in the jv days of old, no one could catch forty, taking the pitch out from Fred Doerr, with the blocking of Bill,Jack and Monte Whitehurst and the fake up the line by fullback Johnny Henry, by the time they figured it all out, 40 was long,long gone for another long haul....
Gathering in search of Tarzan
General Gavin and his hearty men
Steeled to enter the black lagoon
It seemed a safari fraught with doom.
This morning at the lake with my usual bro friends we were discussing the mega million and how someone up North won. Roe then went into a long rant over if he won he’d help so many, etc. I said, “you’d give me a lifetime supply of cinnamon rolls” which he sometimes gives me from where he works. We laughed.
I seldom play but last evening I purchased three for the fun of it. I haven’t even looked to see if any numbers matched. They rarely have over the years.
Last night Melanie and I on our way home from lotto and Taco Bell had our discussion at what we’d do. Don’t we all? And so I thought, the riches will never come, but that should not keep me from my resolutions, even in a small way. Like, can I help that destitute person now? Can I sponsor one orphan? Can I look in on one shut in? Can I shoot with my non exotic prime lens even?
Don’t let lack of riches keep you from doing good.
The greatest inspiration often comes from just one saying freely, you are the best, the best, the best.
Jasper was one of my favorite races. Sponsored by Jasper Textiles, winners received warm up suits they made in their long outsourced factory. We’d be bussed out to Bright Pond road north of town, where the sheriff with the accent similar to Boss Hog of the Dukes of Hazard, said he would arrest anyone on the spot who didn’t obey his instructions. The race was one of the few in the area I ever had the chance to finish in the top five, for this event was largely unknown to the speedsters of the Florida Track Club who usually cleaned up with the awards. This race was mostly dominated by Danny Daniels and his family of runners from Jasper and some friends from the Valdosta Track Club, Steve Plymale and the Edgar Winter look alike Rusty Jones. We usually were more interested not in who would win, but who would duke it out for last, be it Sue Moody, Gwen Roebuck or Liz Plymale.
You are obscure for a reason. This photo has been in my Suwannee Valley album since 2013 with three likes.
Recently I decided to post it to the Old Florida group with 177k members. There, it is not obscure like 90% of my photos in my many albums. Recently a friend said she never saw the photo of the Runners Club members at the Beaches Run. It too has been in this same album since 2013.
Same goes with a photo I post to my page as opposed to one I post to the Suwannee Valley Happenings page with 23k members. Another friend said audaciously I can post photos of poop and get more likes than her because I’m famous. No, that is not true. Her photo of the bridges over Itchetucknee is trending 2k likes on Old Florida. It’s all in the numbers and where you post my friends.
In your gentle passing
The slow hand raised
In a wave
What was that you
Were about to say?
Ah day, I must move
On my way.
Rode out to Esther Moore's old homeplace. Esther never married and lived on the old home place most of her life, first keeping her parents, then her sister. She passed away in long ago April in her 90's. Even though the sign said "No Trespassing, Beware of Dog", I said, "Just a few quick shots". Sure enough, greeting me on the road as I left was Wayne, not too happy looking. I explained how I knew Esther and how we used to come out and plein air paint the old buildings. I apologized for trespassing and asked meekly if ever so often I could come out and take some photographs? Thankfully he said I could and I gave him my card. As my wife said recently, "Someday you are going to wind up in jail or shot." Don't tell her I almost did one day long ago.
by john clare
Who would ever dream
the day would come when
Kodachrome would no
longer be made
That Nikormats of metal
couldn't even be pawned
The slides would mold
and the images degrade?
They said they would
last for fifty years
And so they did
Softly focused and
slowly composed
Suwannee scenes splotched
The memory of the day
faded as if never
were we there
But I swear
We were
Who would ever
dream?
O'er the deep, deep primordial Spring
The kingdom of carrion are circling
Swirling, rising upon Lord Micca's call
Of creatures come to final crawls
O the deep, deep Wakulla Spring
To your pure, clear waters bring
Bring the spoils of earthly toils
Cast them down to ever upward roil
Come O Henry, accept our sacrifice
Golden silver of unmeasurable price
Grant us passage beyond this kingdom
To eternal welling above the carrion.
John Clare Stokes
I miss the days of
The penned romance
The excitement of
Waiting the mailman
To deliver the lavender
Perfumed letter in
The familiar long hand
The anticipation of
Opening to read
Slowly over and over
Putting imagination between
The lines
Dreaming of the time
When summer came
You’d see the words become flesh.
As the years pace on
There were those so strong
Who for the time
Kept astride the Rogers and Benoits
But mostly we’d find
We would wait long
for we the not so strong
to make it home
Cheering them as a victor
Wearing the laurel crown
Not a loser ever found.
