Cuttin’ okra and clearin’ my head

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The hot summer sun beat down on the back of our necks as we moved along the rows of okra with a knife in hand stepping inch by inch between each stalk and cuttin’ off the pods from the bottom up and placing them it in our tow sacks.

My mom was up ahead in the next row and dad was a few rows over as we worked to harvest the pods before they grew too hard to eat.
Cuttin’ okra was never one of my favorite things to do largely because of the itch brought on by the hair of the deep green leaves of the plant but it had to be done every few days.

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Keeping one’s word sets the tone for life

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I have been told there was a time when a person was judged upon the words that emanated from his mouth.
A person’s character could be seen in his deeds and by what he would say and sometimes what he would not say.

I have met many people in my life. Some, I would not trust them as far as I could throw them, while others — if they say it, it will be done.

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Jerry Sullivan, a musical soldier of God called home

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One of the early influences that impacted my musical and spiritual life were those emanating from the legacy of the Sullivan Family of Alabama.

When my career in bluegrass was beginning I often found myself appearing on shows with Jerry (1933-2014) and Tammy Sullivan, carrying on that legacy but forging a new path of their own in the gospel and bluegrass music scenes.

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The honeysuckle pull

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The sweet smell of honeysuckle lightly drifted over the back porch steps as I sit at the top of a thirty-step descent to the ground below. At three-years-old this was a surmountable achievement to navigate these without tumbling to the bottom. And in reality my mother was always watchfully standing by looking through the porch door as she ironed to make sure I did not rush beyond my abilities and go scampering down the steps.

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A moment in the mountains

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I stood at the edge of the mountain and looked down at the green of the fields below.

The fields were cut neatly into the shapes that the farmers had cultivated them in for years. The blue sky around me seemed to almost envelope me as I stood amongst the rocks and trees listening to the wind whipping the bark of a pine tree nearby creating a faint whistle.

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What’s in a dream?

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I am walking across what seems to be an endless stretch of desert, with each step I hear my feet sink further and further into the sand. Each step is harder to make. The heat is unbearable as I stop and wipe my brow and replace my hat as I look up at a cloudless sky.

I am walking towards a mountain range. I don’t know where I am headed but I know the journey is one of life and death. If I don’t make it to where I am going I will simply fade into the sand that envelopes my feet never to be seen again.

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And the rain blew

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Lightning flashes streaking across the sky eerily lighting the night. The wind blows swaying the tree limbs whistling as the rain beats intermittently in rhythm against the wall outside the window.

The sounds and sights beckon the opening scene of a television mystery or an old black and white horror film.

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Are we too clean?

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How many times a day do I reach over and hit the squirt top of an antibacterial and rub down my hands?

As I think on this practice, I wonder sometimes how I ever survived my childhood? How did any of us?

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A reflection that shimmers in the glass

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I walked up the street around the Square in Covington, Ga. looking in the windows at the items on display in the store windows.

It was warm that September afternoon as I took a few minutes from the set to find the peace in my mind away from the sounds of the assistant directors calling over their radios “Quiet Please, Rollin’, Background” and the booming voice of whichever director was guiding an episode saying “Action,” as the actors emoted and conveyed the story the screenwriters had placed on the page.

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Southern Gospel Hall of Fame marks 15 years

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It seems just like yesterday that I was assisting historian/author James R. Goff, author of “Close Harmony: a History of Southern Gospel,” and retired Singing News Magazine editor Jerry Kirksey in their search for artifacts and film reflecting the earliest years of Southern gospel music.

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