If I could live in a musical - I'd bellow happiness in B minor sit on the roof with family and sing of traditions - Traditions! croon love songs from mountain tops sing of lemon drops beyond the rainbow gather the band and march with seventy-six trombones! when life hands you a pandemic, an insurrection, and locks you down - break out the songs, adjust your crown, and dance!
In 1950, Chaney arrived at the grand-old house on Hampton Street, deep in the low-country of South Carolina, to work for my great-grandmother. In 1960, when my twin sister and I arrived, our great-grandmother sent Chaney next door to our grandparent's home to care for us. And there Chaney remained, year after year. She cooked and cleaned and fussed over us as if we were her own. She was family and we loved her. Chaney hummed when she ironed and starched the sheets. She made a savory macaroni pie and perfectly sweet iced tea. She called me "Miss Suzy." I simply knew her as "Chaney." I never knew her last name. No one did. Mama said, "No one thought to ask." And therein lies the pickle of my Southern roots.
July’s full moon, often called the Buck or Thunder moon, rises early over our homestead in the Okanogan Highlands of Washington State.
The full moon lives up to its name with constant thunderstorms that rumble over the highlands every afternoon. And recently we’ve spotted a young buck down by the pond.
Cheers to long summer days and mesmerizing summer nights under the Thunder Moon!