Fence Walking

We took advantage of today's warm weather to do a little fence walking, checking, tree limb removing, mending......and photo taking along the way....


 

 

 

 

Solstice to Solstice :: White

white wispy clouds moving swiftly overhead
white gravestones in the cemetery across the road
white family church peeking out of a blaze of autumn glory

week four of the thirteen weeks of autumn
the solstice to solstice project with urban.prairie.forest

Friday's Fences

Evening sunlight... old fence 'frames'... a lovely old post...

Joining Jan and Jer for Friday's Fences

Welcoming 2012

Spent much of yesterday and today 'mending fences'... literally... out of necessity... seems like quite an appropriate way to begin the new year.  Hope you are all off to a very happy start.

October Snow

While not the first snowfall of the season, Saturday's snow was the first with significant accumulation - over six inches. This presented a few chanllenges, as we are never quite ready for the extra organization required to haul and feed hay. We were so much luckier than our neighbors to the northeast... some inconvenience, but really... just a lovely October snowfall.

{this moment}

{this moment}

A Friday ritual.
A single photo - no words - capturing a single moment from the week.
A simple, special extraordinary moment.
A moment to pause, savor and remember.
Participating with the SouleMama blog

Sunday Muse

Oh I’d like to go back
To that old country church
To hear the songs of praise
How the people would sing
It would make the rafters ring
At that old, that old country church

Shall we gather at the river
The beautiful, beautiful river
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God

Oh I’ll never forget
At that old country church
How the Glory of the Lord came down
And the children would smile
As they shouted down the aisle
Of that old, that old country church

In the sweet bye and bye
We shall meet on that beautiful shore
In the sweet bye and bye
We shall meet on that beautiful shore

Then on Sunday I’d see
All my friends dear to me
At that old country church
When it came time for prayer
Everybody would be there
At that old country church

 Leaning, oh yes I’m leaning
Safe and secure from all alarm
Leaning, oh yes I’m leaning
Leaning on the ever lasting arm

Now the years have gone by
And so many have died
At that old country church
But they are on that other shore
Where they will sing forever more
As they did at that old country church

   -- "The Old Country Church" - Lyrics by J. D. Sumner

"Christmas waves a magic wand over this world,, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful." -- Norman Vincent Peale

The Month of Thanksgiving - Day Twenty-Nine

Mt. Olivet

They sing of the church in the valley,

But my heart receives a great thrill

When I think of the home of my childhood

And the little white church on the hill.

It stands as a symbol of Gods love

And mother's and father's love too.

For they went with us each Sunday morning

To show us the pathway so true.

God's acre is near, and our dear ones

Lie under its green grassy sod.

Their lives have been our inspiration

We know they've gone home to God.

I've seen very beautiful churches

Some that I'll never forget.

But none so dear as the church on the hill

The one that we call Olivet.

-- found among Great Grandfather David Dixon's papers, written by our Great Aunt Ida Amanda Dixon Price (shared by our Great Aunt Mary Florence Dixon Hardesty)

The Month of Thanksgiving - Day Twenty-Two

We are thankful for the Mt. Olivet Church bell, just as our Grandma Lena was when she wrote this poem (commemorated here in scrapbook form for the sisters).

The Month of Thanksgiving - Fifteen

MT. OLIVET

Upon the hill so bright and clear
Stands the church we love so dear
The church was founded by our fathers fifty years ago
There it stands upon the hill beat by rain and snow

Every Sunday rain or shine, we went through the door
To attend Sunday School alike for rich and poor
And in our early childhood, each and every lad and lass
Did not want to grow so old we had to leave Miss Eva’s class
But when we became reconciled to our older fate
We had Aunt Bertha for our teacher and thought that she was great
As we grew to man and womanhood all our interests still
Centered around the little church that stands upon the hill

Some had left us, how we missed them, when we met to pray
For now they rest in God’s acre just across the way
In World War One, our young men were called to go
To fight for their country against the foreign foe
When the war was over most of them came home
Got married, settled down never more to roam
Now their children run over farm and shout at will
But on Sunday come to worship in the church upon the hill

Lots left the hill and country and scattered all around
On farms, in villages, cities and in many little towns
From Baltimore to San Francisco from Maine to Florida
You can find Mt. Olivet’s children all along the way
I believe that looking back upon their childhood still
Their thoughts will return with longing for the church upon the hill

Years rolled swiftly by, our children all are grown
And like the birds of the air some from the home have flown
Our sons were called to fight in World War Two
And many were the heartaches felt by me and you
They were in all of Europe, some in Africa
Many they left behind them when they came away
Others were in the Pacific zone and helped to take Japan
I think that we can always say, “They do the best they can.”
But God was with Mt. Olivet’s boys, each and every one
He brought them safely home again, when the war was won.
Now again they are answering to our country’s call
And we pray that God in heaven will not let them fall
But bring them all home safely, if it is his will,
To worship once again in the church upon the hill.

When our work here on earth is o’er
And we make our last trip through the door
Across the road to the cemetery fair
For our last sleep with kinfolks there
May our children and their children too
Take up the work with love to do
The Master’s will and carry through
For fifty years or more

Written in 1950 by our grandmother, Lena Gertrude Dixon Wiles, to celebrate the 50th birthday of Mt. Olivet, our family church.

The Month of Thanksgiving - Day Eight

"If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is "thank you," it will be enough."

-- Meister Eckhart