Bill Moyer, 73, wears a "Bullsh*t Protector" flap over his ear while listening to a presidential address to the Veterans of Foreign Wars.
I Wish I May..... I Wish I Might...
Kulijah was a Friend of Mine by Clyde Grauke
The Standing People, as the Native Americans referred to trees, are a special group among my circle of friends. It may have started when I met the old Cottonwood tree my mother knew down the road from where she grew up. And there have been other specific individuals I would go visit over the years, both with and without names. Then when my family and I moved into our first and last house, I was glad to discover a relative of my mother's Cottonwood tree only a few blocks from our house.
Kulijah was old and gnarled when I first met him 30 years ago. The cracks in his bark were a good three inches deep and I would not have been able to reach my arms around more than a third of the way around his girth if I had tried…so he had seen many winters. When I would walk my dog past Kulijah we would always stop so I could say hello and pat his bark. And I would wait until the cars passed by on the road so I could hear the pleasant rustling of his leaves whispering in my ears.
As I watched his aging through the seasons in symphony with my own, I was always glad to see his fresh new leaves in the Spring…to see that we were still there together for another year. But lately I had grown concerned when some of his limbs failed to produce new leaves and someone would cut those limbs off. And there were other leaf-less limbs whose gaunt arms reached to no avail. I figured it was probably borers that had weakened him. But still--his inner core was alive and well, as was my own with my similar losses.
But today I discovered that a greater threat has finally gotten my friend. The darkly hooded Improvements and Progress has come with its scythe and slammed him down, has ignominiously thrown him on his face, and has left his roots now reaching obscenely for the sky. Passing by in the midst of yellow Caterpillers, mud, scattered storm drain conduits, and the slow/stop sign-wielders I have had to make do with no ceremony.
So…Kulijah my friend, I will miss you and whenever I see Cottonwood trees standing in their magnificence and when I hear the Cottonwood song, I will think of you. And I can only hope that, when I am gone, the breeze moving through the leaves of the silent places will whisper my name and that the shadow of a lone man walking will be seen to pass among the dappled sunlight in the hidden groves.
Would you like to know more?
Lamar Wilson, The Mobile, AL Peanut Man Dies at 86
Lamar Wilson, known to countless Mobilians as "the Peanut Man" for hawking his small paper bags of peanuts under the oaks at the intersection of Old Government and Houston, died Friday in May of 2005. Wilson's death at 86 came several months after he sold his last bag of peanuts. He peddled peanuts at the Loop for years, becoming "an icon in Mobile," according to Deborah Gibson Deguire, who sold him peanuts at A&M Peanut Shop in downtown. He didn't have much, just a picnic basket filled with sacks of peanuts.
"He'd come about every two weeks and get about 26 pounds from us and he go and sell them at the corner. Sometimes in his younger days, he'd walk down here all the way from the loop usually pulling a red wagon, but in his later days as he didn't quite feel like walking he'd have someone come and pick them up for him," said A&M Peanut Shop Owner Deborah DeGuire.
Sheila Hagler, a photographer who captured Lamar in a memorable photo said, "He was a sweet little man that was trying to find his place in the world and that's all he wanted."
Creation/Copyright by Jackson Hill
Out for a Summer Ride
September 11th Americana by Jennifer Welker
Featured Treaty Signers
Introduction
Whose America is the "REAL" America? Yours?
Behold a Pale Horse by Taylor Tomlin
For the veteran, the war continues forever
Bill Moyer, 73, wears a "Bullsh*t Protector" flap over his ear while listening to a presidential address to the Veterans of Foreign Wars.
I Wish I May..... I Wish I Might...
Kulijah was a Friend of Mine by Clyde Grauke
The Standing People, as the Native Americans referred to trees, are a special group among my circle of friends. It may have started when I met the old Cottonwood tree my mother knew down the road from where she grew up. And there have been other specific individuals I would go visit over the years, both with and without names. Then when my family and I moved into our first and last house, I was glad to discover a relative of my mother's Cottonwood tree only a few blocks from our house.
Kulijah was old and gnarled when I first met him 30 years ago. The cracks in his bark were a good three inches deep and I would not have been able to reach my arms around more than a third of the way around his girth if I had tried…so he had seen many winters. When I would walk my dog past Kulijah we would always stop so I could say hello and pat his bark. And I would wait until the cars passed by on the road so I could hear the pleasant rustling of his leaves whispering in my ears.
As I watched his aging through the seasons in symphony with my own, I was always glad to see his fresh new leaves in the Spring…to see that we were still there together for another year. But lately I had grown concerned when some of his limbs failed to produce new leaves and someone would cut those limbs off. And there were other leaf-less limbs whose gaunt arms reached to no avail. I figured it was probably borers that had weakened him. But still--his inner core was alive and well, as was my own with my similar losses.
But today I discovered that a greater threat has finally gotten my friend. The darkly hooded Improvements and Progress has come with its scythe and slammed him down, has ignominiously thrown him on his face, and has left his roots now reaching obscenely for the sky. Passing by in the midst of yellow Caterpillers, mud, scattered storm drain conduits, and the slow/stop sign-wielders I have had to make do with no ceremony.
So…Kulijah my friend, I will miss you and whenever I see Cottonwood trees standing in their magnificence and when I hear the Cottonwood song, I will think of you. And I can only hope that, when I am gone, the breeze moving through the leaves of the silent places will whisper my name and that the shadow of a lone man walking will be seen to pass among the dappled sunlight in the hidden groves.
Would you like to know more?
Lamar Wilson, The Mobile, AL Peanut Man Dies at 86
Lamar Wilson, known to countless Mobilians as "the Peanut Man" for hawking his small paper bags of peanuts under the oaks at the intersection of Old Government and Houston, died Friday in May of 2005. Wilson's death at 86 came several months after he sold his last bag of peanuts. He peddled peanuts at the Loop for years, becoming "an icon in Mobile," according to Deborah Gibson Deguire, who sold him peanuts at A&M Peanut Shop in downtown. He didn't have much, just a picnic basket filled with sacks of peanuts.
"He'd come about every two weeks and get about 26 pounds from us and he go and sell them at the corner. Sometimes in his younger days, he'd walk down here all the way from the loop usually pulling a red wagon, but in his later days as he didn't quite feel like walking he'd have someone come and pick them up for him," said A&M Peanut Shop Owner Deborah DeGuire.
Sheila Hagler, a photographer who captured Lamar in a memorable photo said, "He was a sweet little man that was trying to find his place in the world and that's all he wanted."
