A Very Worthwhile Charity

As you know, the Dew is all about encouraging reading and writing, regardless of age.

The Reading Tree Organization, working with United Way, has a program where donated books are given to children and adults who cannot afford to purchase them or have easy access to our wonderful library system.

Check it out - we all have books our children have outgrown or that we ourselves know we won't read again.

I always attempt to find homes for my "outgrown" books and I would love to know that they might be going somewhere where they will be used and cherished.

www.readingtree.org

Summer Memory, Tybee Island, Georgia

Being a lifelong Southerner, I guess my preference for Fall and Winter leaves me at something of a disadvantage. The cooler months here are not often all that cool nor are they very long lived. But I do have a few Summertime memories…

My childhood home is Savannah and that allowed me to spend a lot of time on the beach. Back in the 60s and 70s, there used to be a number of free concerts held out on Tybee Island… one of those was called “The Rock That Ate Savannah Beach”. (It was Savannah Beach before it changed names and became Tybee Island)

That particular event starred the band, Black Oak Arkansas and that was enough to bring all of us out of our air-conditioned woodwork and onto the hot summer beach sand.

It was really, really hot that day. I mean serious hot. You could watch your ice-cold beer completely evaporate between the stand where you got it and the concert area about 100 yards away. But be that as it may, there was no shortage of beach bunnies of both genders camped out on massive towels and soaking up the sun.

In all honesty, I gave up on the beer after the second try because it was making me ill. I would have switched to a soft drink but the same laws of heat, evaporation and illness applied to them as well. It was exercise in futility.

Black Oak played like there was no tomorrow. I have no idea how they managed that on an open stage, in the direct sunlight and with all the amps and stuff generating even more heat. It was amazing… and just for the sheer spirit of fun and frolic, probably one of the best rock concerts I ever attended.

Another thing I noticed was the bright shades of red those sun-worshipping toasters were becoming. By the time the band closed their set with “Jim Dandy”, all laid out on their towels they looked like sliced tomatoes on white bread.

I’m betting they were all fairly sore the next day but equally, they would have done it all again. I know I would have.

Written by: Redoubt
http://www.sincityq.com/blog/

What will happen to my homeland this year?

I found this post in the archives from 2006. This was what I was thinking and feeling after Katrina came and took out the Gulf Coast the year before and I was waiting to see what the current year would bring.

Over the last two hurricane seasons I have listened and watched as my friends have rebuilt their lives and/or decided to move on to new lives, somewhere that doesn't have the risk of going away every year.

This year friends again lost a fight against nature in places and several of them swear they'll be out of the "line of fire" by the next hurricane season. This year again I watched my favorite vacation spot lose half of itself out to sea.

I believe that from now on, my thoughts below, that I originally wrote in March of 2006, will come back each year. I just hope that some years I will be able to do nothing more than breath a sigh of relief after another season goes by without catastrophe.

______________________________________


I sit and stare at the headlines of the Sunday paper. I haven't read the article itself, but the words leaping out at me put a little spark of fear in my heart.

The South and East Coasts are gearing up for Hurricane Season again.

I'm still swamped with memories from last year.

In my youth I moved around a lot and quite a few of my residences were in lower Mississippi and Alabama. I intimately know some of the locations that were destroyed by the hurricanes of last year. I still to this day vacation at some of the other locations.

Some of these places are still struggling to come back from the hurrricanes. I see the town where I went to high school is having financial issues from losing homes and roads and public property to the storms. The town where I lived for 3 years earlier in life is not there anymore. The town next to it where I boarded my horse has reduced it's population by more than half. Some friends I've had my entire life that still live down near the coastlines continue to describe issues they have, shortages they're dealing with.

My favorite vacation spot has no beach. The restaurant the kids adore is gone, somewhere out to sea. They ask will we ever go down there again? Will we find another beach?

To a lot of people the storms of last year were merely that. Storms that destroyed property and left people in a bind. To me, it was little bits of my history being taken away from me. Parts of my memories destroyed. My life was affected by these storms even though I was in my safe, dry home many miles away. I was affected more than I thought I would be.

So I sit and look at the paper's headlines.

And I worry.

HARVEST MOON

HARVEST MOON

A restless night–
the moon through the window
shining right in my face!
I woke to find the room bright as day
– all sorts of erotic dreams–!
Women were throwing themselves at me!
But I turned them all down, dear,
for you--
just for you!

Written by: Jack Peachum
mintjlp@verizon.net

THE SHACK

THE SHACK

There's a hideaway down 'round Logan, well concealed 'midst the trees;
Just a rough and tumble shanty where "The Board" can shoot the breeze.
With no plumbing, lights or water, built of wood and tin and stone; simple
Refuge from the rush of life, a place to be alone.

You can hear the crickets chirping, spy a deer dart through the brush,
Smell the fragrance of the new mown hay and relish nature's hush.
"The Shack" members are a unique blend of fellows young and old.
Some retired, others working, same are quiet, others bold.
It's a time for jokes and laughter, just an evening of pure fun, to relax
With pals and buddies and enjoyed by everyone.

Oh, the tales told within these walls are not meant for repeating, when
The fellows tease and kid around each month at their board meeting.
There's a hard and firm, unwritten rule: No females are allowed, in
This private clubhouse that's been built for a testosterone crowd!

You have never read a menu with the meals they prepare, as they chop
And fry and boil with such gusto, speed and flare!
One night mountain oysters might be served, or duck, squirrel, dove, or
Quail; hot and spicy dishes only fit for a brave, daring male!
Cajun stew, potatoes, fish or beaver, rabbit, pheasant, deer and it's
All washed down with anything from water, coke to beer.

What a valued bond of manhood, such fond memories to hold.
Friends are greatly to be cherished, more than diamonds, wealth or gold.
So let's all embrace the time's we've shared, in years when we look back,
And recall those great board meetings at our special place…
"The Shack".

*****

J. A. Heitmueller

Opening Day

One of the rites of passage for a young southern male is often attending an opening day dove shoot with a friend or family member. It is an invitation that is steeped in tradition and camaraderie for the few who are chosen to share that special occasion. Dove season begins in our neck of the woods on September 1st which also happened to be Labor Day this year. I tagged along as photographer and writer to see what the mysterious male bonding was all about. Boy did I learn some stuff! The group met for lunch on a hill overlooking the field where the hunt would be held later in the day. The menu was, of course, completely southern fried in outdoor fish cookers. The crowd of about twenty or so men and two ladies feasted on tilapia and broccoli/cheddar bites with french fries on the side. Empty beer boxes lined with paper towels were heaped with fish and trimmings that had enough grease to clog the old arteries just by looking at them! Two or three guys did the cooking while the rest of us sat around under the shade tree and visited. With a giant pan of peach cobbler for dessert, it was a meal that would keep these hungry hunters satisfied during the long hot afternoon ahead. Sometime around mid-afternoon, the action moved downhill to where the birds feed. Our camo-clad group traveled by four-wheeler, pickup truck and mule (no, not the animal kind ) down the hill and over the pasture. Each man selected a spot surrounding the field and staked his claim with a chair and a shotgun. I was positioned in the shade with the spotter and it wasn't long until he hollered out the magic word "Bird!" with a short description of location. Calling each man by name, as he knew their positions, he announced the sighting as if he had just won the lottery. "Bird, Tom...bird! Right behind you!" Mid-afternoon shooting was light with several birds fluttering down amid a shower of feathers to end in somebody's pocket. There was one labrador retriever in the field, his skills honed like a sharp knife to pick up the bird and return it to the shooter without disturbing the body. That would come later when the breast is removed for gourmet eatin', southern style. After awhile, especially when sightings are light, the heat begins to wear down on the heads that are protected by hats and the guys take shade and water breaks before returning to their spots for the remainder of the afternoon. That's when the shootin' begins in earnest, between 4PM and 6. Bam! BAM! The lead shot can be heard falling through the trees as the great American hunt is on with a fury. Bird! Bam!! I think I understand a bit more about the holy tradition that is opening day now and it's definitely a man thing :)