Claim Your Freedom

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4th of July, 91st Psalm, Freedom, Independence

Happy Birthday America; land of the free.

Today I claim my freedom from the dark forces around us in this year of Covid, riots, and click bait.  I will turn off the news, ignore social media, and head outside for some neighborly greetings.  Never before have I seen so many walkers, runners, and hikers in my diverse neighborhood.  We always smile and wave at each other.  In our greetings, we feel unconditional love for each other.  We are all law abiding citizens enjoying our freedom in the greatest country on Earth.  What we don’t always know is that there are many more of us than the news reports.

Today, let us celebrate what the Psalmists promises those of us who believe this way:

A thousand may fall at your side,
And ten thousand at your right hand;
But it shall not come near you.
Only with your eyes can you behold and see the reward of the wicked.

Unplug, take a walk today, because you can.

Because you have made the Lord, who is our refuge,
Even the Most High, your dwelling place,
No evil shall befall you,
Nor shall any plague come nigh your dwelling;

Our flag, a symbol of freedom for all.

Let’s start now in our own thought, which is our dwelling place, and know the dark forces cannot touch us.  Join me today, on this 4th of July, in celebrating our freedom and independence.

I am the resistance

Today I’m saving my life. Today, I stepped over the bounds of legality, walked across a vacant lot, and sat on the forbidden beach above the tide line.

Others have been here.  I see their footprints.  I believe they feel the same as I.  Fifteen minutes in the presence of such beauty restored my soul. Nature is where I feel God’s presence the most, and I especially feel it at the beach. I felt it along the shores of Lake Michigan as a teenager.  Today I needed to feel it along the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. I needed to feel close to God so I could pray for my family, my neighbors, my country, and my world. Being denied this beauty, feels like being denied God’s presence.

I refuse to be a victim of the evils of this material world. I believe God gave us dominion over everything material, including illness in every form.  I believe health is more contagious than illness. I believe Love is more contagious than hate.  I believe joy is more contagious than sadness.  And, I believe peace is more contagious than fear and panic.  Today, I am the resistance.

#IamTheResistance

A Time Capsule from 1985

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1985, Lake Ridge, memoir, Tackett's Mill Center, Time Capsule, Virginia

The Capstone

I could be writing about my son, he was born in 1985.  But, no I mean an actual time capsule put in the ground 34 years ago. I first noticed it in 1996 when my office moved to Tackett’s Mill in Lake Ridge Virginia and I became involved in the Tackett’s Mill Foundation.

 

I recall being in a meeting where everyone around the table declared they didn’t expect to be around on May 29th, 2019. It seemed an impossibly distant date. All eyes that day had landed on me, the only one they expected would see it opened.  They were right.

It took the guys about five hours to remove the dirt and gravel covering it.

 

After the lid was popped off the capsule, we all crowded close to see the contents. Most obvious were large envelopes scattered on top of seemingly random items. The envelopes contained essays from contest winners represented by the county schools at that time. These kids were the only ones allowed to provide contents for the capsule. The items didn’t make a lot of sense until afterward when we matched them to the essays.

The Capsule unearthed beneath 3 feet of gravel and dirt

A deeper impression is not so much about what the kids wrote about and included but rather what they did not include. None of them wrote about social media, video games, or anything electronic. All the essays were hand-written. Their cursive penmanship was very neat and impressive.

Though it seems not much has changed in 34 years, the children’s essays point to a time of innocence and a connection to nature and a love for the trees, flowers, pure water, and birds found in abundance in Prince William County. More than one essay winner expressed concern for the county becoming too commercial because at the time many trees were being cleared for a large shopping center that would be the largest in the state of Virginia, which we now call Potomac Mills. The kids expressed a knowledge of their county government’s structure and the area’s history and the importance of good schools and academic proficiency.

What do you think our kids would write about today? What would they want to include in a new time capsule?

We’re thinking of burying another one~

The Honorable Kathleen Seefeldt and Dr. Jack Kooyoomjian have a first look.

The contents didn’t at first make sense until we matched them to the essays.

It was a once in a lifetime experience hosting this event.

Local athlete Benita Fitzgerald won the gold in the 1984 Olympics

I miss the rotary…

All the items will be on display at the Clearbrook Center of the Arts at 2230B Tackett’s Mill Drive in Lake Ridge VA on June 15th, 2019, from 1pm to 4pm.

Book Group Discussion Guide for “Memory Lake: The Forever Friendships of Summer”

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Book Groups, Discussion Guide, Memory Lake, Questions for Discussion

The following questions are designed to stimulate a book group discussion after reading “Memory Lake: The Forever Friendships of Summer.”

Now you’ve read it…. what did you think?

The working title of Memory Lake was originally Sacrifices of Joy.  The author’s publisher changed the title because in their professional view, “Sacrifices are for witches and Joy is for cooking and sex.”  What does a ‘sacrifice of joy’ mean to you? Can you identify it as a recurring theme in the novel, and as a tool for overcoming grief and hardship?

Identify pivotal times in your life in which you forced yourself to express joy when you least felt like it.  Did this attitude help you to persevere and achieve an accomplishment of which you are particularly proud?

Did you attend summer camp?  Discuss your own summer camp experience, if you had one.

If you were homesick, did you attend camp too young?  Was the camp you attended flawed in some way?

The author and her cousins at Lake St. Helen in 1965.

If you had a favorable camp experience, in what ways was your camp similar or dissimilar to the author’s?  As a camper did you see improvement in any of these areas:

• An expanded imagination
• Character development
• Sacred dimensions
• Independence and self-esteem
• Friendships and social skills
• Making a connection to the outdoors
• Leadership training
  

  Team building at the Leelanau Outdoor Center

As an adolescent, were you influenced negatively by peer pressure?  Could you have benefited from a summer camp experience?  Do you think kids today need to escape negative peer pressure more than kids from earlier generations?

The author believes children benefit greatly by unplugging from their electronic devices and establishing a connection to nature even if they are unable to attend summer camp.  What lessons did the characters of Memory Lake learn from their outdoor experiences?  Could these same lessons have been learned indoors?

Unplugging at the Leelanau Outdoor Center

Do you experience a sense of awe and well-being when surrounded by natural beauty? Many believe this sensation can lead to spiritual awareness and an inner confidence.  Is there a place of natural beauty that is important to you, where you feel especially connected to a sacred presence?

Discuss the pivotal role Lake Michigan played in the story and in the main characters’ development.  To what degree do you think the lake influenced the campers’ overall experience?  Were the bonds of friendship more or less important than the setting?   Do you think the characters’ camp experiences would have been the same in a different setting?

Lake Michigan; chilly but beautiful…

Have you ever visited the Sleeping Bear Dunes?  Check out this National Park Service link to learn more about its natural beauty:  https://www.nps.gov/slbe/index.htm

Sleeping Bear Dunes

What defines a ‘forever friend’ to you?  Have you recently reconnected with individuals who were once your closest friends?  Were you able to rekindle the same level of association?

Have the friendships in your life helped or hindered your spiritual growth? Do you think a more spiritual connection to a friend increases the chances of that friendship’s longevity?

Which characters in Memory Lake do you identify with the most, and why?

Tori, Lori, Nancy, Susie, Cindy, Christie, Sarah, author, and Mary

Did Nanny’s personality resonate with you?  Have there been fears and limitations passed on through generations of women in your family?  Have you, or your mother been able to break free?  If so, how was this accomplished?  If you have a daughter, have you tried not to pass on certain traits to her?

Nancy Roman and David were married after publication: on the grounds of the old camp.

Most sleep-away summer camps, whether affiliated with a specific faith or not, imbue sacred elements into the overall camp experience to teach empathy, kindness, cooperation and other positive qualities.  Do you think today’s women and girls need an honor code to live by?  Discuss how the various camper qualities and the earning of beads helped the campers get along without jealousy or arguing.

If you were able to establish a code for women and girls to live by, what would it be?

After reading Memory Lake, are you more inclined to recommend summer camp to your own children or grandchildren?

Dr. Michael Thompson, a leading child and family psychologist and New York Times best-selling author says, “Camp ushers kids into a thrilling world of emotionally significant experiences that are theirs alone – ones they can only get when away from home.  Parents’ first instinct to shelter their offspring above all else – can actually deprive kids of the major developmental milestones and independent learning that occurs through letting them go.”  Would you have agreed with this statement before reading Memory Lake? Are you more inclined to agree with this statement now, after having read Memory Lake?

Experiencing nature at the Leelanau Outdoor Center.

Author’s daughter and granddaughter

The author would like to hear from you!  Please leave a comment pertaining to your book group’s experience in discussing Memory Lake.

The Cottage on Lake St. Helen, Michigan

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ansochrome, Artesia Beach, Artesian well, Big Mo', Cottage, Cousins, Kodachrome, Lake St. Helen, Michigan

I recently found some old slides of Lake St. Helen and the Cottage.  This was Ansoochrome, not Kodachrome, thus the faded quality.  #lakesthelen

 

Long before I loved summer camp, I loved the cottage on Sunset Drive, about halfway between Artesia Beach and the beginning  of Lakeview Drive on Lake St. Helen in central Michigan.  Our cottage was unique from all the other cottages because it had an Artesian well in the front yard.

Good old black and white- Maribeth, Pam, Jill, Susan, and me sitting on the Artesian well.

We frequently caught hell from Papa for falling into the well’s freezing waters.  “That’s our drinking water,” he’d yell and haul us out by the seat of our pants.

My cousins have looked for that cottage but it has been rebuilt and if any family member knew the full address, he or she has either passed away or long since forgotten it.  We’d probably know the lot if we came upon it.  We must have traipsed up and down that hill about a thousand times each summer in the 60’s, gleefully running on the way down and grumbling irritably on the way up.

We caught minuscule sun perch off the dock using night crawlers dug from Papa’s petunia flower bed out back, along the dirt road.  There was no central heat, which meant plenty of mold and mildew grew between seasons but the fireplace at night smoked it out.  There was no basement or crawl space, which meant sometimes bait came through the tiles in the bathroom, which spared the flower bed.

There was a hot water heater that wound up like a screeching banshee each time it kicked on.  A green plaid hammock hung from the trees between our cottage and the next, beside the narrow sidewalk lined in beds of colorfully painted rocks, decorated by the five of us over the years.

Our mothers were sisters and we were their daughters, each a year apart: Pam, Maribeth, Susan, Nancy and Jill.  We could have been sisters.  We played, fought, and loved like sisters.  We shared clothes and mostly bathing suits.  I don’t remember having my own suit until I joined the swim team back home in South Bend, Indiana.  At the cottage, you just went to the hall cupboard, opened its birch door perfectly matched against the birch paneling, and rummaged through the cotton suits.  One size fit all, with ties at the shoulders, shirring down the front and elastic around the legs.

Our moms and Papa.  They wore the bikinis! Thank goodness someone used #Kodachrome.

We lived in those suits by day as we played in the sand, rocked on the hammock, floated on styrofoam rafts, water skied, played croquet, and walked to the Artesia Beach store for Big Mo’ candy bars.  We always walked there by the dirt road and came home by the lake, eating our candy bars and staring at the front yards of the other cottages as we circumvented their docks and mucked through the shores of those who hadn’t cleared out their weeds.

At night, we roasted marshmallows, lit sparklers, skinny dipped, played spoons, ate popcorn and raisinettes, drank sugary Kool-Aid from tall metal cups, and watched “I Love Lucy” on black and white TV.  But mostly we pestered Papa and put on skits and made the adults watch us.  I miss the cottage, and so do my cousins.  It was magical.  If you hear of a cottage on Sunset Drive with an Artesian well, please be sure to let me know.  I looked on Zillow and Google Earth and couldn’t find it.

The cottage around 1962.  More Ansochrome film, though I saturated it after scanning.

Nanny and Papa sharing an anniversary cake.  Oh Ansochrome, why were you made?

When You Can’t Return to Camp

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Missing Camp

To this day, when summer rolls around I miss all the good things about camp.  There were a few bad things, and I purposely chose not to write about them in Memory Lake because for the most part they have fallen by wayside over the years.  You may already know I was not an ideal camper.  I had no friends among the staff or even the counselors.  I kept to my friends, chose easy activities, and never won an award.  It should have been no surprise when I did not get asked to come back as a counselor.  Still, I was completely miserable my 17th summer at home.  All my friends were Up North without me.  We did not communicate after camp had ended, or for many years after.  That took a while.  I missed the cabins, the lake, and my friends, or so I thought.  What I really missed, (and it took me many years to figure this out), was the ease of my faith and the peace it held over me while at camp.  Once I got busy finding my faith away from camp, the pain considerably lessened.   So now, even though camp has ended forever for me, my faith has not.  I find it in all sunsets, not just the ones over Lake Michigan. I hear it in all birdsong, not just the whippoorwill.  I feel it under all crescent moons, not just the ones outside my cabin screen.  And I hold it close all year-long, not just in the summer.  So, to all the young folks out there who are facing a spring that is leading to the pain of your first summer away from camp, I offer this excerpt from Memory Lake…

“This is my last year,” Maggie said.  “My parents don’t know it yet,” she added, in response to our gasps of surprise.  Her family provided active support to the camp.  We assumed she’d return year after year like the rest of them.

“Me too,” my sister agreed.  “I’m done.”

If it had been any other time, Susan’s conviction would have caused me to hyperventilate.  Instead, I accepted it.  “They probably won’t ask me back as a counselor,” I fished, peering askance at Linda, supposing she would know.

“You don’t need to come back,” Linda stated with factual ease.  “There are so many wonderful things you’ve never done, places you’ve never been.  I may not see the lake again for many, many years.”

We held a respectful silence, facing the surf and the horizon.  I wondered if the same would hold true for me.  “Most people have a place where they feel the Lord dwells,” Linda continued.  “This will always be mine.  And, I will carry it here.”  She pressed a hand against her chest.  “Decide what you want out of life, speak the words, and then let it happen.  Creation happens by letting,” Linda said.

“That’s right,” Maggie agreed.  “Let there be light’.”

“Oh, yeah,” I whispered.  By ‘letting’ myself be different, I had found the strength to break away from my friends.  At the beginning of every summer I had plopped down on my cot and sensed camp’s fleeting existence in my life.  Now I recognized its lasting presence.  These time-outs from the distractions of home had helped me formulate who I wanted to be.  Though still fuzzy and out of focus, the view had just grown clearer, and my faith in having the right tools, for me, had just grown stronger.  I only needed to enter the world and learn to use them in a productive manner.  Let my friends return as counselors, but I would move on.”

Welcome to adulthood! 😉

If you’re curious about a traditional camp experience or want to relive it…

Tags

Camp Edition, Old Bridge Observer

Reprinted from published article, Wednesday March 11, 2015, Vol. 26, Old Bridge Observer:

Send your kids on an adventure this summer!  They will benefit greatly from being unplugged for a few weeks.  They’ll learn to appreciate a beautiful sunrise and sunset.  They’ll bask in the vista earned from a mountain hike.  They’ll learn the satisfaction of building a campfire and the joy of paddling a canoe.  Friendships will thrive on a different level from the school year and faith will become more than a vague concept.

Opportunities await…

Yes, sleepover camp is costly, the logistics are challenging, and letting go is difficult; which, curiously enough, is the best reason of all to send your kids to camp.  They’ll learn to see their lives from the outside in, and will return home with a new perspective and a new found gratitude.

This happened to me and it changed my life, which is why I wrote “Memory Lake: The Forever Friendships of Summer.”  Over five summers, for seven weeks at a time, I entered a thrilling world of autonomy.  I gained confidence, meaningful friendships, and a glimmer of the adult I wanted to be.  I will always be grateful to my parents for taking this leap of faith and letting me go.  If you are curious about a traditional camp experience, or simply want to relive it, “Memory Lake” will take you there.  Please enjoy this excerpt…

The Majesty of Nature…

…By the time I reached Sandpiper my sand-dappled feet had completely dried.  I nudged my shoulder against the door, mindful of pinching my skin in the outer spring.  This coil spanned the middle and creaked in protest while rubbing a small groove in the wood.  I slipped through and it banged loudly.  I flinched.  My eyes adjusted and I searched about to see if anyone else had moved in.  The bunk above mine wore a colorfully striped woolen blanket tucked neatly into every corner.

            “Hi, I’m Nancy,” a voice said.

            I saw her silhouette against the screened window, mirroring my height.  She stepped into a golden ray of afternoon sun.  Her hair hung twice my length, with bangs, and traces of red among strands of black and brown.  Her smile boasted perfectly white teeth, newly freed from braces.

            I exclaimed, “My name is Nancy, too!  I’ve never met another Nancy my age!  Not in my entire junior high.”

            “This is my first time at camp.  I’m only staying three weeks,” she said.

I understood her hopeful undertone.  “Me too,” I gushed, equally relieved to know she would not be running off with some long missed friends from a previous summer.  “Have you taken the swim test, yet?”  I shivered at the memory.  “The lake is freezing!”

A stream of knowing laughter erupted from her chest.  I laughed along, believing I had found a friend in this strange place.

“It is cold,” she grimaced distastefully.  “I did the test in the river.”

“Did you get dressed in the cabin?”  I searched through the screens for stray fathers or more guys carrying trunks. 

“Yeah,” she said.  “If you hurry, the coast is clear.”

She watched the boardwalk while I changed into dry clothes.  I also ditched the rubber thongs in favor of my hip leather sandals.  “We drove up from South Bend, Indiana,” I said, hoping for more things in common.  “Where are you from?”

“Dryden, New York.”  She smiled wistfully.  “We live in the country.  There is a small lake in front of our house.  We have ducks, and geese.” 

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No brothers, only sisters.”

“Me too!” I exclaimed, astoundingly satisfied by our similarities.  “I have one sister in Driftwood.”

Nancy answered all the questions I put to her about Dryden while the other beds in the cabin filled up.  Their faces have grown vague over the years, as well as the face of our counselor, Leslie, but I still remember their names, Corrine, Mindy, and Franny.  Leslie coordinated introductions then herded us out the door to assemble with the rest of the campers around the flagpole. 

A creosote log, more of a telephone pole than an actual flagpole, anchored a thick cotton version of the ‘Stars and Stripes’.  It flapped noisily in the ever-present breeze.  Corrine, Mindy and Franny dispersed into the group to find friends from different cabins while Nancy and I stuck together like glue.  I counted roughly forty girls in our circle, some as young as eight and others as old as seventeen.  Without warning, a handful of them started singing.  They punched each note wildly and loudly.

‘The Cannibal KING with the big nose RING fell in love with the dusky maaaaid. 

And every NIGHT by the pale moon LIGHT across the lake he’d waaaade…..’

            “Who makes this stuff up?” I whispered to Nancy, loving her soft, encouraging laughter. 

My sister waved from across the circle.  She stood near the oldest girls.  I couldn’t take my eyes off them.  Infinitely above reproach, they whispered among themselves, casually at ease in their dangling wire earrings, painted nails, low hip huggers, wide macramé belts, skimpy triangle halters, bare tanned midriffs, and full figures.  I would be entering high school in a year and envisioned vast halls full of such girls.  I wanted to be one of them.  I imagined they protested the immature song.  So I held my silence and protested it too.  I loved music, all kinds, and had been told my voice was nice, but I didn’t believe anyone older than me would want to sing this blather.  It belonged in my mom’s pre-school.

The pandemonium expanded as more campers joined in.  Eventually my newly anointed idols added their voices to the fray, carrying on and having fun.  A couple of them actually dispersed through the circle to teach others!  Even Nancy joined in!  I couldn’t find a single scornful, arrogant protestor akin to the mute, cool kids in my 8^th grade chorus.  Happily amazed, I tried to sing along.

When the song reached its long, unnatural end it dawned on me; camp required a different sort of cool.

Editors Note:  When we were planning the 2015 Camp Guide, we asked Woodbridge author Nancy Kyme to select one of her favorite excerpts from her book about summer camp to share with Observer newspaper readers.

Déjà vécu and ‘Tele-reach’

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Deja Vecu, Deja Vu, ESP, Mapping a New Reality, tele-reach, Therese M. Rowley Ph.D, Yahoo

Admiring natural beauty during the day will increase your intuitive intelligence…

Our lives are predominantly a series of small, daily events. It is how we handle the daily events that matters, not so much what those events are. In this spirit, many of us have discovered we are happier on the whole, we can handle a crises better, and our days are much more interesting, if we can sustain a heightened awareness of life’s mysterious and inexplicable coincidences. The trouble is, we lack common words to describe these mysteries. The ones available to us are either too broad or too vague. For example, Déjà vécu (pronounced vay-koo), is the most common type of déjà vu, yet we don’t even use this term.  Instead, we use déjà vu for everything to the point of it being meaningless.   (Check out this broad list of strange-phenomena; ListVerse.com)

I propose the establishment of a micro-vocabulary to expand our awareness of these little mysteries.  By naming them, we’ll be admitting they do indeed happen, and not just to me, but to others, and perhaps they can happen more frequently, and even advance to higher levels.  Prayer studies and ESP studies show a correlation between belief and accuracy.  The greater the belief, the greater the accuracy.  Therese M. Rowley Ph.D, calls this Mapping a New Reality.  In her book, (of the same name, which I highly recommend,) she challenges us to discover our intuitive intelligence.  

Tele-reach! A new word…

This blog post will begin simply with the sensation of knowing who is calling on the phone without the aid of caller ID or unique ring tones.  Let’s call it tele-reach. 

Tele-reach in action…

I found this question randomly posted on Yahoo; “Do you have a good sense of who’s calling by just hearing the phone ring?”  Someone commented, “Yes, I always know when it is my mom or when it is one particular friend. It probably has a lot more to do with the long distance ring vs the local ring setting on my phone and the amount of time that has passed since I last talked to either. But it sure feels like ESP.”

Let’s agree this can happen without the benefit of ring tones. Not only do I usually know when the caller is my daughter, son, sister, dad, close friend, or husband, but we frequently demonstrate an ability to induce the other to call.  This, of course, increases the frequency of it happening.  Here’s how tele-reach works: think of that person with a true desire and need to have a conversation.  Go about your mundane tasks; getting the mail, opening the mail, letting out the dog.  All the while, think about the need to speak to that person.  See if that phone does not ring, and you know who it is.

Now, I’m going to tele-reach my grand-daughter who is not yet 2.  When I’m successful, she begs to reach the phone and says, “Mayme, Mayme, Mayme.” It drives her parents crazy, but it sure makes my day to hear the phone ring and know it is Lilly, with a little help from mom or dad.

See if you can tele-reach someone today.  Then, please, talk about it.  Together, we can Map a New Reality.

Thank you for believing!

Frozen in Time, 2014 edition

I love Michigan! There is always new beauty to discover. It is the place I’d rather be. (Lake Michigan is “Memory Lake”) I now live in Virginia but my exploration of this beauty continues because Andrew McFarlane posts a new picture of startling beauty every day on his blog “Michigan in Pictures”. I’m not sure how he manages it, given the inevitability of life’s surprises, but it’s been nine years and he’s still at it. I only know, (as I rededicate myself to blogging in 2015), I am grateful for his efforts. I’m honored to re-blog his year-end compilation.

The Lure of the Water; Praise for Sofia M. Starnes, Former Virginia Poet Laureate

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#poetlaureate, 10000 poems, Clearbrook Center of the Arts, Common Ground, Guy Lambert, Image Werks, Jazz, Lake Ridge, Poet Laureate, Prince William Arts Council, Tackett's Mill, The Clearbrook Foundation, Virginia, WPGC, Write by the Rails

Sofia M. Starnes introduced the selection panel to the press in May. “Poetry and Jazz”; was the July event to crown the Poet Laureate of Prince William County, VA, chosen by the panel.

Virginia’s Common Ground Jazz Band improvised to the poetry readings of Laureate nominees.

I promise this post is about water and poetry.  But, first a little background…  In the early stages of writing “Memory Lake,” I sought to define the lure of the water because Lake Michigan inserted itself into nearly every scene.  The water’s endless beauty was easy to describe and its symbolism easy to interject.  But the reason for its lure proved difficult.  My heart knew the reason, but I could not find the words except to call it “that large place where the Lord seems to dwell.”

Don’t give me the mic, Guy Lambert of WPGC, you’ll never get it back..

I decided, it was a poet’s job to analyze the lure of the water.  Since I am a novelist, I only needed to show my characters being drawn to the water.  I didn’t need to tell the reader why.  Still, I searched for a poem to satisfy my longing.  Mostly, I Googled it, and was always directed to ‘the lure of the water cooler’.

Then, I met Sofia M. Stearns, Virginia’s former Poet Laureate.  She kindly traveled to Northern Virginia in May to speak at an event I had arranged to launch our county’s search for a Poet Laureate.  Every word she uttered, even in casual conversation, was like poetry.  I purchased a copy of her Laureate project, “The Nearest Poem Anthology,” not expecting to find the answer I had been seeking because it is a collection of classic poems. Google is full of such poems, though not the partner essays Sofia collected to give the poems new meaning.  All of her reasoning is beautifully penned in her Introduction where I found, to my surprise, the answer I had been seeking!  I tell you, she nailed it. Take a deep breath and see if you don’t agree….

Lake Michigan; chilly but beautiful…

Two Poet Laureates of Prince William County! The selection panel chose Alexandra “Zan” Hailey and Dr. Robert Scott.

“Even those who fear the ocean are likely to stand on the beach and let the water tease their toes.  Or, Held further back through dread of the unknown, we will yet contemplate the inhale and exhale of the waves, the ineffable expression of their life, the horizon both permanent and altered by the making and unmaking of each day.  Holding on to our residue of awe, we return to the quiet shelter of our homes… Both proximity and smallness are now enhanced by the trace-reverence we’ve carried with us indoors, reverence for a source and a destiny that lie beyond us.”

Zan and Robert… my two new favorite poets! I can’t wait to see what they come up with for their projects. Their awards are sponsored by The Clearbrook Foundation.

Tackett’s Mill Lakeside, Lake Ridge, VA

I think this should be a poem, as should the rest of Sofia’s beautiful introduction. But, I am a novelist, not a poet, so what do I know? Sofia’s tenure as Virginia’s Poet Laureate ended June 26th.  Her project took two years to complete and I highly recommend it.  “The Nearest Poem Anthology” is for that quiet read before bed.  It inspires and enlightens, a few pages at a time.  It provides the words we crave through poetry to explain the lure of the moon, the lure of solitude, and family, of love, and of course, the lure of the water.

(The Prince William County Poet Laureate is an initiative of Write by the Rails and the Prince William Arts Council.  Virginia’s new Poet Laureate is Ron Smith.  Please explore the personalized links in this post.)

 

The honorary position of Poet Laureate of Virginia is hereby created. Beginning in 1998, the Governor may appoint a poet laureate from a list of nominees submitted by the Poetry Society of Virginia. Each poet laureate shall serve a term of two years with no restrictions on reappointment.