A to Z Challenge T is for Trail of Tears

At first glance it may appear that I am once again diverging from my nature theme by writing about this sad moment in American history, but bear with me.

There are many atrocities involving death and incredible injustices to groups of people that should never be repeated, and the Trail of Tears is one of them. It is a name given to the forced relocation and movement of Native American nations from southeastern parts of the United States following the Indian Removal Act of 1830. The removal included many members of the Cherokee, Muscogee (Creek), Seminole, Chickasaw, and Choctaw nations, among others who were all living peacefully in areas in the southeast. When that land became prime for new settlers, the Indians were forced to walk from their homelands to Indian Territory, located in eastern sections of the present-day state of Oklahoma. Many Native Americans suffered from exposure, disease and starvation en route to their destinations and many died, including 4,000 of the 15,000 relocated Cherokee.

The Legend of The Cherokee Rose holds that when the Trail of Tears started, the mothers of the Cherokee were grieving and crying so much, they were unable to help their children survive the journey. The elders prayed for a sign that would lift the mother’s spirits to give them strength. The next day a beautiful rose began to grow where each of the mother’s tears fell. The rose is white for their tears; a gold center represents the gold taken from Cherokee lands, and seven leaves on each stem for the seven Cherokee clans. The wild Cherokee Rose grows along the route of the Trail of Tears into eastern Oklahoma today.

Because of my Cherokee heritage, I was deeply touched to find some of the roses growing along the fence across the road from me. I didn't know what they were at first, but my neighbor clued me in. The roses don't bloom every year, and I had not seen them for several in a row. Imagine my delight when I saw them blooming this year. They were deep in a thicket, so I could not get close enough to capture the center, but HERE is a picture that shows the details of the rose.

Monday Morning Musings

One of the biggest and most magnificent pine trees on our property is dying and has to be cut down. It is close to major power lines, so the electric company will come and take it down. This is another victim of the terrible drought we have had in Texas, and I know it is minor compared to other losses, but for some reason it is making me very sad.

My horse is going to miss the tree, too, as it is the major source of shade in the front pasture where he spends the summer, provided there is a pasture.

I mentioned to a friend that I was really mourning the loss of this tree and felt rather silly about that fact. After all, it's just a tree. "But it's a living thing and it is dying," he told me. "Of course there is reason to mourn."

Then he reminded me that he is a Celt, and believes that we should honor and respect all things in nature.

Most of us when we think of a Celt get a mental picture of Mel Gibson as William Wallace in "Braveheart". He was the epitome of the type of Celtic warriors who were feared for decades throughout the Roman Empire. They were mighty fighters, who charged naked into battles or were painted blue. They were noted for screaming like banshees and cutting off the heads of their enemies.

Hardly the type of person one would equate with an endearing love of the earth and water and all living things, but that is a major part of their religious beliefs. Much like the American Indian, the Celts honor those things and mourn the losses.

So with my friend's permission, I will cry when that mighty tree comes down.
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This coming Wednesday Morgan St. James will be my guest sharing some tips on character development.  She is the editor of the monthly "Writers' Tricks of the Trade" newsletter/magazine, writes a twice weekly column for www.examiner.com: Spotlight on Tuesday in Las Vegas and Wednesday in Los Angeles and Writers' Tricks of the Trade on Thursday in Las Vegas and Friday in Los Angeles. She has written several books, one of which is Writers' Tricks of the Trade. It has been described as "the appetizer at a writing buffet - tips, techniques and tricks all written in lively, entertaining prose. 

 

“Ms. St. James gives us ways to deal with every aspect of the writing life, from creation to sales. A great book.”  ~John Brantingham, Professor of English

“You'll find this book so full of vital information, you'll want to explore every page.” ~Maralys Wills, author of Damn the Rejections, Full Speed Ahead

I do hope you will come back on Wednesday to meet Morgan and make her feel at home.

Getting the Shot

I remember when I used to do PR work and would go out on a photo shoot with a photographer to get pictures for a brochure or annual report, and I was always amazed at how many shots he would take. I was used to the way most of us take family pictures -- one shot each.

The photographer I worked with was very talented, and very patient. I was always mindful of the clock ticking and the fees, and he patiently explained that there is a difference between taking a picture and taking a photograph. If you want a good photograph you can't rush the process and you may shoot a whole roll of film before you get that one great shot.

I was reminded of that the other morning when I discovered some beautiful butterflies having breakfast from the flowers in my old plow. I must have taken 20 shots, before I got this pretty yellow swallowtail.

I won't post all the pictures, but I'll post a few to show the progression from beginning to end.

More Pretty Pictures

Yesterday morning I was out early just as the sun was coming up. Needed to feed animals and do some trimming around the yard, but couldn't resist stopping for some pictures first.

I couldn't quite capture the sunrise in all it's glory. It's amazing how quickly a scene will change in the few minute it took me to walk back to the house and get my camera. But I did manage to catch some of the morning fog and a bit of the orange in the sky.

Then I noticed that dew was clinging to the ends of the pine needles. When I saw it, I couldn't help but think of the descriptions I've read in books of early mornings with dew glistening like jewels. Next time I read a description like that, this is the image that will come to mind.

And of course, while I had my camera out, I had to take a picture of some of the animals. Poppy couldn't understand why I had stopped throwing her ball, but was patiently waiting for me to resume her favorite pastime.

Orca was waiting in the grass for the gopher. He had a long wait.

Enjoying the Day

It is a beautiful summer day, and this morning was very cool for Texas in August. I spent the morning outside cleaning the pasture, trimming tall grass along the fence line, and clearing the tall growth around our mailbox. I'm sure our mail carrier will appreciate that the next time she comes by and can actually SEE the mailbox.

At one point, I stopped, well actually I stopped often as my poor old back was yelping, but this one time I stopped and looked across the road at the hay meadow. There were no egrets today, but the view was still stunning, and for the millionth time I thanked God, or Mother Earth, or whatever higher power is responsible for the gift of such beauty.

Finding Old Friends

I've just recently started re-reading some of William Kent Krueger's books, as well as reading a couple of his newer ones. His books are some that I have enjoyed a lot, but then I'd forget to look for his latest and a few years would go by before I thought of how much I like his work.

In reading Blood Hollow, I realized one of the things I like most about the Cork O'Connor mysteries. They are set in Minnesota, in the land of the Anishinaabe and Ojibwe Indians, and Native American lore and spirituality are an important part of the characters' lives and the stories they are part of.

This morning I read the following passage and found it so fitting for a Sunday -- a day that many people consider holy.

"Whenever Cork entered the deep woods, he knew he was stepping into a sacred place. This was much the same way he'd felt entering the church. It was not just the peace, although it was truly peaceful. It was more than the incense of evergreen all around him and the choir of birds in the branches above and the cushion of the pine needles like a thick carpet under his feet. There was a spirit here so huge it humbled the human heart."

I am not in a deep forest like Cork, but I have felt the same connection to the spirit of the land when I step out into my little "ranch" and see all the beauty around me. It is certainly how I felt when I saw those egrets the other day. What a wonderful gift from God or Mother Earth, or whoever is responsible.

Easy Does It

Okay, I'm off my high-horse and much more mellow today. It is an absolutely gorgeous day and there is no way I can be strident with such a beautiful view out my office window.

The trees are leafing out, and the berry vines are covered in white flowers. Not too long now and I will be out picking berries and having them with my breakfast. That is if the birds leave me enough to harvest. There is a small flock of little sparrows already eyeing the vines. And a few robins are keeping watch from the branches of a sweet gum tree.

It is also a warm day with bright blue in the sky and bold sunlight cutting through the trees. I think I would much rather be outside than inside. In fact, I can't even count how many times I've made up an excuse to leave my office.

Whoops, I feel another one coming on....