Author Archives: Timothy

About Timothy

Timothy W. Tron currently lives near Collettsville, North Carolina, with his wife, Sheryl, and son, Jonathan. He was born in Evansville, Indiana, and spent the next sixteen years in southern Indiana, living in mostly rural areas around the historic small towns of New Harmony and Newburgh. There he established his love for the country, which would eventually lead him back to his roots after graduating college. Along the way, he rediscovered his long-lost joy for writing and soon found God leading him to begin authoring a book, based loosely on the history of his ancestors.

The Pen is Mightier Than the….

I found myself today heading to the local discount store in Goldston  in order to purchase more of the flex grip gel pens. In the past, once I found a smooth writing pen, I would usually keep the pen and use it until the ink ran out, then discard it and search for another in the desk drawer. However, since I began journaling, I’ve found that the feel of a nice pen on the paper really makes a difference; thus my recent obsession with these gel pens.2013-05-16 22.46.35

It was while I was regarding one of these sweet writing pens in the presence of a math teacher this afternoon that I became aware of how writing utensils can be very persuasive and personable in their use. During my observation, Jenny the math teacher, reflected on how she never liked pens to be used by her students in their math work. I had to agree with her, since I took numerous math classes while attending college at the University of Florida. In fact, I mostly used mechanical pencils while at UF. We both agreed that the mechanical pencil was easily sharpened by just pushing the plunger at the end of the device which would feed more lead into the chamber which holds the material to be applied to the writing surface. She noted that she found herself using the number two pencils in school since they were donated, yet, she found herself constantly going to the sharpener during the course of the day. It seems there is a universal understanding that the feel of a dull number two pencil is akin to the sound of fingernails being scraped across the chalkboard: VERY IRRITATING!!!

Over the years I’ve used everything from art pencils to mechanical pencils in work that I’ve done. Like the pens and pencils that I use, I find various idiosyncrasies that match their use. Art and mechanical pencils are sometimes both for drawing, but both for very diverse reasons; one was for creative artwork, the other for drafting structural steel. The art pencils, unlike the yellow number two pencils are best used when they are not sharp. In fact, most shading techniques require the muted tip of a softened lead, which allows the artist to blend the graphite on the paper smoothly. I rarely used a pencil sharpener to sharpen the art pencils. It was best to regain a semblance of tip by using a knife and whittling it back in shape. Just the act of whittling a wooden pencil, throwing tiny shavings onto the floor, makes one feel as if something special is about to take place; let the drawing begin. Art pencils, like their craft, were meant to be very tactile in nature; unlike the mechanical pencil, which was cold and calculating.

The mechanical pencil not only created a sharp, crisp purposeful line, it was also something that made excellent text for drawing requiring verbal comments or definitions. The mechanical pencil’s use would often be the gateway tool for the ink pen. Since lead can only be a mere gray-tone of color, the black ink pen would become even more of a statement. So it was when I began writing that I sought out the dark line of the black ink pen. With this black ink, I can also include pen and ink drawings using the ever more cross-over tool known as the “Ultra-Point” pen, which takes us back to the artistic side of the equation.

I can remember an art class once that the teacher required us to use only drawing pencils. We could use nothing but the 2B, B, and HB rated pencils. During this class we were required to perform all types of shading and drawing with our reliable “B” pencils. One project I vividly recalled today when thinking back to this time was our job to draw a white and brown egg. Not only were we to draw a shape that looked like an egg, but we were also required to make it so that the viewer could easily discern which egg was brown and which egg was white. The shading had to be just so, so that each egg’s shape could be seen, yet gentle enough to make the brown and whiteness of the shell to be apparent. It was from this feel of shape and hue that I came to know the line that the point of the drawing device could make and what variations to expect based upon what utensil was being used. From this deep learning from feel and sight, I became prepared for what lie ahead based upon which device I held in my fingertips.

Many years later, I had a math professor in college from Romania who would swear to us that, “You learn through our fingertips, up our arm and into your brain,” and that in order to do so, we had to manually write down everything he wrote on the board, then quote it back to him exactly as he had written it on the board, verbatim. At the time, if felt like cruel and unusual punishment. However, as time would pass, I would find that memorization of what I would see was more often reinforced from when it would pass through my fingertips, from the tip of the pen or pencil and eventually into my head.

So today, as we discussed our favorite devices for whichever activity we were performing, it became obvious that the point at which the paper and our chosen utensil met, became the catalyst for what would transpire from thought into reality and back again to thought. And so it goes, in life; we choose our comfort points, our devices of fluidity that allow thought to become real and then and only then does the purpose of living become one with the world around us.

I think I’ll put that down in writing.

But a thought before you leave, “If the pen is mightier than the sword…what is the pencil?”

Blessings…

2 Comments

Filed under Art, Science, Writing

Porch Swing…

porchswingAs of late, I’ve found one of my favorite places to spend a few minutes in quiet reflection is the porch swing. The wooden swing that hangs at the end of our porch, sits in a little alcove I built on that end of the house, which creates its own little special corner. There, underneath the overhanging branches of the cherry tree, I can sit and listen to the waterfall in the Koi pond as I look out upon rich green pastures.

Today was ever more the special intoxicating moment. The air was crisp and clean following the rain shower that had just passed moments before. The sunset was muted, but shown through the ever darkening foliage on the trees that caused the light to flicker through to where I sat, gently swinging. I closed my eyes and lay back on the swing, as the momentum from the earlier push kept me swaying, ever so gently. I felt as if I were back in New Harmony once more, sitting next to my Grandma Tron, there on their little front porch, as she gently swung us. At times, she pushed us so lightly, I could barely tell we were moving, yet with her quiet disposition and mannerisms, the action was one with her being. She would talk to us or sing hymns as we sat there, usually snapping beans or doing some type of chore. Late on summer evenings, after all the work was done, we would sit there on that porch sharing stories and listening to the sounds of the world around us.cattle in blooms

Today, as I swung, nearly as softly as did my grandma, I hear the birds sing their chorus of anthems to spring. The air is so fresh you can almost hear it whisper as the breeze caresses the low hanging leaves that now tickle the reflection of light in and out of the corner of the porch where I sit. Time slowly ebbs, the swing rocks to and fro and life goes on, one blissful second of eternity after another.

From here, nothing else matters as the last drop of rain falls from the cherry tree in random sprits upon the damp earth below.

All God has given, and to all we must cherish each moment as if it were never to be seen again, but all ours to own.

Thank you God for another beautiful moment in my swing, and enjoy your ride with grandma in yours up there.

 

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Nature, Religion

Roller Coaster Ride at a Motorcycle Shop…

“In all thy ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy paths.” –Prov. 3:6

I was more than blessed yesterday when I had the wonderful opportunity to be a guest on a weekly2013-04-27 11.41.49 broadcast show on the Truth Radio Network. I was one of several visitors who came on the “Robby’s Hobbies” show, hosted by Robby Dilmore and gave their testimony in Christ along with telling the listening audience how their life’s hobbies or spiritual gifts have helped them in their walk of faith.

It was obvious once the show began that Robby had not shared with any of us visitors as to whom the other guests might be. For me at least, it made for a very spontaneous and ultimately rewarding experience. Before I was invited to be on the show, Robby and I talked by phone about my reason for being on the show which was to tell his listeners about my book, “Bruecke to Heaven”, and the story of faith behind it. When he called, I had just got up from a couple hours sleep, trying to recover from working the night shift; I never get enough. As I sat on the front porch swing talking with Robby, I sat looking out across lush green pastures in the distance, while the bountiful pink blossoms of the cherry tree swayed gently in the foreground, sprinkling tiny blooms in the air like snow flurries of spring. It was in this mode that we both shared with one another or faith, our passion for what we do and I felt a calm come over me, like Robby was someone I had always known; it was as if I was talking to family.

We had originally talked about me coming to the studio for the interview but due to a schedule change, the date which I chose to be interviewed happen to be the same date in which the station was going to be putting on a live broadcast at the Honda of Winston Salem motorcycle shop. Robby asked if I was ok with that, and I thought, “Hey, I’m always up for a challenge and it would certainly be an adventure,” so I gladly accepted. The challenging part was the fact that I had told Robby I could perform a song that I wrote about the book on air if he liked, which he said would be fantastic. In lieu of being live, on air, broadcasting from a motorcycle shop, I knew that trying to perform a song on location might be a disaster, so a great friend and fellow J.A.M. supporter/teacher, Mark Dillon, graciously agreed to meet with me beforehand and record the song I was to do on the air. I wanted to have one in the can, so to speak, which we could play instead.

So, Saturday morning came, and after dropping my family off in Greensboro to begin celebrating my daughter’s 12th birthday, I found my way to the motorcycle shop in Winston-Salem. Upon arriving, it was easy to see I was at the right place. There was a tractor trailer parked in the lot next to the Honda dealership at a furniture consignment store. It was the “Harvest America” road show, which was there until noon, and then it would be off to Raleigh for the remainder of the day. They were promoting their upcoming nationwide simulcast event on September 28 and 29th. Greg Laurie, the evangelist leading the event, is considered to quite possibly be the next Billy Graham. The huge trailer, along with hundreds of balloons, tents and signage made for an excitement in the air just from the visual perspective. I walked into the Honda dealership finding Robby already fully engaged in his show that preceded ours, but he acknowledged me while continuing to air his show.

I walked around, looking at all the motorcycles, speaking to people there, both working and visiting, and before I knew it, it was time to start. Another good friend of mine, Dean Lang, had encouraged me by text message earlier to relax and just be myself, so as I reviewed his text, I sucked in a deep breath and put on the headphones for the interview to begin. Before I sat down, I handed Robby the CD Mark and I had made and he somewhat dejectedly said that he had hoped I would do it live. I asked, “Here on a live broadcast?” To which he replied, “Sure, it will be just fine.” His calmness soon erased my fears, so I unpacked my guitar and tuned up so it was ready to go when he asked.

As the interview began, I sat across the table from Robby and another guest, Ross. Chik-fil-A was hosting another Chik-fil-A Leadercast event and Ross was there promoting the local church who was also hosting the event via simulcast. Before we started, we did a sound check on our mics, so Robby asked Ross to go first and to just say John 3:16. So Ross did, he said, “John 3:16,” and stopped. Robby looked at him and waited for more, which Ross soon realized he wanted him to keep going so the engineer could get the sound volume correct and was somewhat comically put on the spot. Robby then asked me to do the same, which I then quoted John 3:16 and then continued into John 3:17 as well. Robby and the engineer had more than enough of my sound check to work with and Ross was somewhat dismayed, when he said, “Well, I didn’t realize I was going to be sitting across from an over-achiever.” We all laughed and the gig was on: the roller coaster was at the top of the first hill and about to drop off the first precipice.

2013-04-27 11.41.12I don’t recall the exact order of events from there, like a roller coaster, once the ride began it became a blur; only the high and lowlights stuck. I did find it challenging that we were sharing time between multiple guests, so I would speak for a bit then stop and allow other guests to talk. Then when it was my time again, I had to pick up where I left off, which was often the challenging part. The talk went back and forth between myself and Ross, with Robby interjecting during breaks the Harvest America event, all pretty up beat until the lady came on whom was a cancer survivor to tell her story. She had just had a complete bilateral mastectomy and was there to tell her story of recovery and faith. Just prior to her speaking, Robby asked me to perform my song; we were now at the bottom of one of those roller coaster hills and the peak seemed so far up I couldn’t see the top from where I sat.

I prayed a silent prayer asking God to please sing through me in spite of me, closed my eyes and began.

It seemed like an eternity, but was over in the blink of an eye. The last strains of the melody were still echoing in my ears when the crowd who had gathered around erupted into applause. I opened my eyes to see for myself who all was now there, and saw the sudden audience and then looked over at the cancer survivor. She had tears in her eyes and was holding a copy of my book in her hands. Robby went to her next and she began to speak in a shaky voice how I had just touched her heart. As I sit here now trying to write this with tears in my eyes, I can’t begin to tell you the feeling of knowing that God has spoken through you, but there it was, right there, in a motorcycle shop in Winston-Salem on an overcast morning, with people from all walks of faith gathered around, either in person or listening across the country, witnessing the power of the Lord.

As we sat there listening to her touch our hearts, she said that the quote from my the book that is written on the cover touched her event more and then she read it to us, “Yes my son, the angels speak to us often, and with our hearts in the right place, we can hear them.”

From there, her testimony and the rest of the show was an emotional blur, as I was blown away from all that had just transpired. I met many wonderful people in such a short timeframe, seen the effects of a Godly moving event and had a song God gave me, sung on the airwaves across the nation, and it the clock had barely struck noon.

I left the dealership, like one leaves a barn-burner roller coaster ride, shaken but super charged at the same time. I knew when this book journey began that the only thing I could count on was not knowing where the journey would lead and today, was yet another wonderful surprise and life enriching experience.

I pray that as God leads me, I find the paths he shows, this is all I can hope and pray. Amen!

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Religion, Religious Experience

Confluence of Me…

[Disclaimer: This is meant to be a humorous look at a sleep deprived perspective of life. Enjoy…]mental_dstruction_350

Today as I loaded the car, I had to think about all the various parts of my mind that needed to get it together in order to pull off tonight’s speaking engagement. It wasn’t so much what I was speaking about; rather, it was just the fact that I was going to perform a song that I wrote, speak about a book that I’d written and then present a slide show to back up the research that I’d done in order to write the book. In other words, I had to get all the confluences of thought streaming into the same direction.

I realized all this when I fortunately remembered to grab the binder full of genealogy research my Aunt June had given me. It then dawned on me; we needed to get all of me into the car and go.

As we backed out of the garage into the brilliant sunlit day, I had to laugh to myself at all the various thoughts that were attempting to run through my head simultaneously; Artist, Writer, Musician, Engineer, Farmer and Preacher of sorts. Artist wanted to behold the loveliness of the day, the beautiful blooming trees and flowers with the green grass strong and vibrant in the pastures. Writer agreed with the Artist and wanted to recall the splendor on paper, to describe all of the magnificence the Artist was seeing, but in words.  Musician, full of the exuberance of the moment could only think of how it all made him want to sing, but one look at Engineer glaring back at him quickly dissipated any further melodies that tried to emerge.

All of this talk of glorious beauty only annoyed the Engineer, who now decided it best that he sit on the hood of the car facing us as we drove, so that he could make sure we kept ourselves on track and didn’t wander off into no-man’s land mentally and forget to turn when we needed to do so. At the moment, Engineer simply glared at Musician who wished someone would at least turn on the radio.

Meanwhile, the Farmer, who had quietly and patiently listened to the Artist and Writer describe the scenes around them as they rode, could only think of how well the green grass was growing and that the weeds could use one more spraying of herbicide. It comforted the Farmer to know the cattle would be well sated today and that there would be little fear of them pushing the fence lines. All the while, the Engineer kept reminding us as we drove, that he wanted to make sure we stopped by the church to pick up the projector that we would need to run the slide show which was to be part of tonight’s presentation.

The Preacher, concerned for the well-being of everyone, simply wanted the Engineer to be safe out there on the hood of the car, yet realized that someone had to make sure we paid attention and kept us on time, so he prayed for us all, especially Engineer.

It was apparent, all of us were dependent upon one that had little to no personality at all; our body, the Animal. Yes, Animal instincts and needs overcame any other personality simply because the body in which they lived had to be maintained. So it was today, that as we drove down the road toward Goldston to the church, Animal began to let everyone know that he was beginning to get hungry. After all, we had not eaten anything of sustenance since early the previous morning. It was now nearing six o’clock in the evening, a good twelve hours since the last meal. So it was only fair that he send a sharp stabbing pain to our stomach which indicated his conviction to getting his way while sending a throbbing pulse to our temples warning of a potential headache lest he get his way. Yet, there was no time, said the Engineer, who was still keeping track of time.

I quickly grabbed the water bottle sitting in the console.  It was warm to the touch from having been in the shut-up car all day, and drank down several gulps of hot water. Artist, Writer and Musician all noted the lack of pleasure from drinking warm water and all yearned for a cool sip instead. Farmer quickly let them know, any water, hot or cold was better than no water; they all concurred. The pain subsided briefly, diluted enough so that Animal could wait a little longer to eat.

Meanwhile, Writer was secretly thinking of how funny this would all be if he were to make all of this into a story.

Engineer, who continued to watch us all from outside on the hood, soon caught wind of Writer’s plan and realized he had to regain control from the Writer lest we miss our turn. He broke in; reminding us all that we had to make sure we got all the parts for the projector so that we didn’t get there and find something missing. Engineer again reminded us of the turn into the church parking lot, where we finally arrived. Preacher got out and opened the door for us as we quickly found the projector and easily loaded it into the car with all the parts included, which was confirmed by Engineer.

Then, we were off again…boy were we ever.

As we drove down the road there broke out a huge argument over who, what and how the presentation should go. Preacher tried to calm everyone and told us that if we didn’t work together, we would all fail, yes, all of us. It seemed music was needed to help calm ourselves, so Preacher found the Rhonda Vincent CD and put it into the car’s CD player. Almost immediately the Artist and Writer came back together, reuniting in spirit, joining the Musician who had finally achieved his only wish. Engineer realized the collective result of the action and approved, but remained on the hood, just to be safe. Preacher and Farmer also felt at peace with the beautiful strains of Rhonda singing “Old Rugged Cross” and like the others became one in spirit. Animal, now seeing all the others fulfilled thought of how in times of difficulty it was often better to go into battle hungry rather than full and he too lay down for a brief respite, allowing us all too finally relax.

As we traveled down the road to our destination in the little blue car with Rhonda Vincent singing sweet melody after melody to us, everyone was finally at peace with one another and all was well …with all of us.

1 Comment

Filed under Pure Fiction

Poetry: Whispered Memories…

whispered

Sanguine utterances of rhythmic prose,

beleagering thoughts of dawning rose,

in shadowed light we whisper errant memories

as padded footsteps from behind emerge,

not to startle,

only to reassure.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Poetry

The Calm Before the Storm…

(This was taken from my journal entry of last weekend)cattle in blooms

The air is full today.

As I sit here on the freshly mown lawn by the fire I can hear a plethora of sounds, smell the rich fragrance of the blossoms in full bloom and see the movement of life all around me. We await the rain that sits foreboding upon the tree lined horizon. The soil, turned and ready, holds the seeds that have been tucked away, eager for the arrival of the life giving moisture from which they will burst forth toward the light. In a way, they are like children who have been tucked in bed for a long winter’s night slumber on Christmas Eve, knowing Saint Nicholas will soon be arriving; then bursting forth at the first hint of morning light; one seeks a gift while the other will provide the gift of life, food.

All around the farm there is not one moment or sight that does not go rewarded. I can hear the supper’s meal sizzling in the foil on the fire while the Cardinal dashes by, eyeing me as he passes, obviously curious as to why I’m here. This is his domain and I am an unwanted guest. When yonder window pane beckons, he attacks the red bird image, sometimes so boldly that he knocks himself silly. The smell of the sausage returns my thoughts to food being cooked over the open fire. Wandering wisps of smoke follow the slight breeze toward the pasture where the cattle lie now reposed from a day’s foraging. The calves are all sated as they lounge in the green grass, blades of life that just a few days ago struggled to break the trance of the brown landscape of the relentless artic chill.

2013-04-14 07.55.47Squirrels chase one another up and down the hickory tree, nails and tails flying as they go. The skittering sounds of their whimsical games upon the smooth tree bark blend with their squeals of taunts to one another. We once sought them for supper; today we are bent preparing the good earth for an eventual hopeful reward. The delicate balance of seed, soil, water and sunlight will determine the ultimate harvest. It is our task to try to make them all balance out at the right time. So much has been given, but so much more will be asked of us; so says the good book.

Today, the air is so full and rich with all the senses being rewarded no matter where you look. This morning’s azure blue sky has now faded to gray as the coming storms shadow the landscape with an overcast haze. The transition was barely noticeable as we spent the day as a family, working together, collecting the fuel for the fire from the fencerows, plowing and disking the garden, then cooking our supper underneath the outdoor sky. We’ll sleep well tonight for the work of earth and hand not only makes the back weary but likewise rewards the soul.

Yes, today the air was full and so was life.

Thank you Lord.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Farming, Inspirational, Nature

Poetry: The Sap Is a Rising…

cherrytree1

The Sap is a rising!

 

Bees buzz effervescently

 Amid rich bouquets of color,

 Making the vibrant foliage,

 Ever more alive.

 

The new warmth penetrates,

 Aching bones,

 Soothing deepness

 To the core

 Until life’s spirit is renewed.

 

The Sap is surely rising!

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Nature, Poetry

Incredibly Close, Too Close…

The other day I realized there is still something buried deep inside my psychic that hasn’t gone away.movie1_

I don’t recall what day it was, but  I just happen to catch a few minutes of a movie that came out in 2011, “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close.” As I watched, I realized that the character Tom Hanks played, Thomas Schell, dies in the September 11 attacks on the World Trade Centers. I was fine watching the movie up until a certain scene, then I had to stop.

Oskar, Thomas’s son, comes home from school after they are let out early due to the attacks. The door man tells him that his father had a meeting and is not home yet. When Oskar gets inside the apartment, he realizes both his parents are not home.  However, there is a message on the answering machine, which is the voice of Oskar’s father. I listened as Thomas tells Oskar that he is still at the meeting and that they are telling everyone there to stay where they are, that everything would be alright.

For some reason, something inside of me clicked and I felt nauseous; I couldn’t watch anymore of the movie.

I don’t know if it was hearing the voice of the boy’s father on the answering machine that brought back the pain of scenes from that day so long ago or not. I had heard documentaries where they replayed voices of victims of the attacks making final desperate calls to loved ones. For some reason, the scene of the young boy approaching the answering machine in the home, untouched by the world outside, with the voice of someone who was trying to reassure them that everything was fine seemed to strike a chord. I know that in the end, the title of the movie must have played out in his message when he surely would have described what was happening around him as, “Extremely loud and incredibly close.” I can only imagine what hell the people that died in those towers that day must have gone through.

I once stood as many people have doen,  on the upper deck of one of the two towers, several years before 9/11. Asmovie3_ I stood overlooking the skyline of New York City on a surprisingly clear day, I saw in the distance a small private plane flying by. For some reason the thought occurred to me, “What would I do if a plane ran into the building?” I stood there trying to envision the hell that might ensue. “Would there be a way to escape down the building through flames, or would they just air lift us off the roof,” were some of the thoughts that passed in that moment. I momentarily felt a chill go up my spine for that was something that was unthinkable.  I felt ashamed for thinking such thoughts and just let it go, not telling anyone.  The year was 1996.

Five years later, I was sitting holding my daughter in my arms; gently movie2_rocking her while I gave her a bottle of formula. I had just come home from working the nightshift and the T.V. was airing the morning news. I planned to go to bed for the day after Mary finished her bottle, when suddenly the news broke in with the scene of one of the towers already smoking. The rest of the morning was a blur, other than finally seeing both towers collapse, something I will never forget.

I guess, deep inside, we were all changed that day; no matter how much we want to admit it. I know there is a part of me, a thread of life that can be tugged in such a way that it becomes almost unbearable.  9/11 is one of my threads.

Is it yours?

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Visions

Physicality of Reality…

[From our recent trip to Stone Mountain State Park NC]

This is us, full of energy as we search for the trail that is supposed to go to the top of the mountain. Eventually we just followed a game trail to the top. We even found bear scat along the way.

This is us, full of energy as we search for the trail that is supposed to go to the top of the mountain. Eventually we just followed a game trail to the top. We even found bear scat along the way.

This morning we awoke to mountain lightly dusted with snow; like powdered sugar atop a muffin. For the most part, it didn’t last long except in those deep dark ravines; there it remained all day as a reminder of winter’s vestiges that refuse to release their icy grip. As we hiked along Widow Creek Falls the snow continued to fall in light flurries. It made it seem all the more dreamlike; the air crisp with little white flakes of angels wings drifting around us as we labored to ascend the summit of some unknown mountaintop. From a distance we could see Stone Mountain with its patches of smooth barren rock. These bare areas made it stand out in the amber light of the morning glow. Those patches shone brightly as their surfaces glistened from the icy moisture that ran in rivulets down their cold granite faces.

Our hill, entirely tree covered, was thick with leaves and dark loamy soil which padded our footsteps; this was ever more appreciated on the downward descent we would later take. Our summit, although tree covered, was seemingly taller than those around us. We gasped the crisp cold air in large gulps as our hearts beat madly in our chests; meanwhile, our eyes beheld a beauty only God could create.

As we sat on a log recovering from our fast pace ascent, I thought of the ancestors, those who had marched out of the Alps in the dead of winter, with -waist deep snow to trudge through while carrying all their belongings. They had been told to leave or die; this was their ultimatum. So they left to become refugees in Germany where they settled a town they called Walldorf. These were our Waldensian ancestors who inspired me to write the book, “Bruecke to Heaven”. They not only had to endure altitudes much higher than what we were experiencing, but they also had to survive a brutal winter march for hundreds of miles. Our hike up this

This is us after the grueling hike, glad that we only had one mountain to climb.

This is us after the grueling hike, glad that we only had one mountain to climb.

unknown mountain was labeled on our park map as six miles. I could tell you it felt like six miles straight up. I could not imagine having to sustain a march like the one we took for fun for hundreds of miles, in harsher weather and climatic conditions. I have to admit, that at times, I had to stop and take a break along with my children. We are all in pretty good shape, so if you know us,

you understand that we had taken a very aggressive patch up this slope. As the pounding of our heartbeats throbbed in our ears and the snowflakes gently fell, I had to amaze again at the sheer magnificence of those people who fought and struggled so heartily to survive. After all, I would not be here today if it weren’t for them.

As somebody said when I told them of our experience, they exclaimed that those ancient people definitely did something miraculous. That of course was nothing compared to what they had already done before their winter march, and for that, I had write the book.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Nature

Harrican’ Frank

From this past weekend at the Surry Fiddler’s Convention at Surry Community College in Dobson, NC.

A song I wrote titled, “Harrican’ Frank”.

The song was inspired by a rooster I once owned who I named Frank, for reasons that would become apparent in the following video. Thanks to Dean Lang for filming the video and for being there with his family. We had a wonderful weekend.

Enjoy,

1 Comment

Filed under Farming, Music