Those who have known me for any time at all know that the science of meteorology is a lifelong hobby of mine. Some of my favorite times in my youth with Dad was sitting on top of the hill in our back yard watching thunderclouds roll in.

Any of my friends who grew up in St. Louis not only got used to the violent weather in the spring, but the snow in the winter. Winters in the mid/late 70′s were brutal if you had to drive in it, but if you were a kid in High School, it was heaven. So I know a bit about snow.

With age, (and having to drive out in it) the snow doesn’t excite me quite as much, but the advent of a “normal” winter in Nashville (about 6.5 inches of snow is normal…we have had 7) has delighted me. It’s the first time I’ve seen snow of any type for over 10 years and the first large snow since 1993.

The main difference between now and 35 years ago was the effect on my life. My only planning was how to spend a day off. Usually it was spent at the house of my best friend or sometimes  he would come to my house. The only negative part was shoveling, which was always an adventure given the slope of our driveway.

Today, after the snow has fallen, I go into, “how does this effect my business” mode. Since traveling to homes and schools to teach piano is my trade, it can obliviously wreck  my schedule. Since there is no income if not working, that is of concern as well. Then there are the aches and pains. Shoveling was a pain in the ass when I was 13, now it’s a pain in the ass, and the lower back, and in my left elbow…

As a teenager, the oncoming spring meant looking for storms and tornadoes (believe it or not…I still do look for them). Looking for spring now means so much more. The ability to start planting our patio garden, to see the renewal of the foliage surrounding us in this beautiful state. To be able to thank God that for one more spring, I can admire the beauty which he has placed me in.

The weatherman (and little boy)  in me see at least one more possible storm maybe around the weekend after next.  What I see as a older man is the possibility of renewal, growth, and the warmth of the sun waking all around it, with the assurance that comes with the knowledge that is happens every year . Despite all of the divisions that have been created all around us in this world, through a loving God, we have the assurance that peace and love can reign in our hearts when we allow it to happen. May it be so even now….

Mansker’s Station

Here, near Mansker’s lick, Casper Mansker established a station of the Cumberland Settlements in 1780. The road connecting with Nashboro was built in 1781. John Donelson and his family moved here after abandoning his Clover Bottom Station, following the 1780 massacre. A great game trail ran northeast from the Lick.

Mansker’s First Fort

“Here on the west bank of the Creek that he discovered in 1772. Kaspar Mansker and other first settlers built a log fort in 1779. John Donelson’s family fled here in 1780 for safety for Indians. Mansker abandoned the fort in 1781 to Fort Nashborugh. He returned 1783, built a stronger stockade on the east bank of the creek a half mile upstream, and lived there until he died in 1820. “

Sorry for the almost 2 month hiatus from blogging. Issues have come in the way that has caused my focus to be elsewhere. Am going to start in, not only with our TN sign trips, but also with news items and opinions that I feel like sharing.

See you all soon!!

The result was that by the time of my birth in August of 1960, my oldest brother and sister had graduated from High School, and within two years all of my siblings were out of the house and starting their own families. So in many ways, my childhood was one of an only child.

So when it came to cultural things, I was much more influenced by my parents rather then siblings, especially when it came to music. Until the late 60’s/early 70’s the music around my home was a swirling mix of church music, old school country, and post World War II pop. This was no better seen then during Christmas.

As a teen, I was heavily influenced by the rock/pop acts of the day, but during Christmas time, flipped over to what was called at the time, the “easy listening” station, and gorged myself with the Christmas pop treats from the likes of Nat King Cole, Perry Como, Percy Faith, and many, many others. You would not have caught me dead listening to them otherwise, but just something enchanting about their music at Christmas. Except for a few notable songs over the last 30 years, there have been no pop artists of note that does the same for me during this season.

So allow me a few moments of good cheer as I indulge in a bit of 50’s pop goodness…

Christmas even then wasn’t all that much to me. I mean, being a kid and all, waking up to presents under the tree was always a treat, but by this time Santa was a childhood memory and was old enough to realize that what  had been taught in church always seem to run contradictory to what was going on at home during the season.  So I did what was second nature to me; a mix of ambivalence with a hint of emotional aloofness. This evening was different however, as I was preparing to watch a choir sing Handel’s Messiah on NET (the precursor to PBS).

The lights were twinkling in the otherwise dark night and the angelic voices filled the room. For the first time I can remember in that stillness, the lyrics and music penetrated the young, but already hardened walls surrounding my emotional core. The feeling was one of deep appreciation of that baby born so long ago, and true unabashed worship for a God who was so loving, and so beyond what had been taught me, that I have never forgotten that experience, and spent many of the next 30 some odd years attempting to capture moments like that again.

_____________________

It was an unusually cold evening in December for Nashville standards. After going through the first checkpoints, Tracey and I were walking through a series of gates to another checkpoint which would allow us into Cell Block C, the home of our friend Tim. The cold wind was not nearly as biting as the cold steel of the gates and barbed wire that ushered us into this other worldly place.

Tim is on death row. Tracey and I have been friends of his for over a year and a half now. I have talked to Tim many times over the last year, but had finally gotten clearance to visit him. He is waiting for a chance for an appeals court to hear new evidence in his case, which if heard, could give him his freedom. However because of the politics of a county (Shelby) which is one of the, top to bottom, corrupt systems in the country, after a year and a half he is still waiting.

We are ushered into a small cubical where we can sit and talk to him. The visit is much too short. He is dressed very smartly even for prison issued garb, and it is obvious that he takes a great deal of pride in how he looks, even if only for himself. We have spoken many times about his situation, he is more then willing to admit that he was headed to prison by his lifestyle. Being young, poor and black in Memphis, it was much easier to succumb to the easy money of the streets rather then education.

What was more surprising was his suggestion that his life was saved by prison. It allowed him the time to reflect on his life and the more important spiritual aspects. At the age of 35, he is highly aware of who he is spiritually, and more importantly his opportunities to live his life to the fullest, even if only if the audience are fellow prisoners and guards.

At the end of our visit, we hug him and watch as he slips his hands behind his back and through the doors which allow the guard to put his “stylish silver bracelets” on and he returns to his cell as we walk out to our freedom.

We walk through the doors and out into the darkness. The silence and the stillness of the night are deafening as we walk our way through back to the front building. Watching people fight and stress through another Christmas season make me realize that many who are “free” are not really free at all, ensconced in prisons of their choosing. I pray that 2010 may be the year that my friend Tim,  might find the physical freedom that equals the freedom that he has in the depths of his soul. For the rest of us, may we break free from the prisons that encase us as well.

In the stillness of that night…I heard the angels sing again….

Arrington

The early settlement of “Petersburg” was granted a post office in 1858. At that time the village’s name was changed to Arrington for the nearby creek. Among the early families, were Buchanan, Couch, Crockett, Duff, King, Morris, Paschall, Price, Roberts, and Sayers. Four churches were established, Bellview Cumberland Presbyterian (1852), Hopewell A.M.E. (1876), Patton’s Chapel A.M.E. (1882), and First Baptist (1968). Arrington school and Patton’s Chapel School were located on Cox road. The original store and post office were on the corner of Wilson Pike and Murfreesboro Road. When the railroad arrived in 1914, a depot was built. At one time, the village had two stores, a livery stable, grist mill, and blacksmith shop.

Arrington now is known for the vineyards, which we have written about in a previous post. Another diversion is the gas station along Rt. 96. The name of it escapes me right now, and from the outside it seems just like a normal rural gas station. However, when you go inside there are picnic tables inside, and a very nice selection of hot and cold sandwiches. (Including some on Muffaletta bread that absolutely rocks)

Triune

This village dates from about 1800 and was first called. Hardeman Cross Roads. After 1849, it took the name of the Methodist church and became known as Triune. Prior to the civil war Triune was a flourishing center of commerce and agriculture. Known for its fine schools and stately homes, the Triune district’s four academies attracted students from afar. Hardemann Academy built one-fourth mile west in 1831, burned in 1904. Westview, the elegant antebellum mansion of Samuel Perkins, stood about a half miles south until it burned in 1927. From 1863 until 1865, it was occupied by Union soldiers who destroyed churches, homes and schools. At least fifteen military engagements were fought here.

Today, there isn’t much left of Triune. Locally, it’s known more for being the home of the Tennessee Renaissance Festival, with Castle Gwynn towering over the proceedings. For those who are a bit younger, you would have seen Castle Gwynn in the music video by Taylor Swift (“Love Story”)

At the intersection of Hwy. 96 and Nolensville Rd. there is the Triune Flea Market. The only one near where we live, and it’s a shame that I’ve can say we’ve never visited it as of yet. Usually on Saturday’s morning I am passing by it from one piano student to the next. Next blog we will look at a few places around this area.

Some of you have been asking where the blogs have been. My only full day off has been Friday, and since I’ve not privy to the public library to do research, it’s been a bit more difficult then first thought. The taking of the pictures has been the easy part, so be patient with me.

To add to this, we have had some medical changes at the house. About two weeks ago, I went to church and was feeling terrible. A friend of mine had his blood pressure cuff in the car, and went to get it. It turned out that my BP was 166 over 110. Many of you have probably had this problem before, but I haven’t. So the next day after taking blood and having a heart to heart discussion with my doc, we went on BP meds and adjusted my thyroid meds to a higher dose. I was not happy about this development and asked him what I could do to get off of it. His advice was simple.

Low …Sodium….Diet

So, with the enthusiasm of a teenager (the upping of the thyroid meds helped with this), Tracey and I started searching for tasty foods that were low sodium. I was pleasantly surprised as we experimented that I haven’t missed any of the old foods. The real kicker was that in those first two weeks, I’ve lost 7 lbs. Now of course, I do not expect that kind of results in the next two weeks, but my energy level is at a place that it has not been for months now. So the saga of the incredible shrinking man begins

Peace…

3 D 28

Newton  Cannon

0.7 Miles. The grave of this combat veteran and statesman is on the land to which his father, a Revolutionary veteran, brought his family from North Carolina in 1791. In addition to his distinguished millitary record, he was twice a member of Congress and twice governor of Tennessee.

It was one of the last few weekends, can’t remember exactly when now, but Tracey and I were driving looking for historic signs and came across this one. It directed me to a gravesite just a piece down the road. After taking a picture of it, we drove down the short distance where another road veered off to the left. Just a couple of hundred yards down that road was a small church with a graveyard off to it’s side.

Much of the grave yard was covered with weeds, with tombstones scattered about. Some standing, some toppled over by the gravity of years. Somewhere out in a patch of tall grass is the grave of Mr. Cannon, long forgotten by all except historians and the few who traverse though the weeds to find him.

Which is sad from a historian’s point of view. He was the first whig  governor of the state. Was opposed to Andrew Jackson, which led to him being defeated by James Polk for a third term. I wonder how many schoolchildren in Cannon county know this man was who their county was named for?  Only the memories remain, and 174 years later, there are probably fewer of those then the weeds that surround his grave.

Memories are what we keep from those who have passed before us. My dad died 13 years ago now, and only twice have I been to the gravesite. The stone tells the stats (1918-1996), but the memories of a lifetime tell the story. Those are the things that matter

For most people, “milestone” birthdays are the ones that gives the conscience pause. For me, the 49^th has me stumped. Driving from one small town to another these last several weeks, it seems as if the coloration of the leaves have a deeper texture and hue then before. The air of these mid-autumn mornings seems a bit crisper. Or maybe, for the first time in my life it has struck me that I only have limited autumns left in my life.

No….I have no plans to go anywhere post-earth anytime soon. But for whatever reason, this is the first year, that it is plain to me that my time is limited. For those who were raised in church, the afterlife is something that is engrained in our DNA, but rarely do we think about it. And why should we? Falling in love (and sometimes more then once), starting a career, having children, doing the upwardly mobile thing.

Then sometime in middle age, it hits. For some it comes as physical ailments, for others it’s loss, either through death or divorce, or both. For others it a gradual understanding of the circle of life; the time where the childhood memories get misty, and the first hazes of and end begin to appear.

Many grow despondent; some see it as a welcome release from the lives they are living now. For many, this realization makes them rush even harder to get what they desire or even  “deserve”, whether that be more money, or grandchildren, or just retirement. Others become depressed, some to the point that they take their lives because they can’t live it the way they did when they were young.

For me, this awareness just makes me smile.

I am so thankful that I’m young enough, to take these moments and revel in them, enjoy them, taste, feel, drink and wallow in the part of life that is worth living. It is apparent in my life now that I’ll never have a lot of money. My successes are not measured by a checkbook, or a grand house, or a fine car, but in the small things…

To step out on a cold morning with my dog Molly as we ponder a new day and be thankful for it.

To watch my girls as they have grown into mature, bright young women. To talk to them as they interact with me not just as Dad, but as adults, makes me proud.

To watch leaves turn, and not just in the bright yellows and reds of youth, but in the shades of greens, browns, and auburns of middle age.

To see the face of my sweetheart as I tell her how good of a cook that she is, and how I am so privileged to spend my life with her.

To see my doggies as they greet me at the door as I arrive mid-evening.

To watch the smile on a students face as they nail an assignment and they hear a “well-done” from me.

To enjoy an evening of good conversation, good food, and good drink with good friends that are dear to me, the number of which astound me.

To hear a breathtaking rendition of “Amazing Grace” by our pastor on the bagpipes (yep…kilt and all…they don’t teach THAT in seminary!!) and feel the tears flow without even thinking about who is watching, or even caring.

As this journey continues around and through Tennessee, my love of the country around me, the people who inhabit it, and relationships that are cultivated through it, my thankfulness for being aware grows by leaps and bounds.

So as I come to the time in my life that I can look back from the beginning, and also am aware of an ending to this life, it occurs to me how lucky of a person that I am.

It reminds me that there is much to do in the time left. There are many things in this world that need to be addressed, and we have a moral responsibility. There are those who are not as lucky, not just the homeless and/or helpless, but those who have much in the eyes of the world, but actually have nothing of value or worth. We need to help both.

The apostle Paul speaks about saints (believers) here and in the afterlife. I grew up hearing stories about the pearly gates and the streets of gold. Well, based on the life that Jesus lived (as best we know it from the Bible), I have to wonder if the first time I’ll see Jesus it will be around a table, sitting, laughing, telling stories, eating and drinking and enjoying the company of friends.

That feeling was impressed on me a couple of weeks ago as we sat, surrounded by 25 close friends as we celebrated a birthday. Maybe this wasn’t heaven on earth, but the peace that I felt at that moment told me that it was a lot closer then we have been led to believe.

As the wine begins to turn into a mellow savor, the colors are richer, the friends deeper and the experiences of life more meaningful, I say to myself that youth many times IS wasted on the young. At the same time, there is a lot of youthfulness for me to experience, however this time with a gratitude and challenge for the future to be able to still matter and to still make a difference. Yes we can!

Bring it on!

A view from the porch

One of the great things about this blog is the chance to travel. Getting in the SUV and driving to find these signs allow us an inexpensive way of seeing more of this great state we live in and spending quality time with one another which isn’t always possible during our busy work week.

A beautiful view from the front.

Since I don’t have a certain plan of how/where/when we do things, sometimes the plan is just to travel “out there” somewhere with no real intention of arriving anywhere in particular. One of my friends inquired at dinner Saturday evening about how long this endeavor will take me. After some thought it occurred to me that this might take years. Well, everyone has hobbies, maybe mine is searching out the nooks and crannies of Tennessee. One weekend last month was one of those times.

We live about a quarter mile from the Old Hickory/Nolensville Rd. intersection. I knew of some signs near Nolensville and we didn’t have a lot of time, so off we went. Over the next days and weeks, we’ll share some of the fruits of our labors. But what I delighted over was what we will call from now on, “trip diversions”.

Future Wine

Trip diversion #1 was found about just to the south of us in the small town of Arrington. If you were to travel down Nolensville Rd. you will find the village of Lennox Village, then the town of Nolensville, and then at the intersection of Nolensville and Highway 96, the hamlet of Triune. After turning West on 96 you come to Arrington. Here you find the Vineyards.

The lodge area from the front

Fans of Brooks and Dunn probably already knew that Kix Brooks is part owner of this place. He is dabbling in several pursuits that I’m sure he will spend more time with now that he will be backing away somewhat from the music business, with this being one of them.

The vineyard is nestled on the side of a hill dotted with picnic tables overlooking the vineyards opening up to the beautiful valley below. The main building itself has tables surrounding on a porch area with stairs going down to another picnic area with a small stage for jazz talent adding their vibe to the proceedings. On occasion more popular acts will take the stage (earlier this year for instance, Loggins and Messina, and Etta James performed).

Inside the main building you can sign up for a wine tasting, or buy their wines to either take home, or to enjoy there on site.

It was a festive, comfortable place that Saturday afternoon. There were couples sitting at the tables, and a few on blankets enjoying wine and some cheeses, with some families doing the entire picnic thing complete with Kentucky Fried Chicken, and potato salad.

We were on a mission to find more historical sites, so our visit was way too short, so after checking out the wine list headed out with a bottle of “Muscat Love” (you gotta love it), and a promise to ourselves that we will be back.

Tracey is happy with the selection.

The website is http://www.arringtonvineyards.com/ , and if you have not been there, I suggest you take a weekend afternoon and just enjoy good company, good scenery, and good wine. If you are in need of good company…just give us a call, am looking for a good excuse to go back sooner then later.