15 Years, 15 Blessings

July is a special month for us. So many important dates and lots of friends and family members born in this 7th month of the year. It was July 2009 when we closed on a little slice of country heaven as a family getaway — and we’re still here, more than ever. To commemorate the 15th year, I’ve been thinking about all the memories, friends and experiences that have touched our lives here in sweet home Alabama. And while that’s a very long list, here are just 15 blessings we’ve received over the years…

1. Our daily view. Looking out our windows every day to the sight of horses. It still takes my breath away. We moved here because of one horse, Merlin, who deserved a peaceful place to retire, and that started our journey. Many horses have come along since, but none will ever replace him.

2. New Friends, Now Old Friends. We started out not knowing one soul in this neck of the woods. The first friend was our hay man, Buster, and the little network grew from there. Neighbors, farmers, teachers, policemen/women, government folks, retired military, horse people, cow people, chicken people, the list goes on and on. Life here is filled with wonderful people.

3. ‘Country.’ Our kids were raised in a big city. But out here they get to be a little bit country. Slower pace, deep breaths, deeper conversations, lots of ways to play, so many animals and so much more. “This is a healing place,” our friend Shelly once said. And we couldn’t agree more.

4. The Power of a Small Town. Living here, you get to see how great a small town can truly be. We still have parades twice a year. American flags fly high and strong. It’s not unusual to find fresh eggs or tomatoes in your mailbox. And if you need help, friends show up at your door…often with chainsaws. 😉 When the tornadoes hit hard in 2019, this town rallied to help everyone affected and rebuild, and today the town stands stronger than ever.

5. Shinrin-Yoku. (translation: forest bathing). Mike may sometimes curse all the trees around us (after all, he’s usually the one cleaning up fallen limbs, cutting up downed trees and fixing fences obliterated after winds and storms), but I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Oak, pine, pecan, magnolia, hickory, black maple, red cedar, chestnut, beech, birch and many others we can’t even name. Living among thousands of trees is most certainly a blessing, not a curse.

6. The Tallaseehatchee. My brothers and sisters and I grew up on Noses Creek in Marietta, Ga., and we spent our days playing in and all around it. Snakes, fish, salamanders, water spiders, crawdads…these were some of nature’s “toys.” When we first walked the Alabama property, I had grave doubts. Everything was sad, abandoned, neglected, overgrown. The house was a serious mess. My eyes welled up with tears. But Mike had a vision. And by the time we walked down to see the glorious Tallaseehatchee Creek bordering the land’s back side, it was over. We were home.

7. Dogs Run Wild. In Atlanta, our house sat on .22 (that’s point-two-two) acres with a little fenced-in back yard. Our dogs never really learned to run. They were walkers. And walking on leashes on sidewalks just isn’t the same as blasting out wide open across a pasture chasing turkeys and deer. Here our dogs live outside most days. They come in tired and sometimes wet. They eat well. And sleep hard…much like their humans. 🙂

photo by bart norman

8. Lessons from equine babies. Raising and training two young horses have taught us a lot. And humbled us. “Fast is slow and slow is fast,” a maxim a cowboy in Montana once shared with me. And whether it’s moving cows or working with horses, the meaning is the same. Education, patience, gentleness, firmness…these are the skills needed to train a young horse.

9. The foothills. Being nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians makes one wake up every day in wonder. Our own local storyteller Rick Bragg describes it this way: “My mother and father were born in the most beautiful place on earth, in the foothills of the Appalachians along the Alabama-Georgia line. It was a place where gray mists hid the tops of low, deep-green mountains….” – All Over but the Shoutin’

10. The hills are alive. Music has come to play such a meaningful role in our lives. Campfires with singing, the wonderful old Dugger Mountain Music Hall, Riley Green and more. Our friend Lisa from Chicago, now of Wisconsin, likes to say…”there’s something in the water down there.” She’s talking about music and the rich tradition of musicians hailing from this state. Hank Williams, Nat ‘King’ Cole, Tammy Wynette, Lionel Richie, Chuck Leavell, Jimmy Buffett, Jason Isbell, Jamey Johnson, Brittany Howard, Waxahatchee, Riley Green, and of course the original country super group, Alabama. If you ever find yourself near Fort Payne, be sure to visit the Alabama Music Hall of Fame.

11. Honkey Hawg. You’d have to see it to believe it. Hundreds of people gathering in the woods for 3 days of camping, music, food, fun & fellowship. Started 40 years ago as a celebration of life for someone dealing with cancer, it moved from its original site near Boaz, Ala., to a larger tract of woods near our farm. It’s one of the funnest weekends of the year. (“Honkey Hawg get down!”) Check out our bestest friend/neighbor Megan in her Honkey Hawg bluegrass debut with Foggy Hollow.

12. Chief Ladiga Trail. One of the largest rails-to-trails projects in the U.S., the Ladiga Trail is practically at our back door and provides a nature-rich expanse for bikers, runners, walkers and more. Adam Dasinger, a Talladega National Forest guide, said in a recent article, “…the splendor of the Appalachian Mountains in Alabama continues to draw people in no small part to the Chief Ladiga Rail Trail.”

13. Making hay. We’ve written about this many times but having a hay farm is a beautiful thing. Once a year, the lush green pastures are turned over to make hay that will sustain horse and cattle (and sometimes goats!) for another winter. And we love being part of this process, assisting the smart and dedicated farmers and friends who help us harvest. The task is sweat glorified and we love every minute of it.

14. Humility & gratitude. We moved in as strangers but so many people came to trust and enrich us with their friendship. And we continue to be amazed and grateful for all they’ve offered over the years. Smart, loyal, caring people, including our neighbor Patsy who’s lived and played on this land since she was a girl in the 1930s (that’s her front and center in the b&w photo at the creek). Whether they know it or not, they’ve all taught us many things and helped us adapt to life out here.

15. Partnership. And finally, none of this would have been possible without the one man who took a once little girl’s dream and made it come true. This blog is dedicated to Mike D’Avanzo, my husband and best friend. Thank you for finding this magical place.

photo by bart norman

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An Intentional Summer

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On the first day of summer the “Well Family” blog (New York Times) set forth The Intentional Summer Challenge — a weekly list of simple ideas to help us connect more to the season and to those we love.

The first tip? Walk or bike somewhere you’d normally drive to. Pick a short distance that might turn into a ritual (such as a bike ride to work or the library) or an even longer trek.

Our intentions this summer are also quite simple, including big and little pleasures like…

A family beach trip (check)

The Peachtree Road Race (it’s Mike’s 30th)

Gardening

Making homemade ice cream, and often (the new maker arrived last week)

Spontaneous weekend drives and road trips (our pal David calls this “going loafin'”)

Game of Thrones (Seasons 1-6)

Fun horse time with friends

Read, read, read

And squeezing every possible moment out of being with our kids, without driving them crazy 🙂

Our list really goes on much longer than this, and we hope yours does too. Here’s to a summer filled with loving and fun intentions!

“A sense of autonomy — of making active decisions about how we spend our time — is one of the elements that helps us enjoy our free time.”

 

To get the Well Family newsletter click here.

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A Mother’s Gift

Our mom wasn’t one to stand on much ceremony. But she sure surprised Mike and me five years ago when she gave us Papa Brooks’ old farm bell on Mother’s Day. Grandma Brooks used to clang this bell to call our older brothers, Billy and Doug, up from the pond where they were fishing. I remember that big bell vividly, seeing it every time we pulled up to their farm. My little sister Janna and I loved ringing it as loudly as we could, only to be scolded by Grandma or some other adult standing nearby. When our family sold the farm after Papa and Grandma passed away, Mom sent Doug over in secret to retrieve the bell. Little did the rest of us know she kept it out back at our family home in a storage shed for 20 years. And on Mother’s Day 2010 she gave it to us as a gift for our farm. Now every time I look at it I think of her — and often tug on the old rope just to feel the bell reverberate in my ears…and in my heart. Thinking of you this Mother’s Day, Mom. We sure miss you..
PapasBell

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(Updated from the original post on May 11, 2010)

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History.

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A beautiful surprise crossed my email today, a post about our grandfather’s family homestead — a place, quite honestly, I hadn’t thought of in years. Yet today there it was, with old black-and-white images staring me in the face…offering tiny glimpses into the log cabin where Forrest C. Brooks (“Papa”) was raised in a family of seven sons. Kolb Farm was restored in the 1960s to preserve the history of The Battle of Kolb’s Farm, which took place during the American Civil War. It is on the National Register of Historic Places as part of Kennesaw Mountain National Battlefield Park.

“Kolb-Brooks Farm”

Peter Valentine Kolb built this log house in 1836 as four rooms with an open dogtrot (huge by 1836 pioneer standards!), enclosing the dogtrot into a central hall sometime before the Civil War. William Franklin Brooks (1864-1952) and Emma Latimer Brooks (1865-1949) purchased it from the Kolb family and had seven boys (William, Jr., George, Clyde, Glen, Grover, Guy, and Forrest) that lived and grew up on this farm. 

Source: Old Marietta

 

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‘every step they take’

Saturday morning. Our house is quiet. Arielle is home for Easter, and Adrian is asleep in his room after last night’s tough loss to North Atlanta in a cold hard rain. Our little family is all here now…intact, safe, warm. “How many more mornings will we have like this?” I wonder. Tonight is prom night. Adrian’s graduation is a few weeks away. Arielle has decided to close the chapter on Washington, D.C. and move to New York City. Change is most definitely afoot. I get up, make coffee and read the papers all to myself on the sun porch — my favorite room in the house we’ve lived in for 23 years, the place where we chose to raise our two children. And as I read, there, in The Wall Street Journal is a profile on Francine Prose. Called “The Art of the Meal” it’s a Q&A with the author and her partner, artist Howie Michaels, in which they talk about the life they share today in an old farmhouse in upstate New York.

The writer knows well the place where we are now. In fact, her words on letting go reached deep into my heart 18 years ago when she penned an essay for Family Life magazine entitled, “Every Step They Take.” An eloquent account written by a young mother experiencing the pleasure…and the pain…of watching her sons grow. “Had I saved that article?” I asked myself, and ran upstairs to see if I did. Sure enough there it was, in Adrian’s baby book of all places — the book I started but never completed because, well, parenting got in the way. And now he’s a man who’ll be leaving for college in a matter of months. Mike and I have spent countless hours talking about this moment. The time when our last child flies the nest and we must find our way without them here. Suddenly I more fully understand why my husband has taken such fancy to a little brown wren who has built her nest in the back of his Rhino at the farm. There are five tiny eggs in there and Mike tiptoes through the garage lest he disturb her. For now he refuses to drive the 4×4 — not until every egg has hatched — and so he walks wherever he needs to go on the property, tools in hand.

Prose writes, “Children are born leaving us. Carefully programmed into the system are the tiny incremental steps by which they will make their way — crawling, walking, driving. This is a basic element of the life cycle, common to every species; watching a swallow who had nested on our porch cajoling and then hectoring her babies into taking their first shaky flights, I couldn’t help wondering if the mother bird had any…regrets.”

For our parent friends, and those who may one day embark on this wondrous journey, we’ll have this in common: Our children will grow up. We will draw deep breaths as they wobble around and begin to take those first steps — then keep on walking. They will fill us with infinite amounts of love. We will know nothing greater than giving them life. Treasure your time together, watch with pride as your baby birds fly away, and be happy in the knowledge that it was you who put them here and that your job was well done.

Every Step They Take-Francine Prose Family Life 1996Every Step They Take-Francine Prose Family Life 1996(2)

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