Summer Rain

Danny has a post on Cross Streets about his loathing of living in the desert. I felt the same way when I lived in both Roswell, NM, and Moses Lake, Washington. This is not a commentary on people who love such places. I’m just saying that I don’t like the desert. The people who live there and love it are fine with me. I just prefer greener pastures in a literal sense.

Danny writes:

It is dry, hot, dirty and dusty.  There’s no song here, only a raspy whisper,  like that the sound of the plea for water on the parched lips of a dying sojourner.  Its musicless “lyrics” are the same as its refrain.  “Water, water; need water.”  Every plant unfortunate enough to find its roots probing beneath the rocky surface warns with its dangerous spines and thorns against any who would dare impose on it for just a little of its life giving moisture.  The sparse dots of green that these plants present to the squinted eye all tell the same sad story.  For every green branch that has managed to eek life from the trunk in this lifeless place, there are two or more grayish skeletons of branches to match, dead and withered, which either still cling with a dead grip to the trunk, or which have finally collapsed amongst their decaying brethren below.  They warn all life in this place of its ultimate fate, death by thirst.  The Cholla, with its deceptively attractive spines that appear as fuzz, all stand amidst an above-ground graveyard of its own webbed skeletal remains.  And the aromatic choya, with its rock-hard and thin scraggly branches, fills the desert with the appropriate scent of “burnt”, should a fiery thunder cloud dane to provide a burst of water on its beggar underling.  Ahh, and then there’s the wash, which presents the longing eye with the appearance of water as it reminds of recently dried flows with its smooth stones and evidences of bygone currents.  It tortures taunts and teases with what might could be, if only… water.

In view of that, I took this shot two weeks ago during a downpour here in eastern Tennessee.  Hope that it helps Danny remember the greener days of his youth.

Summer rain


New Look

I know, my blog has a new look to it for about the third time in three weeks. I liked the last format, which was Twenty Fourteen, but wanted to make some changes and could not without the $78 upgrade to make those changes. My main problem was the size of photos that I could display along with the Titles to each blog. In the format available, titles are in all caps, which drives me nuts.

So I have shifted back to Twenty Twelve for now. Much simpler, and cleaner. The photo currently in the header was taken when I was still in Roswell, on hole number 16 at the Spring River Golf Course. What makes it so unique is that the Spring River actually had water in it. Of the 18 months I lived there, that was the only time it had water.

Here is a photo to make your day!


Do I Believe in Space Aliens?

It was not a question I was expecting this afternoon when I went to the country club to play a round of golf. One of our new employees was asking me about my Titleist golf cap with the Roswell Alien logo on the side.

I don’t believe in space aliens and said as much. But I had to think about it and I have to admit that some of my bad shots this afternoon were because my mind was preoccupied with the question. The rest of my bad shots were due to the fact that I’m just a bad golfer. I do have a long game now, but my short game still sends me into the triple bogey range and beyond.

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Scenes From My Neighborhood

Last week… while walking with my boys, I took this picture. This was one of the worst snows Roswell has had in 10 years, and this was day three after it started melting.

Every time we go for a walk, we discover something new about our little town. Last night, I took the boys over to a park across the road from the golf course and found a new favorite park. We have a favorite one in Jackson, TN, known as North Park. This one, I’m not sure of the name, is on the old airport here in Roswell. The tower is still in place and there is a lot of open space. Let me emphasize, a lot of open space.

I will have to get some pictures, but walking through the park is really breath taking with Mt. Capitan to the west of us. In all the places I’ve lived as a pastor, this is the first where we can see mountains in the distance.

I tried to make it all the way around the walking path, but had the boys in tow in the wagon. I could have done it. But we came across a really cook play park and the boys had to climb all over it.

While there, I met another transplant to the Roswell area. Abraham and Deloris G. moved to Roswell from California to escape the high prices. They have been here for four years and love how friendly the people are. He also enjoys the fact that his small business, in home repair, has been sustained simply by word of mouth. Once he got his first job, he has been busy ever since. While he doesn’t make as much money as he did in California, he doesn’t have the bills either, nor the traffic,nor the smog.

Those are the things that I always enjoy about living in small towns. In a small town, a traffic delay means taking 5 more minutes to get to where you are going. In Dallas, that could mean an hour. In Atlanta, 2 hours or more (for some reason, in the south they have a tendency to completely shut down the freeway for a traffic accident.)

Off to take in more of the scenery.