Friday, April 8, 2011

Going Home Soon

Journal Entry; Amelia Court House, Virginia; April 2, 1865

   Eye bleary, battle weary; siege surrounds our last nights, our final flight to Danville.
   Cricket rhythm far and faintly fills the ravine to the east; Cheshire moon to the west; dying campfire crickcrackles at my side.
   April, my favorite month before the storm of war; the spring rains of restoration. Tonight, the scent of approaching rain reaches me, quenches me; satiates me, yet the belly rumbles, grumbles, drawing a ration of only three cracker crumbles since last week.
   No food, no fuel, so burn the train at Danville. If I cannot ride home, I will walk the sixty miles due north from this little courthouse. Going home soon, it seems, to the Virginia hills or the vault of heaven.


Saturday, April 2, 2011

Simply A List

Tonight, I am starting to finalize the 150 Journal Project in order to complete the collage portion of this exhibit. I have reviewed the journal entries, thus far, to find the references to nature that should be pictured in my collages. I had no idea how extensive it was, so I am listing it here to help me keep a record of what still must be completed in this project.

The list:
squirrels scurry
a flutter of sparrows
the soft whisper of wind
the warm white sun
the hornets’ nest
downy woodpecker
red-tailed hawk
common crow
a call of vireos
field mice
white pine
the weary redbud
mourning dove
black walnut
scent of sassafras
red-winged blackbird
a fine stable of Morgan horses
the furrowed field
codling moth
the scent of a mulberry tree
spring freshet
early morning mockingbirds
winter snow
the tree line
white-tailed deer
a covey of quail
the rising seedtime sun
the dark before next dawn
Quarter horse
wild-eyed horses
growing grain
breeze through the bare branches
chatter of the winter wren
the mourning dove’s crying call
shoreline ice
snow on the hills
the farm fields
the morning fog  
a naïve sapling
the smell of morning campfires
aurora borealis
the purl and trickle of the creek
the trill of the unseen junco
the river turns like a slithering snake
the slightest zephyr
the big dipper
the North Star
dark, iron thunderclouds
the pear tree leaf in autumn
pine sapling
chittering of chipmunks
the basso profundo of bullfrogs
an even thunderstorm
the scent of wild blossoms and rain
seeds from my pocket
Johnny Appleseed
the smell of honeysuckle in the breeze
Colony collapse has finally hit the hive
an assembling gaggle of geese
the winter sky
the sun rising sky
the spring rain
a fallen leaf from the autumn tree
the budding oak beside the well

I wish I had another year to work on this sesquicentennial project; it has taken a year to see its circle and get back to the beginning.

I am finishing up the CSA project: and now will immerse myself in the sesquicentennial project for the next 148 days.

There are still a couple journal entries to post before this story, or perhaps, this segment, ends. You have my deepest thanks for your encouragement along this journey. I appreciate your comments, and please, if you find some historical detail that doesn’t ring true, let me know; I am not a historical expert by any stretch of the imagination; I am simply a pilgrim, as you are, on a journey that seemingly never ends.