Remember?

Do you remember?
Where you were
Who stood by your side?
When the news came
When you first saw the horror?

It is an image
That is seared
Into the backs of my eyes
Burned into my brain.

Images that will never fade
Shock that doesn't ease
The sight of men, women
Jumping to their death
Can you imagine
A situation
When that is the best option?

Copyright 9/11/2006 Stephen Hollen

Misty morning

The first day of September
Brings a promise of fall
A promise of crisp mornings.

It is a glimpse of quilt
snuggling

Of woolen shirts,
flannel and sweater
Weather.

The first day of September whispers
Promises of orange, yellow and red leaves
Decorating the trees, glorious maples, stately oaks, sassy burning bush.


Fall is lurking,
Hiding in the mornings
Crawling around like a night beast
Seeking to devour summer.

You can see it in the mist
That gathers round the houses
Lingers longer each day
As sunrise sleeps in just a little longer.

Fall is glorious, a cool and calculating lover.

The Great Darke County Fair

There is nothing better than a County Fair, as you have heard me say. For a country boy the sights, the smells, the multitude of foods all call like a carney to your heart.

You want to go in, want to sip lemon shakeups and wade into the largest funnel cake in the history of the world. Your nose and eyes battle as you try to decide if the fried chicken smells better than the enormous pork tenderloin that hangs out of all sides of the bun by at least a foot.

The thump of an ancient machine cranking out home made ice cream in 7, count them 7 flavors, including black walnut beats a bass rhythm under the cry of the sideshow barker inviting you to see Zambina, the amazing 3 legged chicken, the dinkie doo, the rubber faced man, the alligator skinned rabbit. All the wonders of the world brought to your little town, your County Seat in trucks and trailers and available for your viewing pleasure for one think dollar bill. The opportunity of a lifetime, folks.

In a quiet places are the Grange exhibits.

Tables overladen with enormous neighbor beater tomatoes, zucchini squash to make any gardener proud,

Pumpkins large enough for
Cinderella's coach without much magic.

Cucumbers proudly covering a table, decorated with ribbons, blue, red and yellow proclaiming the skill of the farmer.


I sit on a pew, straight backed and worn, escaping from the sun...

watching judges look, feel, weigh the fruits of FFA labors in their hands. Years of experience have taught them skills I do not possess.

By some secret standards they declare a tomato, pepper, squash, onion or ear of corn a showstopper... best of show.

Sometimes I wonder if Heaven will have a County Fair.

Then I think, surely it will.

Keystone,Colorado

Growing up in the mountains of Appalachia was the cornerstone of my life, the foundation of who I am, who I was and who I hope to become.

I ran and played in the hollers, climbed the hills and wandered the mountains.

I watched the mist inch down at dusk and saw it flee daylight. I sat quietly on cabin porches and listened enraptured to treefrogs, night birds, owls and insects.

I marveled at the beauty of those ancient hills. the hills of Appalachia.

Now I have traveled west, seen the Rockies, been stymied and befuddled by the majesty of these giants.

As I climbed my breath was quite literally stolen from me. Standing in the cold of summer I gasped to regain my breath and gloried in what God had wrought.


It was a different beauty, like an ice princess that has never been warmed by a lover's kiss.

Traveling through the deep valleys brought thoughts of the life pioneers must have lived... gold rush miners, settlers trying to find passage to the west and California's temperate land. How they must have suffered, smothering in their bedrolls for lack of air, freezing in the winter, wishing for the heat of summer even in August.

The towns, like those in Appalachia are small, tucked under the shadow of mountains so big they carry names; Elbert, Massive, Harvard, Crestone Peak, Mount Wilson, Maroon Bells, Pikes Peak.


Mining towns like Georgetown covey close below, almost afraid to grow close the the mountain, for fear of reprisal.

They are neat, close, kept and warm, almost causing one to forget what looms overhead.












It was a place of hidden beauties.





Of Alpine glories.






It was a place that stole my breath...









Again...
And Again...









The window of a store shows a hodge podge
of items and forgotten relics of times past.



They seem somewhat incongruous with the majesty all around.

It is as if someone took them up from another alien time and place

And placed them in the window, as if to show how life could be in not so challenging a landscape.





I watched a distant storm chase over the peaks.

Oblivious to me, to anyone or anything huddled and cuddled in the ruts below the mountains.

Purple with rage, angry and wicked it dumped rain onto the pines and aspens, it drenched the naked rock faces below with little regard for men.

It thrilled me.

It frightened me.

For in the hills of home we could creep close together and warm ourselves in the bosom of the sweet mountains, hidden by the night.

In this foreign and threatening place the air does not flow into my lungs, I am not reassured as I am by the enveloping arms of Appalachia.

It is rugged and ragged, it is glorious and wonderful. It is majesty hewn and sculpted from the heart of the world. These mountains in summer are draped...are wrapped only slightly by the warmth of soil and trees.

I was thrilled, but yearned for worn down old hills, trodden down mountains, old when the Rockies were born. Gentle hollers, branches, hills and peaks that welcome and call me back to the place I belong. that sing a siren song of home.

I Love the Fair

Cousins,
First of all, I have to tell you right off that I love county fairs. There is nothing better than going to a fair and walking around just to watch all that happens. I especially love going during the day. There is not the press of folks common in the evenings when all the city folks come to ride the rides and the boys try to win prizes and impress their gals at the midway games.

The daytime is dedicated to showing 4H animals, judging, grooming cows, sheep, goats, rabbits and chickens of every variety. Kids in blue jeans and boots move with serious dedication to their goal of herding an animal into the ring.

Today I took a long lunch to go over to the County Fair and walk through as I ate. I had a fish boat. It was filled with fried catfish, hushpuppies and French fries that I covered with vinegar. I couldn’t eat and play games, so I felt safe walking through the midway. I listened to the carneys calling to boys, “come on now, fella, win one for that pretty gal there.” Or maybe, “Hey there, everyone is a winner. Only two to play and one of the two wins a prize”.

Then I walked through Cow Barn 4. There were younger 4H kids with calves in that barn. As I walked I saw a little Jersey calf lying on a thick pile of fresh straw. She was curled up and sleeping peacefully. A little blonde headed girl of about 7 was curled right up against the calf with her head on the calf’s neck. Her hand carefully rubbed the calf’s ear as she grinned up at me.

I walked through the goat barn, the rabbit and chicken barn and stood at the side of a show ring and watched some boys and one single girl show their pigs. I have to say that I grinned constantly as I heard the pigs squeal and saw little boys trying to make their cantankerous pigs move in the right direction.

The Grange displays were full of beautiful tomatoes; gallon jars of soybeans or corn, squash, huge heads of cabbage and baskets overflowing with beans. There were jams and jellies that delighted the eye, cakes that just cried out for eating.

I believe I could live at the fair. I could eat rib eye sandwiches or butterfly pork from the Clay County Pork Producers. At lunch I would snag an ear of fresh corn on the cob covered with butter, salt and pepper. Dessert would be home made strawberry ice cream one day and maybe the thin crisp county fair waffles all covered with powdered sugar. For supper I would go into the Methodist Church Ladies Missionary Group tent and have their sit down chicken dinner.

I’d have to have a job, so I would bring back the sideshows and I would be the barker. I would be resplendent in a striped jacket with a straw hat and bamboo cane. There I would stand on a big wooden box all painted up in primary colors as I called out;

“Ste-ep right this way folks, come one come all and see the greatest show ever to grace this county fair. Perhaps the most amazing accumulation of oddities, talent and unexplainable phenomenon the world has ever seen. Come see Johnny the dog eared boy, the chicken with 3 legs, the dinky doo. Come right this way, sir and bring the little lady to see the world’s largest, yes I said the world’s largest bull, the horse faced man, see Zambina, the missing link as she changes from beautiful modern woman to gorilla. Yes, folks, I said Zambina the gorilla woman, fresh from her tour of New Orleans French Quarter.

Here it is folks. This is the real thing. Never before and never again will you see anything like this. Step right up now and see the bearded lady, the world’s largest rat. We have it here folks, all right here in your little town for this week only. Don’t go home and wonder. Don’t walk by only to dream years from now about what you missed by passing this wonderful show by.”

Published July 26, 2004