogersville. Well, they always came to Rogersville for Christmas Eve and would spend the night. I used to love to listen to Papaw tell his stories about when he was younger. I wish I could remember all of them. I developed an appreciation for good conversation from him.

At the viewing before the receiving of friends, Granny looked at Papaw’s body, lying in the coffin, and said, “He loved me so good.”

Papaw, thank you for being so good to me! You were the best Papaw I could have ever had!

A Tribute to Bart: 80th House Mountain Hike (published 3-13-2011)

My Cousin Bart, at age 63, died last night, unexpectedly, too early in life, after a sudden illness. My youngest brother called, to tell me, this morning.

Bart was the only son of my Uncle Roy and Aunt Maxie. Uncle Roy was one of Dad’s brothers. Uncle Roy and Aunt Maxie passed away years ago. Bart lived with Dad's oldest brother, my Uncle Bill and his wife, Aunt Bobbie, until they both passed. Retha, a cousin, took care of Bart, for several years. For about the last three years, Cousin Bart lived in a nursing home in Morristown, Tennessee.

Bart was physically and mentally disabled, due to early childhood spinal meningitis. His right leg and arm were drawn, but he could walk fairly well, with a shuffle. He didn’t seem to mind his limitations. Bart didn’t really think that he had limitations, for he loved life, family, and friends. He was sharp-minded, in his own way. Bart knew every state capital, and he loved to quiz you on it. If I didn’t get one right, Bart would smack his hands, laugh, and correct me. He could remember things, from the past, that many folks might forget.

Bart loved to cut up and joke. He was the life of many a family gathering. He loved to watch the old TV shows, Andy Griffith, Bonanza, and the like. He enjoyed calling people Barney, Goober, Floyd, Hoss, and such. I’d say to him, for instance, “Bart, you ol’ Gomer-lookin’ thing, you!” He would just shake his good fist, call me “you ol' Barney” or something, and laugh. We had a lot of fun with Bart. He was a rich soul.

After Mom died, Dad kept Bart at times, often for a few days, when my cousin, who plays in an Irish band, had to travel or do something else. Dad often took Bart down to the Burger Bar, a local restaurant, where the “old folks,” and sometimes the young ones too, hang out. Bart always livened up the place. Bart was good therapy for Dad, and Dad was good therapy for Bart. I drove up most every Sunday, to see Dad. My wife went with me often. I was, or we were, glad to see Bart, when he was there. The only problem was that Bart liked to sneak cookies! “Bart, did you get those cookies?” He would walk down the hall, look around, and just grin.

I took my 80th hike, up House Mountain, this afternoon, in honor and memory of my “ol’ cuz” Bart. He is in a far better place, and I could imagine him looking down, from much higher above, and seeing the view that I saw from the ridge.

While Mom went through her year-long illness, which led to her passing, over ten years ago now, she dreamed that she saw Cousin Bart in heaven, not disabled, whole in body and mind. Well, Bart, you ol’ cuz, you, I would like to see you, where you are now! Tell Mom and Dad hello for me, and tell them that I’ll be seeing them again one day!

Bart, these photos are for you, you ol' cuz! I will miss you!

Norris Dam State Park Hike on 2/26/2011 (published 2-27-2011)

Yesterday, this Appalachian Irishman enjoyed another solo hike at Norris Dam State Park. The weather was sunny and crisp, unlike today’s rain. Today, I am bored, a “women’s basketball widower,” and unable to get into the woods. Yes, my wife and her father are attending the afternoon Tennessee Lady Vols' basketball game.

The first two photographs below show the solitary trail that I selected. I didn’t meet a soul. My reliable 1995 Nissan pickup, with almost 160 thousand miles on the odometer, was the only vehicle in sight. As a side note, I met a most interesting Bulgarian gentleman on a House Mountain hike in early January. He and I are now hiking together occasionally. Of course, I enjoy hiking alone at times to clear my mind, but I am always eager to meet interesting people to join my little Appalachian Irishman hiking club!

The next eight images show the beauty of the upper reservoir. The water was clean and blue, and the sky was a clear blue. In one photograph, you can see the dam to the south.

The next two photographs are of the dam itself. Norris Dam State Park and the nearby Norris Watershed offer an abundance of trails for backwoods camping, hiking, horseback riding, and biking. A couple of campgrounds and cabins are available. Of course, fishing and boating opportunities abound. Yes, I know. I sound like a commercial!

Ah, now, let’s get to the last photograph below and the point that the trail emphasized in my mind, a point that I already knew. The Marine Railway Loop Trail started out well, with the great views of the lake in the previous images. After trekking for a while, however, the trail became boring. So, in typical free-spirited adventurer style, this Appalachian Irishman set out to make his own trail! Exploring around, I crossed over two trails and decided to follow one. That trail led me to within about 100 yards north of where my truck was parked.

Life lesson: When you are bored or frustrated with one path, get off that trail and blaze a new one! You will come out about where you thought you would! Nature is a good teacher, or reminder, if you listen.

New Year's Eve Shooting! (published 1-1-2011)

The Appalachian Irishman was involved in a shooting on New Year’s Eve, up in his native Hawkins County! Wait! Don’t start gathering that bail money!

His youngest brother and he finally got together to release a little stress by killing a few hanging targets. Below are the “taking down the bad guy” poses of my brother and me.

We started by firing a few rounds with Dad’s old 32-caliber pistol. We need to do a little work on the weapon to restore it to proper condition, but it still shoots! Next, we shot my brother’s 9 mm handgun. The photograph below shows my hits from about 15 yards away. The black tape marks where I fired Dad’s pistol. The holes show the 9 mm impacts. Not too bad for my first time firing a 9 mm, huh?

The fun started when we switched to the 12-gauge shotgun! I hadn’t fired a shotgun in many years, but it came back to me instantly. The results are below!

I needed some stress and frustration relief! Thanks, brother! We’ll do this again soon!

Ten Years Ago Today (published 12-27-2010)

Ten years ago today, at 5:15 PM, Mom went to be with Jesus. She was the best mother that I could have ever had. Taken at only 68 years old, Mom could still be alive today, touching the lives of family and friends in her unique way. Mom’s absence has been felt strongly these past ten years.

Mom, I miss you, but I know that you are in a far better place. Tell everyone—Granny, Papaw, Uncle Bobby, Dad, and so many others—that I will see them someday. Life goes on here until we are all reunited there.

I love you, Mom, bunches and bunches!

See Happy Birthday, Mom (published 11-24-2009).

House Mountain 75th Hike on 12-26-2010 (published 12-26-2010)

I have hiked House Mountain 75 times! This Appalachian Irishman is three-fourths of the way toward requesting that House Mountain be renamed after him!

The date is Sunday, December 26, 2010. I love it when a good snow falls on a weekend! Temperature: Mid-to-upper 20s Fahrenheit. Attire: Long-sleeve T-shirt, sweatshirt, long-sleeve shirt, flannel insulated shirt, old patched-up blue jeans, rugged hiking boots, quart canteen, trusty camera, and old ball cap. No! I didn’t wear gloves! It wasn’t cold enough!

I took the first three photographs below along the west trail, near the west bluff. I have passed by the tree stump, which had grown out of the rock formation, many times. That tree, once alive and now dead, teaches me defiance and survival against the odds!

The next three shots are from the west bluff. A strong, cold wind was blowing snow in from the north. I put my top layer back on and stayed a while. The camera doesn’t capture the view that my eyes will always remember! Yes, that’s Leak Rock! Yes, I did! Of course, as I headed east along the ridge, I had to write (with my finger) “Appalachian Irishman” in the snow on a large, smooth rock! Advertising is everything!

The first of these next two images is a communications building that is located about halfway along the ridge. Could someone give me a job running the equipment? The second image is what is left of an old two-seater outhouse, which has been hit with buckshot several times over the years. It leans near the base of where the old fire tower used to stand. Remember, the purpose of a two-seater outhouse is so two people can encourage each other!

These next three photographs were taken along the ridge toward the east bluff and at the east bluff. The snow draped the mountain and the trees in a brilliant white. The cold north wind blew snow from the laden trees onto the ground and down my back. The old oak tree has stood proudly for many years.

The final four images are from the two north bluffs. One, where the flag stands, is just east and higher than the other. I have not taken a shot before of the small cave opening near the lower northern bluff. It looks like a good place to take shelter!

Hum! This Appalachian Irishman wishes he could hike, camp, photograph, and write for a living! Thank you, House Mountain. I needed some exercise and some time to think alone. I’ll see you again, but for tomorrow, it’s back to the old grindstone.