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Is There Value in Knowing Where You Came From?

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We cleared the supper plates, leaving a few pieces of fried chicken, boiled ‘taters, and garden-fresh green beans to cover for tomorrow. The smell of fresh-baked cornbread hung in the kitchen as Aunt Short sliced her homemade chocolate pie, passing wedges around the table. With dessert and fresh-brewed coffee in hand, I knew the adults would settle in for hours of storytelling. Uncle Jay slipped out to toss wood on the fire, then returned, packing his pipe with tobacco. As he lit it, smoke curled above his head, and tales began tumbling from their tongues.
Since I was a child, I’ve been spellbound by the old folks’ stories—shared around that table or by the hearth’s flicker. One favorite took me to Fort Watauga, 1776, amid the struggles to settle western North Carolina. Cherokee warriors under Old Abraham laid a two-week siege, arrows and musket balls flying as settlers returned fire from the fort. “Jump, my Bonnie Kate!” Uncle John Sevier hollered, yanking her over the wall—she’d been caught milking cows outside. That daring rescue sparked a love that’d one day make them Tennessee’s first Governor and First Lady.
My kin—the Scottish Kilgores and English Sherrills—joined the Overmountain Men, marching to Kings Mountain to rout the British. Along the way, they picked up the German Weirs. Sitting quietly, I soaked up decades of wisdom from ancestors living and dead—Scottish bagpipes rallying our men, fiddles driving frontier trade days. Patriots fought at Trenton and Kings Mountain, settlers clashed with Native Americans, and later generations endured Shiloh’s bloodied fields and Normandy’s beaches.
Closer to home, family feuds simmered for decades. Grandpa’s scars bore witness—seven healed-over knife wounds from a brawl he barely survived, a bullet lodged too deep to remove. Mama’d recount those close calls, her voice hushed, fueling my young imagination with heroes among our kin. Another memory lingers: an old family saint who’d ask strangers, “Who are your people?” Give her a name, and she’d spin chapters of their history—tidbits even they didn’t know—tying us to the past with a knowing grin.
Little survived of the world before American shores, just scraps from Scotland, Ireland, England, and Germany. Names, songs, and tunes lingered, played on instruments handed down since the 1600s. Generations settled land, founded towns, and drifted south and west from New York, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, and Virginia, rooting deep in Tennessee, Kentucky, and Georgia.
At 12, I began digging—courthouse to courthouse, graveyard to graveyard. Now, the internet unearths wonders with a click. Those bagpipes hailed from clans who won Scotland’s freedom under Robert the Bruce. German kin shaped Lutheran theology, Irish forebears defied Cromwell, and an English ancestor—Geoffrey Chaucer—penned The Canterbury Tales.
Every century’s tales show what our folks endured, letting us walk tall, proud of who we are. Learn your people’s stories—it’s no accident you’re here. You carry the dreams of generations, meant to shape the future.

Fool’s Gold: Lessons from a Childhood Quest

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From childhood, I learned that not everything that glitters is gold.

I remember my boyhood experiences as a child playing by myself around a nearby creek. The gurgling of the water as it rushed over the rocks always filled my soul with a sense of peace. The sounds of the birds simply became an orchestra of a soundtrack beneath the creek sounds.

I was pulling rocks from the bottom of the creek to begin a fort, and I stirred up a flurry of gold glittering in the water. I thought, I’ve struck gold. This would solve those financial problems I heard my parents talking about.

I decided to collect as much as I could that day and bring it home to share with my folks.

I had seen in westerns the miners panning for gold, so I pedaled home quietly entered in the back door avoiding my mom, borrowing a pan and a shovel from the garage.

After coming back I panned for the little flakes compiling them in a repurposed tobacco sack now used for marbles.

After endless hours of the endeavor, darkness was coming on, so I collected my gains, my tools and got on my bike and pedaled home to beat the street lights from coming on.

When everything was put away, I proudly presented my day’s endeavors to my dad.

He opened the sack, looked inside and said, “Son, come over here.” He lifted me up upon his knee and said to me look inside this bag. I did thinking how proud I was of my efforts.

Beside the bag he held out his ring finger which held his wedding band and said, “Now, look at my ring. Does what you have in the bag look like what’s on my finger?”

I looked back and forth between the sack and his ring and I looked up at him and said,

“They are different. Why are they different?”

He smiled and said, “Because, son, all that glitters is not gold. What you have here is a bag of iron pyrite, often called ‘fool’s gold’.”

“So, it’s not worth anything?”, I asked.

“Well let’s think on that,” he said. “How long did you spend on gathering this bag?”

I told him all day. He asked me if I worked hard at it and I told him that I was plum tuckered out.

“Did you enjoy the time you did it?” he asked.

“I did,” I told him.

“Have you learned anything from the experience?” he inquired.

“Yes, I learned that sometimes you can spend all day trying to get the gold and come home empty-handed,” I said.

He said that is a good lesson, but another one was not to jump at every shiny thing in life.

“If you do, you may find out too late that shiny things are not what is best for you in your life,” he said.

Before he set me back down, he pulled the drawstring on the bag, handed it back to me.

“Son, thank you for what you tried to do for our family,” he said. “Your heart was in the right place. Just keep trying.

“Next time, you may just find a true treasure. Just learn a bit and maybe talk to me about it before jumping feet first into it,” he counseled. “Also, I would get your mom’s skillet washed and put back before she realizes you were using it.”

I smiled and climbed off his knee.

“Son, why don’t you put that bag on your bedpost? I think when you see it, it will remind you that bright and shiny isn’t always what’s best for us,” he said.

“Sure Pa,” I said.

Not too long ago, I was going through some boxes in my attic, and ran across that white bag of fool’s gold, I was reminded the adventure of that day was such a great memory. I could almost hear the creek again emanating from the iron pyrite in my hand.

That childhood lesson has tempered my choices throughout my life. I found those shiny things my father was talking about are more than just gold. They could be a beautiful girl, a flashy car, a better job, a big house or every imaginable toy an adult might want.

While, sometimes I have weakened being drawn for a time to shiny things, I have managed to step back from the precipice before jumping feet first without a full review of what I was about to swallow hook, line and sinker.

Are you jumping for every shiny thing that comes your way? Maybe, it’s time to look more deeply into your personal bag of fool’s gold before you buy that next thing that glitters in front of you.

It’s Fall Y’all

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As the leaves begin to turn into a cornucopia of color, I make my last round in the yard with my lawnmower. I have prepped and planted my winter garden hoping for the best crop of turnip greens ever seen.

The branch pile at the street becomes almost as tall as me. It’s cold enough at night to start a fire for the heat but warm enough in the day for air conditioning. The scenes around me begin to be filled pumpkins and scarecrows decorating our light posts and porches.

I have always loved this time of year. However, like many, I dread what I really loved in my youth – the cooler weather. For so many of us, as the years pass, the aches and pains from the abuses our body has received through our times on earth, hurt with these changes.

In my part of the world, this time of year also turns our thoughts to the mountains. We head there to see the beauty of the leaves, to enjoy the fall festivals, and to experience small town America. This year however, many of our favorite spots in Appalachia are suffering due to Hurricane Helene and its aftermath. I encourage everyone who can reach out to Eastern Tennessee and Western North Carolina and other affected areas with your financial assistance and include them in your prayers. There will be ongoing needs for months and months. Now, in the immediacy, they need things to help them keep warm. But I want to remind you all that many of our favorite mountain destinations in both states are open for business. Their leaves will be filled with colors, their towns will be decorated, their fall festivals will occur. Many of these towns are banding together to advertise they are OK and ready to welcome tourists. Don’t forget them. If you are going to travel. These regions have already been devastated by the Hurricane, they need their brother and sister towns to succeed and keep the tax base that will help rebuild from bottoming out. I am sure also you will find efforts to help their neighbors in all these communities.

Another aspect of fall coming on are the blooming of signs on corners and in yards reminding us that its time to go to the polls and place your vote for local, state and national political candidates. In many areas, early voting has already begun. Our neighbors are sitting there anxiously awaiting your arrival to cast a ballot. A right that each of us adult American citizens have due to the forethought of our founders and the blood, sweat and tears shed by thousands of people who have served in the military to defend all our rights across generations.

So, get in the car, drive to polling place, if close enough, enjoy a pleasant walk in the fall sun, cast your ballot either early or on the day of the election and let your voices be heard about your wishes for the future of your town, your county, your state and our country. While you are at it, thank every veteran you come across for their service! I plan to vote on election day. I look forward to spending some time with my neighbors hearing about their lives as we wait on line.

It’s a privilege to vote for the future. Don’t miss your chance to be part of the solution rather than the problem. Most of us want to run our own lives. However, we are all like the children riding in the back seat of the station wagon. We are not holding the steering wheel, our foot is not hovering over the gas or brake pedals. However, unlike childhood, when we could not choose our parents and their driving habits, we can decide who is driving the car in our respective towns, counties, states and our country.

So, as you get ready to get in the back seat to ride along for the next four years: which candidates will make you feel safe, content in your life and opportunities, happy with the direction they are taking us,

ever ready to hit the brakes and steer a different direction, or prepared to hit the gas to get us towards an amazing destination when they see an opening for successful forward momentum.

At every level, these people we elect impact our lives, take it seriously. Vote for the future of your lives, your families, your pocketbooks and wallets, your opportunities in business and employment and the generations ahead of all of us.

Vote for the success of us all, your hometown, your state and our country.

Just vote. Make a difference. Put on the sticker, wear it proudly, thank a veteran and enjoy fall, y’all!

David Davis, a bluegrass mandolin stilled

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The rained poured down on the fairgrounds at the Cedartown Georgia fairgrounds. It was the site of a new bluegrass festival including many talented acts. I was there with my youth group, the Peachtree Pickers. We were dodging mud puddles from the rain that had already come in to get to the stage.

When another storm front came through, my father and I sought refuge in a cattle barn on the grounds. Inside, we found David Davis of the Warrior River Boys (www.DavidDavisandWRB.com) and his father also dodging the bad weather. They were also on the bill that day.
This deluge created an opportunity for us to meet and talk. That day began a four-decade long friendship that led David and I into an unusual musical creative partnership.

As we both plotted the course for our future careers in Bluegrass and beyond, we saw the opportunity to be cheerleaders, counselors, and sounding boards for ideas and opportunities as they came to us. Our talents and our styles were different, so we didn’t see each other as competing for the same ground and jobs, however we believed in each of our strengths we could compliment what was ahead.

Doors opened for both of us as David landed on Rounder Records and created critically acclaimed albums and a widening festival audiences with his Monroe-infused Appalachian roots sounds.
I shifted to guest starring for the Grand Ole Opry and crossed over to acting in network TV reaching large country music audiences.

Whenever David needed a musician, all he had to do was call and went to help. When I began mounting my country variety shows – The Hollywood Hillbilly Jamboree, I asked David to join me and provide the bluegrass portion and do some songs with me as I moved from country, to bluegrass, to gospel on my shows.

He moved along to Wango and Rebel Records and even had some Time-Life recordings as the years ticked off before returning again to Rounder.

As I was focusing more closely on my Appalachian roots, I asked David to record a brother-duet album with me called “God’s Children.” He didn’t hesitate and we created some eclectic sounds with pioneers “Doc” Tommy Scott, Cotton and Jane Carrier, and my television friend Sonny Shroyer “Enos” from “The Dukes of Hazzard” as special guests.

Through much of what we considered the ups and downs of the music industry, we held on, grew, learned, and tried to remain relevant, reinventing and creating opportunities to leave a mark. There was not much that either of us did in the music business, that the other didn’t chime in his thoughts.

I know these memories are probably not of much interest, but I received the sad news before writing today that my friend David died due to injuries sustained in an auto accident Sept. 15 in his home state of Alabama. His wife Cindy was injured but is recovering.

The news has rocked the worldwide Americana and bluegrass music community as he was widely respected and admired. He had also become a mentor to many talented young artists now finding their place in the larger music scene such as Wyatt Ellis, The Price Sisters, Jeremy and Corrina Rose Logston Stephens of High Fidelity, Kody Norris of the Kody Norris Show and RFD-TV star Alan Sibley and so many more.

I helped his family prepare a press release about the Alabama Bluegrass Music and National Old Time Country Music Hall of Famer’s amazing life and his extensive musical catalog that has touched millions through performances, television and radio.

We will soon gather in Cullman, Ala. to remember and celebrate the life of a true Southern gentleman whose mandolin playing and vocal stylings have touched two generations of music fans.

I hope you will celebrate his talents by finding his music, download or buy an album, or listen on YouTube and share it with friends. You may also donate to support Appalachian music scholarships in memory of David Davis at www.ShareAmericaFoundation.org or by sending to Share America Foundation, P.O. Box 42, Tunnel Hill, Ga. 30755. Rest in peace David. You are missed.

Grass, water and people – reconnect with the world

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I walked across the back yard in my bare feet. I do this from time to time as it reminds me the sensation I recall from childhood, the grass wrapping its way around the curves in my feet.

Touching the ground provides a connection to God’s blessed creation. I don’t think we ever get to old to remember the sensation.

It was much the same the first time I waded out into the lake as a child. Feeling the water all around me. I knew no timidness as a youth. You don’t worry about what is lurking beneath the water. Just that the cold water makes you feel better. However, for me as time went along, that desire evaporated from within my thoughts. I really don’t care for swimming or wading in lakes these days.

Since my earliest days I was fascinated by hiking through the mountains. The trees, the wildlife, and sometimes simply finding a rock sitting down and staring out across a unique vista I had not seen.

It’s in such moments of peace that I have found the inspiration to write. The words can create songs, lessons, ideas for films or books.

God’s gifts seem to flow when He blesses. Yet, sometimes there seems to be a block. At those times, more of His gifts must simply come into view.

Those gifts can also take the form of other people.

One of my favorite times of year was Christmas as a youth. A place I loved to be, now unfortunately pretty much a thing of the past was the shopping mall. It was a joy to find a quiet corner and simply watch folks as they enjoyed their time together shopping. The kids filled with the joy of the season. The mothers and fathers a bit hurried and out of sorts as they tick off things from their to do list.

From these moments, I could also see God’s gifts.

When we touch the earth with our hands as we plant within the garden, when we take the time to run our hand across someone’s pet, we are connecting to the creation.

Nothing we can do in life can move the spirit within us like God’s ability to uplift us with His amazing creations which sometimes we don’t take the time to recognize.

Spend some of your time reconnecting with the earth and the people around you and you might find a new muse that could inspire your life.

Take down the fiddle and bow

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I was sitting on the linoleum floor looking up at the fiddlers as they sat around in the den of the Everett’s house playing tune after tune. Musicians flow in and out and spectating listeners line the seats around the walls. I was pre-teen and trying to pick up licks they were doing as I watched their fingers move and the their bows go up and down.

Unlike my youth learning experience, today, youth doing the same have the amazing ability to simply take their phone and find a video of a fiddler playing the tune they want. But there is nothing like being in a room hearing and seeing another fiddler play.

That is what many of the youth who competed at the 53rd Grand Master Fiddler Championship had the chance to do as many of the greatest fiddle competitors gathered outside Nashville at the Turner Theater in Franklin as the contest took place Labor Day weekend.

I walked down the hallway between the stage and the warm-up rooms and youthful fiddlers leaned against the walls watching the older competitors warming up with their accompanists getting ready to walk on stage and be judged for America’s top Grand Master Fiddler.

I was blessed to return to serve as celebrity host, a role I been honored to conduct since 2007. I was a teen the first time I came to this contest brought by my childhood mentor Eugene Akers getting to see the great fiddlers.

As I looked in the eyes of the youth while walking down the hallway, I could see their excitement. In their anticipation, I knew their fears as they waited for their chance to convince the judges they had improved in their efforts.

Many of the former youth are now competing in the adult open category. Seeing the young adults excelling is such a blessing.

When I was starting out the youthful fiddlers who were ahead and plowing the way for us kids were Mark O’Connor, Jimmy Mattingly, the late Randy Howard and others. This year’s event was special in that Mark was there sharing a special hour of music with his wife Maggie. Jimmy was there being honored with the Dr. Perry F. Harris Award. Another early competitor Monte Gaylord of Oklahoma came back and competed after many years, shining in his performance.

This year’s event was squeezed into one day, filled with about 40 fiddlers sharing a breakdown, a waltz and a tune of choice. Two Canadians and one fiddler from the Netherlands also tried their luck. One that seemed to be a favorite this year was Kenny Baker’s “Festival Waltz” as fiddlers of all ages shared it. Another often played tune was “Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down.” A tune I played as a Blue Grass Boy with Bill Monroe – “Road to Columbus” also seemed to be more prevalent this year.

From my vantage point at the podium, I will have to say, there were more existing Grand Master Fiddlers competing against each other or simply present at this event than I ever recall in my years of participating. The audience certainly heard the best of the best.

The 2024 Grand Master Fiddler of the open category is Ridge Roberts of Granbury, Texas, and in the youth category is Tristan Paskvan of Southlake, Texas. Todd Varble won the accompanist award. Marty Elmore received the Charlie Bush Traditional Fiddler Award. Naomi Dornfeld received the Matthew Thomas Lin Scholarship Award. Learn more about the Grand Master Fiddler Championship at grandmasterfiddler.com or follow them on Facebook.

Actor/entertainer Randall Franks releases new single as tribute to Andy Griffith

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Appalachian humorist Randall Franks and Crimson Records are pleased to announce the release of a new comedy performance from the award-winning performer: “What It Was, Was Football.“
Support Our Efforts – Download Recording Please:
Itunes: https://music.apple.com/us/album/the-americans-creed/1743671704
Amazon Music: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D2WGJ1Y5/
Radio programmers via AirPlay Direct https://airplaydirect.com/music/RandallFranksTheAmericansCreed/
Written by Andy Griffith, the monologue is the story of a Southern Christian revival worker setting up a revival tent who stops to grab a bite to eat but is swept up in the fervor of a crowd of folks headed on a wondrous adventure to watch something that he never had seen before. He then describes what he saw.
Randall’s version of the classic comedy story is now available to radio programmers via AirPlay Direct and on streaming services. For nearly thirty years, Randall Franks, “Officer Randy Goode” from TV’s “In the Heat of the Night,” has consistently included Appalachian humor in his performances. The late Appalachian scholar Loyal Jones recognized him as a unique voice in Southern humor in his book “Country Music Humorists and Comedians” reflected through his shows and comedy releases such as “Tunes and Tales from Tunnel Hill” (1995), “Comedy Down Home” (1999), and “Keep ‘Em Smilin’” (2016). His comedy recordings and his comedic acting performances on TV and in films are among the most beloved by his audience.
“Like many, one of the people who greatly inspired my career is the late Andy Griffith,” Franks said. “He did what many young Southern performers hope to do in combining acting, comedy and music into a decades-long career while creating several long-lasting TV series.”
Franks attributed “The Andy Griffith Show” as being one of the reasons he became a musical entertainer with its features of the Dillards as “The Darlings.”
“I included Andy and the Dillards in my “Encouragers” book series sharing the impact he and they had on my life and career,” he said.
His new album also includes music from his film “The American’s Creed,” live appearances from his Hollywood Hillbilly Jamboree and 40th Anniversary recordings of Randall appearing live with Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys – Wayne Lewis, Blake Williams and the late Tater Tate. Franks recently launched a new web page highlighting his time with the legendary music icon at www.RandallFranks.com/Bill-Monroe-and-the-Blue-Grass-Boys . Funds raised from these recordings benefit the Share America Foundation, Inc. and its Pearl and Floyd Franks Appalachian music scholarships.
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The Single – What It Was, Was Football

“What It Was, Was Football” is Randall’s latest single release and is a tribute to the classic TV actor and comedian Andy Griffith who released it 70 years ago charting in Billboard’s Top 10 in February 1954. “There was probably not another person who had a greater impact in most Southern homes than Andy,” Franks said.
As a special addition to his #7 AirPlay Direct Global Americana Album “The American’s Creed,” the multiple music hall of famer recorded Griffith’s career beginning monologue “What It Was, Was Football.”
“Using my own comedy style, I have re-created what I felt was magical about his amazing hit,” he said. “It is available for all radio stations just in time for high school and college football seasons. I hope that radio around the country might give it a spin recognizing the 70th Anniversary and my paying tribute to this great performer.”
To the classic monologue, he added hints of his unique fiddle stylings including support from Gospel and Bluegrass music personalities: Mark Wheeler on guitar; Lewis Phillips on banjo; Steve Easter on resonator guitar; Jeff Easter on piano; Travis Lewis on acoustic bass; and the late Grand Ole Opry star Jesse McReynolds on mandolin.

What It Was, Was Football - Randall Franks
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Randall Franks pauses with Artist Colton Brown who created the artwork for the What It Was, Was Football video.

“What It Was, Was Football” is now available from Crimson Records for radio programmers via AirPlay Direct or by requesting a direct download here. It is also available on popular digital streaming platforms such as Amazon here or Itunes here, or can be seen featuring a unique artwork by Colton Brown on Randall Franks TV on YouTube (https://youtu.be/VxFDUQP_n1M), Rumble (https://rumble.com/v5e30dh-what-it-was-was-football-randall-franks.html), and Brighteon (https://www.brighteon.com/deaaf5e3-efc1-43c1-8357-74335bf81f39). 

 

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Trivia: 

Are the two actors Randall Franks and Andy Griffith who played notable comedic Southern police officers related?

Yes, Randall and Andy are quadruple country cousins as they share at least four sets of grandparents in their family trees being related to each other through each of Andy’s grandparents – the Griffiths, Taylors, Nunns and Cassells and both of Randall’s parents.

Sources: Franks and Related Lines Genealogies – FamilySearch and Ancestry 

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About Randall Franks
Randall Franks is a former NBC and CBS actor; an award-winning author of 11 books with his latest being “Seeing Faith: A Devotional” and a murder mystery “A Badge or an Old Guitar;” a journalist and a syndicated columnist who inspires millions of readers in the South and Midwest each week.
The International Bluegrass Hall of Fame Legend and Grand Ole Opry guest star marks his 40th Anniversary of debuting for the show this October.
He is an Independent Country Music, America’s Old Time Country Music, Atlanta Country Music and Tri-State Gospel Music halls of fame member and a Georgia Music Hall of Fame honoree with a long list of awards in multiple music genres. Through his Share America Foundation, he inspires youth to learn and share the music of Appalachia.
Georgia honored him for his service and philanthropy to the people of Georgia for helping raise millions to assist those in need. He starred and co-starred in four TV series and in 18 films for Hallmark, CBS and UpTV. He shared in numerous acting awards including for his latest films “The Cricket’s Dance” and “The American’s Creed.” 
He is a 2024 Inspirational Vocalist and Musician of the Year nominee and his song “God’s Children” went to #1 on the Cashbox charts in 2023. He currently hosts the music-fueled TV show “Appalachian Sounds.”
To TV fans, he is known best as “Officer Randy Goode” from the drama “In the Heat of the Night.” 

A harvest of hope to sustain us

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As the men folks worked endless hours to bring the harvest home, the women folk prepared the fires and the iron kettles for cooking in preparation for canning what was brought in on the wagons from the fields.

While much of what was gathered was taken to town to sale, enough was stowed by for the host family and all the neighbors’ families helping with the harvest and the canning.

When this crop was laid by, the men would move on to the neighbor’s farm and the women folk to the neighbors yard and kitchen and do it all again with another vegetable crop.

Tomatoes on one farm, corn on another, okra another, beets on another, and when the vegetables were all in, root crops, fruits stowed away, it would be near time for the hogs to be prepared for the smoke house.

Growing and putting back was a constant day-to-day circle of life in the valley below the Gravelly Spur.

All took it in stride and as each season turned and the tasks rotated around the circle of the sun and moon as they shined their light down in the Appalachian valley.

The work would break for church meetings on Sunday, community socials, and an occasional music gathering. When the harvest work was done, the musicians in the valley would gather bringing their guitars, banjos, fiddles and anything that could keep a rhythm to the center of community.

They would stand and play on the porch as the folks gathered in the dirt lane. Old Benson Wills would stand up on an apple box and call the dance.

It was in these moments the young men and women who were not yet spoken for began to smile upon one another even if it was only for the brief swings within do-Si-do.

But the happiness of the passings within the dance often sustained their hearts for days and weeks as the toiling of each day returned their routines, the life, the hardships and the happiness that on occasion brought the ends of their mouths to upturn.

Stoicism was the norm, the happiness was reflected in the hearts rather than their faces oftentimes. It was sometimes difficult to tell the difference between sadness and happiness in many, but anger could easily be distinguished because that usually brought a raised voice and raised hands formed in a fist. \

Thankfulness was visible also, it could take the form of an outreached hand to shake, a bowed head in prayer, or returned unexpected kindness.

When work was done each week, the families gathered to give the Lord thanks in the chapel, sing songs, and hear the scriptures.

It was these times and the music gatherings that eased the in between.

When we look at our own lives in this ever spinning modern world, may we find the comfort that sustained our ancestors in the much harder lives that they lived.

May I ride in your little red wagon

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I slowly filled in white letters on the side of my red Radio Flyer. The restoration project of the wagon which had pulled around neighborhood friends, dogs and all kinds of childhood toys along Warwick Circle and the surrounding area was now complete.

Why? You may ask. Well, when I was about six, that bright red wagon was sitting with a bow on it under the Christmas tree. It had come from the local hardware store and was something I am sure I had asked for, although I don’t remember that aspect of history.

It became a constant companion through my childhood years, pulled behind me by hand or tied to the back of bicycles, ridden down hills, and always signified happier childhood adventures.

I managed to hold onto it through the years and I realized that it would make a great platform for the small Christmas tree that I set up.

So, I decided to restore it back to its original condition. I brushed away any rust that might have popped up through the years, and then gave it a nice coat of red, black and touched up the white lettering and wheels. I shined up the tires and got those looking sharp.

Sometimes, we just need to do something that brings a sense of accomplishment to our inner child. Revitalizing a piece of our history in a way it might again be put to use was such a blessing to me.

In many respects, I have become the custodian of many family heirlooms through the years. Appliances like pedal sewing machines, furniture passed down – bedroom, dressers, oil lamps, walking canes, photos, and other items.

The care of these, so they might be passed down to another generation, is an important aspect of who I am and my overall tasks in my life. I was entrusted in these efforts by loved ones no longer here. Will they know what happened to them. I doubt if they are keeping an eye on me or them from the other side, but its still my charge.

I have managed to bring several of these back from poor condition in hopes these will be valued by whichever relative ultimately receives each item.

No matter how long we may hope we walk this earth, we are not promised tomorrow. Only today is within our grasp, and our hold on it is totally in the purview of God.

We are to leave things better than we found them. For me, that is my constant hope. I try to make things entrusted to me better than they were.

I couldn’t make my childhood wagon new again, but I could make it look a close as possible and find a use that would give me joy in seeing it annually when I pull it out for Christmas and fill it with decorations that remind me of the happy family times.

So, for me the adventure of restoration, made my inner child happy and once a year it brings a smile to adult me as it enhances the joy of Christmas. Find something to restore in your life that will make you happy.

I hope the mention of Christmas has brought a bit of cool thought into your summer. We could use a bit less heat where I live!

Ripples run

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Ripples float endlessly across the lake as a large frog croaks in the distance.

The line running from the end of my pole drifts slightly with the light current pulling away to my left as the red and white float
moves with the ripples.

I had spent much of my time working thus far in my first fishing adventure to bring the hook with the worm slid upon it into the
drink.

My childhood adventures of fishing with my dad, especially early in the learning process reflected the scenarios of the episode of “The
Andy Griffith Show” where “Howard Sprague” went fishing with Andy and the rest of the guys only to spend more time with his hook
in a tree or his own pants than in the water.

In retrospect, my dad’s patience as he taught me the process and answered the questions the younger version of myself asked was
amazing. Why do fish eat worms? Why do we have to put the hook through the worms, can’t we just throw them out and let the fish
eat them? Why do we have a float on the line?

Why do I do better throwing the line behind me rather than in front of me?

These are just a few that I recollect in the process.

My father was someone much like myself – outdoor sports were not really his thing – but he felt it was important that I learned them,
that we shared the experiences that he had shared with his father and uncles. There are lessons that are shared in the midst of the
teaching that settle deeper beyond the immediate task at hand.

The bonds created between a father and son through positive joint experiences; respect for the world around us and the other people and
creatures who share it with us; and an understanding about what is expected of you when you are a man.

I am so glad that he did take this time with me, oftentimes, it seemed strategically placed around tough points in my life when I
needed the input, the lesson, the hope, the insights that he wanted to share.

Establishing the groundwork at a younger age, when the years passed allowed us a smoother path.

When as an older teen, I wished to push the bounds of our relationship by asserting my own authority on my life, we were able
to work through those tense moments when I was spreading my wings, and make them teachable moments in the life experience. They added to
our relationship rather than pushing us farther from each other.

Perhaps my father’s early passing set my prospective of our relationship forever in the nostalgia of my youth. We never really
got to the good stuff of the best friend relationship that should have happened as time went on because he was still having to spend
time being my dad. Not that such a role would have ever ended, but as I was able to take on more of the responsibilities for my life after
college, I would have hoped that the lessons could have taken on a different form.

It is in this time of the year, that my father’s memory seems closest to me, because we shared so much in the summer months. I am
thankful that God sent me to be in family where I had two parents who were present and participating. So many youths do not, and as the
news of the world seeps into my life, I can’t help but wonder if a few more participating, present mothers and fathers would have
prevented many of the headlines which plaque our country.

Are you present in your children’s lives? Are you teaching them the lessons needed? Do they respect other people, creatures, and
cultures? If they don’t, may I suggest a fishing trip. There is something iconic and idyllic about those opening TV shots of Andy and
Opie Taylor walking with fishing poles in hand along a country road. Funny how so many long for the simplicity portrayed. We may never
have it, but it never hurts to take the walk.

“So, take down your fishin’ pole.”