In a By Gone Era

This evening we made a return journey to the Columbia
County town of Lulu. Lulu is located approximately seven miles from Lake City on SR100. If you ever traveled through Lulu, on your way to Lake Butler, about a quarter of a mile past the Lulu General Store, on the North side of 100, you may have noticed the Mt.Zion Slaves Cemetery sign.
In all the years that I have traveled past this sign, I never stopped. I do remember in years past seeing this elderly gentleman working in the cemetery, raking and keeping the weeds in check. That man was the Rev. Joseph Anthony Sr. who now rests from his labors. It was said at Rev. Anthony's funeral in Oct of 2000, his casket was carried from his house approximately four miles south of Lulu on CR241, all through the streets of Lulu, so Joe could see his beloved Lulu one last time. It appears his wife Lenoria died in January of 2009 and is now buried next to him.
The old rake I am sure he used to keep the grounds now rests on his grave. With no one to maintain the cemetery with the care he did, it is difficult to now see any slaves graves, if any indeed, are located here.
The sign read: Mt Zion Slaves Cemetary. Established 1910. Erected:1996.
In memory of Joseph Anthony's relatives and friends who lived and picked cotton for their livlihood. In a by gone era. Columbia Co. Lulu, Fl.

Linorias Rest

Dark Angels

Keeper of the Cemetary

Slave Cemetary Lulu, Florida

Rattling Timbers

The usual sixteen mile bicycle ride into the Osceola National Forest. This evening, on McClosky Avenue, Formerly Still Road, I pass these three non English speaking souls. Their minivan is stuck in the woods. They do not know who to call. One of the ladies hands me her cell phone. I call the LCPolice Dept, they tell me this is out of their jurisdiction. They patch me through to CCSheriff dept. I tell them, two ladies and a male Mexican are stuck out of McClosky Road, can you send out a tow truck? The dispatcher does not know where this road is, which is about a mile from the Sheriff Department. After finally getting through to her where this location was, she said she would send a deputy out. Good thing this was no emergency.
I told the three non English speaking souls that help was on the way. As I made my way toward US90, this nearly four foot Timber Rattler slithered onto the side of the road. I stopped and got as close as I could, taking this photograph with the three non English speaking souls in the background.
The Timber Rattler had the cold, white beaded eyes that said, Don't tread on Me! This English speaking male needed no translator to understand the universal language of the Timber Rattler.

To Trinidad Forever

Yesterday I received a sad message from Karen Marian Watson, daughter of Steve and Kathleen Crawford. Karen wrote saying that on Sunday, August 8th, "mummy" died at the New Hanover Regional Medical Center, Wilmington, North Carolina. The previous Wednesday she had a stent put into her kidney and was on the verge on dialysis, which the stent would have stalled for awhile. Her death at age 77 was fully unexpected and a great loss.
I came to briefly know Steve "Steups" Crawford and Kathleen during the time last year Melanie was at Orlando Regional Medical Center battling H1N1. Kathleen was also in the hospital, recovering from having a stent placed in her heart.
Steve was staying in the Hubbard House along with his daughter Karen and her daughter from Chesire, England. I felt an immediate kinship with Steve, as in his British accent he would speak in such a loving manner of his Kitty. I would walk with him over to the hospital and try to be of any assistance I could to him.
Steve and Kitty spent many of their early years living in Trinidad, and this Tuesday, the family is taking Kitty's ashes to spread on the waters there. The following is a poem I wrote for Steve and Kitty while at Orlando. It was the same poem I reworked and used for the last testimony service Melanie and I did at Romona Park Church recently.

Come Away

Walking upon the grassy meadows of the highlands,
From the mists comes Kathleen and takes the hand.

The tempest loud, in land of the brave we dwell.
Armies and empires cannot this fiery love quell.

Come away my Kitty, come away my fair maiden,
From these walls of mourn so heavy laden.

The flowing locks of black, freely flying fast,
Give chase, come! We climb the Moorlands vast.

Come away my love, come away my little dear,
Without my Kitty, this warrior sees a weary drear.

Recall the days spent on Trinidads Pigeon Point,
Our cares so few, a growing love the only want.

O come away, mend this tender heart my prayer,
Let these Coulin locks on high flow for 'er!

Let this Salty fish clasp my Kathleen's soft felt hand,
Stand fast and bravely face our fade from this land.

Come away, Come away, our love will live this day,
On grassy meadow the memory to n'er fade away!

Leaf of Gold

It had been a long day. It was a three hour drive to Orlando in the morning, and a three hour return trip. It was a journey Melanie and I had wanted to take since last year. The journey to visit the nurses and doctors who helped save her life as she battled an acute case of H1N1. From Lake City this past October she journeyed to Orlando via an ambulance, to the only room available prepared for her by the mercies of God. She never remembered being in Orlando through Thanksgiving and thus she was excited to meet these wonderful people.
Returning home after six, it was my desire to do nothing more than rest. But, nearing 7PM, the sky promised a grand sunset, so I loaded up the kayak and drove the five miles to Watertown Lake. Arriving, the winds were strong, the clouds few and I almost returned home.
I put in at the ramp, paddled into the wind and through the chop, heading past the dock with four fishermen and on over towards the dead pines in the water. About that time, the winds ceased, the clouds returned and the sun came into view, low and below the clouds. It was a race at this point to position myself to catch the fleeting rays. Each rapid stroke bought me closer to my destination. Finally arriving, I sat and beheld the wonderful scene unfolding before me on the Watertown Lake.
As I photographed, I comtemplated the day and the blessings we have experienced through all the turmoil. The calm upon the waters, the single fragile leaf afloat, reminded me of our tenuous, fleeting time upon the waters of this life. I thought of the Lord calling to the waves, peace be still. It did not matter at this moment if the photographs were not up to my exacting standards. On this lake alone, the leaf and I drifted into the fading light, aglow with the peace that passes understanding.

Mrs Mary's Bread Pudding

Bread Pudding
2 tablespoons butter,softened
1 pound loaf sliced white bread, toasted
12 eggs
3 tablespoons vanilla extract
5 cups half and half cream
3 cups white sugar
1 pinch ground cinnamon
1 pinch ground nutmeg
1 pinch nostalgia





Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter each slice of bread on both sides. Tear buttered bread into little pieces, and put into a very large mixing bowl. Beat eggs with vanilla, and then pour over bread. Stir in half and half and sugar. Pour into a 9x13 baking dish. Sprinkle the
cinnamon and nutmeg over the top. Bake uncovered in the preheated oven for 55 to 60 minutes. Serve hot or cool.

When from a newborn to the second grade, we lived in Sopchoppy, Florida. While my mother taught fourth grade at Sopchoppy High School, Mrs Mary Rudd and her husband Emory kept me next door on their little farm. Each morning, I eagerly looked forward to seeing the rats Mr Emory had killed the previous evening, playing with the empty Prince Albert tins and matchboxes, swinging on his foot riding horsey. He made me a wooden high chair and in this I fondly remember eating Mrs Mary's bread pudding.
It was a sad day for this little boy when one day, I was unable to go over to Mrs Mary's. It was my first experience with death, as later that evening, we went over to see Mrs Mary in the front bedroom lying in state. In those days before the funeral industy got involved, a wake would be held in the home.
Ever since then, anytime someone makes bread pudding, I compare it to Mrs.Mary's. In all my years, I have yet to taste any like Mrs Mary's. Was it the homegrown yard chickens eggs? Was it the homemade butter? We shall never know. This past evening, my sister came across an old recipe and tried. I told her it came awfully close. That was one of the best compliments I could have given.
Each time I go to Sopchoppy, I make it a point to visit Mrs. Mary's grave across the river at the West Sopchoppy Cemetery.
Someday in glory, it would not suprise me to find out the manna the Lord fed his children upon was concocted by Mrs Mary. It is too bad we shall not need food in heaven, for once again, Lord, let me taste Mrs Mary's bread pudding.

Blue Day for Bluejay

Needing to get the weight of the Coopers Hawk up, a quick fix was needed. Thus, as the hawk would do in the wild, Landon went out with the pellet rifle and shot this bluejay. After gutting the bird, Landon offered the jay to him. He would not eat it. Landon left it on the top of his A frame. Finally, after several hours, the Cooper decided he was hungry enough to eat it, feathers and all.

Blue Jays Day

Today was a trying time again for Landon and his Coopers Hawk. Unlike the Red-tail hawk Landon had before this hawk, the Cooper has been quite challenging to tame. Tame in the sense of being skittish around people, of coming to his hand on command. Even though this hawk has been raised by Landon since it was only three weeks old, he still resists training.
This is the reason only seasoned falconers are allowed to keep a Cooper's Hawk, due to their difficulty. After only three weeks taking a grown red-tail from a snare trap, he was docile and eating on command from the glove, flying from over fifty yards to get the turkey necks.
This afternoon Landon went out with the pellet rifle and shot a bluejay. I objected, but he said this is what they eat in the wild. I would rather he ate starlings or grackles, but none are those are around.
I watched for the longest time, hoping to see him eat the bird, but all he would do is try to escape. When one of the jesses came loose, I knew it was time for me to leave and let him eat in solitude.
Sure enough, sneaking back several hours later, the Coopers Hawk had the Bluejay in his talons and he was finishing up. So not only is this hawk difficult to train, he is shy as well.

Piper at the gates of eve

Quickly now! Riding the bicycle, returning from the Osceola Forest, I was heading home, traveling on the perimeter road leading around the Airport, heading towards the college. Moments earlier I had stopped and photographed a gopher turtle in the middle of the road, then carried it into the bushes off the road. The camera was on the top tube of the bike in the Bento bag, a little bag triathletes use for carrying energy bars. I use it to carry the camera with its rapid access.
Looking to my right toward the airport, I was admiring the cloud formation, when all of a sudden, over my left shoulder, I heard an airplane coming in for a landing. I immediately saw the potential in the photograph, quickly stopped, got the camera out of the bag and turned it on. Wouldn't you know it, the little retractable iris that protects the lens would not open all the way. I had to nudge it open with my finger. All the while the Piper plane got further away. I had just enough time to get this one photograph before the plane disappeared onto the ground.
That I even got this was an accomplishment, considering all the steps I went through in about five seconds. Usually I carry the camera on my right wrist with the short strap, and should have this day. Today, when I rode past this same location, camera out and turned on, no plane came or no sun rays burst from the clouds. It was a fleeting moment captured. Perhaps it turned out better that the plane came out so small in the scene, pointing to the awesome wonder of the heavens above observed by the tiny men below.

Father,Son and a Cooper

Today I got a crash course in falconry from my son Landon. This morning, in order to help Landon pass an upcoming inspection for his falconry license, we had to build a roof over the Cooper's hawk perch.
The last inspector, who worked for the local game commission, passed our set up of a tarp with bungees in A frame fashion over the perch. This inspector, from Jacksonville, a Federal man, had a differing opinion.
So we set about the process of scrounging up wood and nails and materials. In the meanwhile, Landon had his young Cooper on his tether in the yard on his portable perch made from a five gallon bucket with cement and two by fours.
In the open, Landon said he was an easy target for Red-Tail hawks who like to attack them. We kept hearing one in the area, so we kept a close eye. Finishing the roof over, Landon went to get the Cooper, but in his flapping about, came out of both his jesses, the leather on his legs that holds him to the tether.
Not realizing he was free, he stayed on Landon's gloved arm. The hard part came trying to get the jesses back on his legs. Landon, holding the hawk, tried to give me instructions. Each time I got near the feet, the Cooper squawking, would try to bite,claw or wing me.
After getting a nice claw to the finger, I told Landon we need to cover his head up. I went and got a towel, placed it over his head and thus continued to place the jesses on with Landon instructing me.
The rest of the day, the Cooper brooded at the rough treatment and would not eat. It is vital to maintain a certain weight with these delicate creatures.
Finally this evening, Landon got the Cooper to come to his arm, where cut up beef awaited him.
Thus we wait for the Federal man to return and hopefully pass inspection on our handiwork.