Four of my writer friends and I collected medals last Friday in the Cherokee/Clay Senior Games Literary Arts Division. Fun for all! My piece, Geronimo!, captured gold in the Life Experience category and my short story, The Last Roundup, netted silver. My essay, 20/20 Hindsight, scored gold, as well.

Last week felt summer-like, with temps creeping into the low eighties. That ended abruptly when a cold front swooped in, dumping nearly four and a half inches of rain. Behind that: frost.

North Carolina’s official state flower has made its annual appearance in the woods behind my home. According to the state extension, flowering dogwood (Cornus florida) is a woody, deciduous, showy, understory tree in the dogwood family (Cornaceae) that is native from southeastern Canada through eastern North America to eastern Mexico, where it is commonly found growing in woodland margins. This small tree grows 15 to 25 feet tall and is quite tolerant to heat. It has a low flammability rating, which is important to this old forester who lives in the wildland-urban interface of the western NC mountains.

March 21 is celebrated as the International Day of Forests. The Society of American Foresters newsletter notes: “In 2025, ‘forests and foods’ is the theme for the day, celebrating the crucial roles of forests in food security, nutrition and livelihoods. In addition to providing food, fuel, income and employment, forests support soil fertility, protect water resources, and offer habitats for biodiversity, including vital pollinators. They are essential for the survival of forest-dependent communities, particularly Indigenous Peoples, and contribute to climate change mitigation by storing carbon.”

The current state of national and international affairs causes me to reflect on how dramatically my outlook on life has changed over the past seven decades.

Carroll Taylor and I enjoyed reading last weekend at City Lights Bookstore in Sylva, NC. We hope that Cedric, the tuxedo cat, enjoyed it, too!

The first daffodils of the season greeted me from a sunny, south-facing roadside cut this morning, despite low temps in the upper teens and lower twenties over the past few days. I closely inspected a couple of other known locations and found plants several inches tall, getting ready to bloom. And over the weekend, while bundled up in a warm winter jacket as I walked in the woods, I saw my first wood thrush of the season. A reputable website assured me that these birds have been documented around here this early, even though they aren’t supposed to arrive until April. Boy-howdy, did I ever need these reminders that, even in the darkest of times, springtime will come.

The second half of last Saturday’s Scribes on Stage event, An Evening of One-Act Plays, featured local authors reading their works at the Peacock Performing Arts Center in Hayesville, North Carolina. I had the honor of sharing two of Dad’s letters home from World War II, in which he wrote about crossing the Atlantic on the luxury liner-turned-troop transport Queen Mary in 1944, and his day observing the Nuremburg trials in 1946.

Add a postscript to your Valentine's Day celebration next Saturday evening! Treat your sweetheart to a night at the Peacock Performing Arts Center in Hayesville, North Carolina! Enjoy an evening of reader’s theater with local actors and playwrights delivering entertainment at every turn!

Please check out my story on today’s 6-minute Stories Podcast. Randell Jones does a superb job reading my piece that appears in his latest Personal Stories Publishing Project anthology, Foiled. I’m delighted to be featured!

The new administration has “paused” funding for federal grants across the board, including those previously approved to assist rural communities in becoming better prepared to deal with wildfires. Reports indicate that some analysts believe that “pause” is a euphemism for “cancel.” If that is correct, then this action will effectively crush what has been a heartening commitment by local leaders in states both red and blue to try to get a handle on an increasingly out-of-control, climate-boosted environmental situation that now regularly sparks ever-more-destructive wildfires that kill, maim, and render people homeless. And it’s not just in California.

A sense of dread overwhelms me on the eve of America’s first coronation. I don’t know what lies ahead, but I do know that I am afraid. In a conscious effort to be grateful for the small things that can brighten such moments, I’ll share with you something that happened this morning.

A classmate of mine lost his home in the Los Angeles-area wildfires. My heart goes out to him and his family, as well as the thousands of other folks who suddenly found themselves homeless. It surprised me that the fires burned across regular suburban neighborhoods as well as the chapparal-covered hillsides where luxury homes nestle—and burn on a regular basis.

Recently, I stopped by my insurance agency. A personable young man sat behind the reception desk, chatting with another customer. He greeted me with a smile.

I read thirty-seven books in 2024, six fewer than last year. The list does not include four books I started reading but didn’t finish. Nor does it include the gazillion or so articles, newsletters, and white papers I’ve read about current events. This is the primary reason I neglected to read what interests me most. I’ve spent countless hours wringing hands and grieving about what appears to be the collapse of our world. I’ve already done what I think I can do to counter that, but I finally recognize that it is beyond my power to change things on a macro scale. My new year’s resolution is to focus on the micro scale. Little actions can make a difference. I’m up for that.

My friend, Mary Ricketson, graciously granted me permission to share her Christmas article that appeared in her monthly column, "Woman to Woman," in December 2024, in the Cherokee Scout, Murphy, NC. Thank you, Mary. I echo your sentiments.

Earlier this year I discovered Persimmon Tree, an online magazine of the arts by women over sixty. Its publisher says, “Too often older women’s artistic work is ignored or disregarded, and only those few who are already established receive the attention they deserve. Yet many women are at the height of their creative abilities in their later decades and have a great deal to contribute. Persimmon Tree is committed to bringing this wealth of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and art to a broader audience, for the benefit of all.”

Folks are closing in on holiday preparations. Our local writers’ groups have been busy with book signings, and I’ve been working hard to get Dear Folks into area bookstores. I’m humbled by the kind words and encouragement from new and old friends, near and far. Dad would have been flabbergasted at the interest his letters have stirred up, and he would have been proud to see our book so well-received. Thanks to all who have supported this project!