“Backward, turn backward,
O Time, in your flight
make me a child again
just for to-night!”
Elizabeth Akers Allen, 1832-1911
American journalist and poet
Shady Valley, TN
“Fewer and fewer Americans possess objects that have a patina, old furniture,
grandparents’ pots and pans, the used things, warm with generations of
human touch, essential to a human landscape. Instead, we have our paper phantoms,
transistorized landscapes. A featherweight portable museum.”
Susan Sontag, 1933-2004
American essayist, novelist, photographer
Roberta Lynn Swiney (May 16, 1942 – Oct 21, 1993)
Dear Aunt Toby,
You know, you’ve meant a lot of things to me over the years and
I can’t imagine my life without you. Being with you is like reliving childhood,
but in a way that nothing is taken for granted, only cherished and enjoyed.
You let me be a kid, in fact, you often lead me in the enjoyment of childhood thrills,
yet you know the burdens of life and you seem to understand it all.
The weather-stained things in life, you’ve taught me to take in stride
and even when there’s tears and sorrow — “life goes on.”
And this all sounds so sentimental, yet every bit is true. And did I learn it all
by lectures, or by “Aunt Toby’s Book of How to Survive Life and Enjoy It”?
No, I’ve first-hand witnessed every bit of it in your actions, smiles, and tears,
Just being with you…and I’ve enjoyed every minute.
Next to my parents there is no one who has had more of
an impact on my life or whom I always wanted to be like.
She was the very essence of “beauty and wisdom from Appalachia.”
“The way a child discovers the world constantly replicates the way science began.
You start to notice what’s around you, and you get very curious about how things work.
How things interrelate. It’s as simple as seeing a bug that intrigues you.
You want to know where it goes at night; who its friends are; what it eats.”
David Cronenberg, 1943-
Bass Lake, Blowing Rock, NC
“The foliage has been losing its freshness through the month of August,
and here and there a yellow leaf shows itself like the first gray hair
amidst the locks of a beauty who has seen one season too many.”
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., 1809-1894
One of best regarded American poets of 19th cty.