In the Valley

It had been a long day that turned into a long night of shopping, wrapping presents, and visiting with friends and relatives. Christmas was upon us... this day had come so fast. I told the kids, as we drove toward home, “All we have to do now is to wait for the morning to come.” And we did… there was no rush or panic this year.

My grandparents lived in the Verde Valley in Arizona… we were in Texas. Some of my earliest memories of Christmas are that of my Grandmother. We would study the red envelopes that were propped up in our christmas tree branches. They were a steady reminder that our grandparents were thinking of us. The envelopes always had cash in them. The money was crisp and new. The president’s face would peek out from behind a perfectly cut oval in the center of the bank’s envelope.

I was up early… before the children got up. I plugged in the tree and tried to be quiet as I made my morning coffee. I sat for a moment and looked at the lights, the ornaments, the sparkling paper and the shimmering bows. There were little red envelopes that had been placed on the branches of the tree by a family friend. It was a beautiful reminder of the past.

For the first time in years, I reflectively reached for the phone so I could hear the voice of my beautiful grandmother. I can still hear her saying “Merry Christmas Baby.” I smiled as the reality set upon me. Perhaps she could hear my thoughts… I could feel the tradition of her love upon me. She will always be in the peaceful valley of my memories.

                                                               Shannon R Killman  

Nature’s History

There is something romantic about nature’s history... we look around at the objects that surround our lives and attach ourselves to them. They may be gifts that relatives cherished and adored. They might be private keepsakes from our childhood or those of our parents or grandparents.

When our country was young, there were virgin forests of hardwoods and pine for as far as the eye could see or as far as the traveler could journey. These ancient pines and oaks held fast the climates of time and grew strong for centuries. Our little towns are dotted with houses that were built from the sturdy branches and trunks of these centurions. They were felled by hand and sawed with tireless backs to craft the shelters of our ancestors.

Property owners would have chosen a parcel of land based on its location and on its natural resources... which included the availability of trees that could be used to build their homes and build shelter for family members, livestock and for fencing. Some of the trees were two to three hundred years old... the strength of the trees and the fertility of the soil was vital to survival.

I was privileged to be part of a total restoration of a home built in Sumter, South Carolina in 1845. When we first arrived at the shell of a building that once stood so proud, I felt the excitement of history under my hands. This home stood strong against storms, against drought, fire, termites, against vandalism and the strangles of time itself.

This old homestead had been scheduled for a bulldozer’s brashness... the devastation that nature could not put forth. But there was a vision... a vision for new hope and beauty. We added a kitchen where there was no kitchen. We added bathrooms where there never were bathrooms. We replaced ancient wiring and smoothed the sandy plaster. The floors were refinished and the weathered windows replaced. New sweet smelling paint and a new roof finished off our lengthy project. A young family now lives within... starting a life that will keep our little home alive for another century and longer.

There was one portion of the home that could not be saved. Some fifty years ago, the back porch fell to the misfortune of fire. The roof was gone... the exterior walls were gone and the floors were gone. All that was in place were the ancient, preserved floor joists that held support for almost two centuries. We wrestled them out with a fight and piled them on the property’s edge. I kept my eyes on them for weeks and felt protective toward these symbols of strength.

I took the pieces of wood home with me and saved them out of the weather. I held in my hand, wood that was harvested some 165 years ago from trees that may have been 200 years old... their parent trees may have also been two to three hundred years old.

I made this little treasure from a piece of nature’s history. There is no monetary value in it... there is no symbolism... only my admiration for its natural beauty and its ability to survive. I re-cut and shaped the wood... I drilled the heart pine and finished it so the natural grain can be seen. I only hope, perhaps this piece of nature’s history under our care, may survive for another lifetime and beyond.

                                                        Shannon R Killman