THE FIRST & THE LAST

Probably taken in early spring of 1921, the photo below shows my grandmother holding my dad, and unless someone uncovers an earlier photo, I believe this is the first image we have of Papa. I suspect the photo was taken outside their home in Matney, NC, but I'll have to get that fact verified. Daddy was born in December, and I'd guess he's about 4-5 months old here. I've cropped the original to zero in a bit closer on their faces. I don't have any photos of Grandma as a young woman.

Some 87 years later, I took this last photo of Daddy on Christmas Day, 2007 in Grandma's living room. Her house is just up the hill from where I think the first photo was taken. We had just eaten Christmas dinner at Grandma's, and I caught Papa with his napkin in his hand.

BURYING PAPA

I've always known when the time came, I wanted to help prepare my parents for burial and shovel the dirt back over them as they returned to the Earth. I know this idea might seem quite odd to many people--- I totally understand how it could be.

But, historically, in our family, through many generations, women on both sides of my lineage have been called upon to dress the deceased and prepare them for internment. In that way, it comes pretty naturally to me to participate in burying loved ones.

Also, my dad and I buried animals, i.e., pets, critters from the wild, together quite a few times when I was young. He always took gentle care of the creatures he was returning to the Earth, and more than one time, I've seen a tear roll down his cheek as he began the process.

Additionally, here on The Farm, I've buried many, many of our farm animals, and I am always honored to do that. Our side woods, affectionately dubbed "Sherwood Forest" when Samuel was into Robin Hood, is the sacred resting ground for at least 30-40 animals, everyone from old Tornado and Gunner, the dogs Sam and I had when we were married to Kate and Botas, our old farm cats who passed on most recently. I go to the treehouse out in Sherwood Forest from time to time to meditate, and I sense real peace and love there...It is indeed sacred space.

So, when Daddy died, Myra and I began to gather photos to display in the funeral parlor, I had a grouse and crow feather which we placed in his jacket pocket, and we also sent him to the spirit world with a figurine of his bird dog in one side pocket and a wooden carved squirrel in another. Shortly before Myra and I closed the casket, Samuel, Eliza, Mom, Myra, and I snipped a piece of our hair to place between the feathers....It's a Native American tradition of mourning to cut one's hair, as well as a reminder to the spirit as it journeys that those of us who remain incarnate will always be with it. Myra also placed a cross-stitch piece she had made him by his side.

After the funeral service at his grave, Myra, the children, and I stayed, and as soon as I saw the shovels, I picked one up and began the process of covering my dad with the earth. Samuel participated, as well, and Myra and Eliza assisted along the way. It felt quite familiar to be working in the dirt. At peace in my heart, embraced by the mountains, cleansed by the chilly breeze, I felt very much in touch with Papa as I worked. He would have been proud; he would have understood why I was there, I know.

The dirt from his grave is still on my shoes....I don't plan on cleaning it off. I'm just going to let the grass and rain puddles be my cleansers.

BURYING PAPA

I realize what I'm about to write might startle some folks, but I've always known I wanted to actively participate in burying my parents. Additionally, I've contemplated what I wanted for them to take along into the world of spirit, into the Heavens. So, when the time came to say good-bye to Papa, my sister, Samuel, and Eliza and I included a few things that he would want to take along as he journeys into light and eternal love.

In his suit pocket, we placed a grouse and crow feather along with a snip of our hair. Mom allowed us to include a piece of her hair as well. In Native American tradition, women cut their hair short at the loss of a loved one and many times buried the locks with the deceased as a sign of eternal companionship.

Since Papa was an avid grouse and crow hunter in his younger days, it is most appropriate that those feathers travel with him in the spirit realm. Daddy always talked about the intelligence of those two birds; his respect for them were enormous, even if the crows did eat the corn kernals he planted and the grouse got away from him more than not.

In one of his suit pockets, Papa carries a small figurine of an English setter, his favorite dog in all the world. I've spent hours with him as he trained his beloved Bowse and Jane to do exactly what he needed them to do as he hunted for doves and grouse. In the other, he carries a carved wooden squirrel. Part of his morning ritual for the past couple of decades has been to throw some peanuts out on the back porch to the squirrels he had virtually tamed. As word spread in the animal kingdom around the neighborhood, crows and ravens became morning visitors as well. I would suppose Papa spent quite a chunk of change on food for his friends. He always worried that the neighbor's cats were going to catch one of them.

Myra, my sister, placed a cross-stitch piece she made for Daddy in the casket. I don't remember exactly what it said, but it honored him as a great father.

When the time came to close his casket, Myra and I left lipstick kisses on the top of his head and gently closed the lid. Later, after the service at this graveside, everyone left, and Samuel and I, along with the Townsend boys, Homer and Hubert, (how's that for some good mountain names), my cousins, Phil and Rob, shoveled the dirt on top of his coffin. Myra, my sister, and Eliza, assisted a bit too.

It gave me great peace to be able to bury my father. I've been with Daddy on more than one occasion when we buried a pet or an animal he found, and those experiences always were special ones that we shared together. I know he would be proud that all of us participated in returning him to the Earth.

I haven't cleaned the dirt from his grave off my shoes yet....I probably won't. It'll clean itself off with time.

MORE ABOUT PAPA

My father, Zebulon "Zeb" Vance Shook was born on December 1, 1920 in the Matney Community, just a couple of miles south of Banner Elk, NC. In time, his family would move back up the mountain to a small community named Balm, and from there, his parents and their growing brood of children would finally settle in Pigeon Roost, NC, at the family homeplace to care for my great grandparents.

We laughed quite a bit with the funeral home director as he chauffered us to the Shook Cemetary in Pigeon Roost. He was somewhat familiar with the area, but the shortcut to Papa's final resting place through Horsebottom into Pigeon Roost was new territory for him. The bottom line is that the Shooks are mountain folks. We come "up in the mountains," and we're stronger for it, I promise.

Daddy's family was not affluent by any means. This first photo had to be taken during the Depression. Missing are his three youngest siblings who were yet to be born. Papa, young teenage boy on the right, holds the baby at the time, my Uncle Bradley ( I think). I don't know the history of the photo, but the background sheds a bit of light on the land where Papa's family lived. I'm assuming the car belonged to my grandfather, who was the rural mail carrier and used it for his job, but I'll have to get that piece of info verified.

Prior to WWII, Daddy worked at a feed exchange store in Banner Elk, NC. After he returned from the war, he married my mother, and the two of them moved to Boone, NC, where Daddy finished his undergraduate and Master's degrees at Appalachian State Teachers College. The photo below is his college senior photo (I think).

Mom says she was stunned when Daddy announced his intention to study Library Science in graduate school. I suppose she had always thought he would choose a line of work that would allow him to be outside, in the natural world where he felt so at home. But, as a child, it was obvious to me early on that Papa loved being surrounded by books. I spent many mornings with him before school back in the "stacks" of the old library on campus. There, Papa would point out books he thought I would enjoy, as well as those he had intentionally purchased for their academic value.

Daddy eventually became the Acquisitions Librarian for Appalachian State Teachers College and witnessed the library's collections grow as the school became Appalachian State University. Under his guidance, he and his staff put together several valuable ethnic collections, and he started and oversaw the first Appalachian oral history project on campus. Papa always had a sense that where we were all from was a place richly steeped in tradition and wisdom, and he did his best to record interviews, catalog research, and organize collections for research on the area and Appalachia in general. He was proud to be from the mountains!

His own writings, "Letters to My Grandson" (and eventually to his grandchildren after Eliza's birth) record events in his life that he wanted his grandchildren to know. We read three of his stories as we celebrated his life down by his graveside. Those gathered laughed heartily, and a few there were the main characters in the plots we chose. It was indeed a wonderful way to have him there with us.

VISITATIONS

On Saturday afternoon before my father died later that night, Grandma Ruth (age 106) awoke from a nap. My Aunt Audrey said Grandma opened her eyes, looked around, and lifted her hands to the sky, like a little child does when he/she wants to get picked up. Then Grandma broke into a big smile, arms lifted all the while, saying, "Look!... The angels of the Lord. They're a' comin'. They're here right now! Jesus is a' callin'!" Naturally, my aunt thought Grandma was seeing the angels coming for her, but now we know she was seeing them as they came for Daddy.

In the last week of his life, Papa began to sense things around him that, on the physical plane, didn't seem to make sense. One night, he asked Pansy, his caretaker, to "get that woman out of his room." When Pansy assured him there was no one with him, he replied that a woman most certainly had been in the room with him and he wasn't going with her.

When Pansy told me about Papa's visitation, I knew in reason he was close to passage. Another woman whom Pansy cared for had recently died in the room across the house from Daddy, and it made total sense to me that Miss Laura's spirit would come to visit him. I told Pansy at the time the "woman" was Miss Laura's spirit. What I didn't vocalize was that I knew she was coming to let Daddy know it was OK for him to join her. At that moment, he wasn't ready. Shortly thereafter, however, he crossed on over to the other side.

My father and I never talked along the lines of "spirits", but the night before Eliza was born, he woke Mom up to tell her that a little girl had come to stand beside his bed and hold his hand. Four hours or so later, Eliza was born.

I've been around many passages, both human and animal, and I know there are many inexplicable things that occur around the time a transition takes place. Knowing that Grandma saw the angels and Papa saw a friend in his room assures me he was well escorted into the world of spirit, and for that, I am very thankful.

SIGNS

"Tanya, the good Lord sends us signs...He lets us know when he's a needin' someone to come be with him in Heaven. All we've got to do is look and listen. They let us know all's well, that the Lord waits fer all of us with love."

~Mrs. Bessie Mae Hicks, 79, to me on Friday after my dad's funeral on Tuesday.

My father was a man of the Earth and was always happiest when he was outdoors... hunting and fishing...gardening... playing with the kids in our neighborhood. He knew as much about life in the woods as any person I've ever known, and it's very understandable that as he approached his passage, signs came from nature to announce it to us.

Samuel called me on Thursday before Daddy died on Saturday to ask me about hawk energy. He had experienced two powerful encounters with hawks, both Red-tailed, in less than 48 hours. The first flew by him and perched in front of him in a tree in the middle of campus as he was on his way to class. Astounded, Samuel said the hawk never took his gaze away from him as he walked by. In fact, the hawk followed him as he went on, flying from tree to tree as Samuel passed by. The next morning at his house, when Samuel opened the blinds to let the morning light in, he said he was face to face with a huge hawk that was sitting in a tree right outside his bedroom window. Afraid it would fly away, Samuel stood still, and the two exchanged gazes for an extended period of time.

On Wednesday prior to Daddy's death, I was on the phone with Papa as I turned down the driveway to my house. In the distance, flying over the pine grove at the end of my side yard, I counted about 200 crows that were gathered in the trees. I've never seen that many crows gathered on the farm in the almost 30 years I've lived here. Their calls resonated through the car window such that Daddy heard them on the other end of the phone. He speculated the crows were after something else they considered a bother. I stopped the car and talked to him at length about what the crows were doing, and Papa was in awe that we were experiencing them together. It was an incredibly special moment, one which Daddy mentioned to me the next couple of days we talked. "Tanya, are the crows still 'a gatherin'?" he asked.

Knowing Papa and his connection nature, I firmly believe the hawks and crows came to let us know Papa would soon be "taking flight." I shared these stories with Mrs. Hicks, a wise, humble, hard-working mountain woman who's been a friend of the family for years, a woman who has 8 children, cleans houses to make a little money, still grows and cans all the food for her family, and lives without the conveniences many of us take for granted. In her sweet, soft voice, she said to me, "Yes, Tanya, those were the signs."

SWEET, PEACEFUL PASSAGE

As many of you already know, my father, Zeb Shook (Papa) entered the world of spirit early last Sunday morning, the morning of his 63rd anniversary to my mom. His passage was peaceful, very peaceful, and my mom and his brother, along with his beloved caretaker, were with him at the time. I had spoken to him about an hour earlier, and his last words to me were, "I love you, sweetheart." The strength and clarity in his voice were unlike I remember since he became ill over 30 years ago. It was my Daddy's real voice, the one I remember from childhood...the one that Parkinson's Disease had virtually erased over the years. I couldn't ask for a greater gift.

I write this from North Carolina, where my mom, sister, children and I are hanging together for a few days before we all go our separate ways. I have many, many good stories of these last few days to record, but I'll save them until my head clears and my body rests. It has been an amazing time...many love-packed moments.....many stories and moments of life in the mountains told and told again.

I repeat now the words my father always used as a blessing at our table...words that bring me close to him and his sweet, humble voice.....

I am thankful for this day and my many blessings......And I am grateful for the love of friends and family that sustain me every moment of every day.

Namaste....

HIS SMILE SAYS IT ALL...

Buddha just doesn't get too uptight when events in the Universe rock his world. There's a lot to be said about that.

Consider the fact that he lost his arms a good while back... Shortly after the first snowfall, he got uprooted from the security of the compost bin to total exposure in the flower bed....He couldn't see 5' in front of him yesterday when the snow was falling its hardest...The cats frequently poop and pee around him....From time to time, the wind blows so hard in his neighborhood he can hardly remain standing. And, as evidenced by the corrosion and cracks in his chubby little body, he "ain't no spring chicken."

Doesn't seem to phase him at all...This is one happy guy....I'll rub his sweet belly for us all!

Namasté.......

HAVING FUN..

I love it when flowers bloom in winter...(I am surrounded by blossoms all of a sudden here at The Farm--begonias, geraniums, amaryllis, a white potted azalea.).....I love to take a break from working at the computer and pull out the camera........I love knowing that spring will arrive much sooner than later....

(PS: I'm open for any constructive criticism regarding the photos....As I say, I'm in a real learning curve now, and I love playing around with the shots.)

MORE AMARYLLIS PHOTOS

Here are a couple more photos I've taken recently of the majestic amaryllis that graces our dining room table. On these dreary days, it's beauty is a great source of peace and tranquility for my soul.

I "doctored up" the second one a bit on Picasa, a free, downloaded program I've recently learned a bit about. One of these days, I'm going to get serious about printing out a couple of images and getting them in frames. Until then, Namasté will have to serve as the "exhibition hall" for my work.

THINKING SPRING

Here's a true confession that many already know about me....I really don't like this time of year. Day after day of gray skies, cold temps, and icy roads get old for me fast. I crave carbohydrates and silence, want to crawl in bed, sleep like Ichabod Crane, and hide out of sight of anyone who needs something of me. I have no desire to attend meetings or work on school related matters. I tire of "extroverting" quickly, and after a day of teaching, my greatest desire is to see no one, talk to no one, and hear no one.

It's during these winter months that I dream of having a small hut in Cuba. I can see a very happy me sitting on the beach day after day, taking my walks, swimming in the crystal blue-green water, and soaking in the sun. I'm holding out for that to become a reality. Hopefully Raúl won't last too long.

It's now that I start thinking about seeds and planting, about the blossoms I'll have around me in just a few months, about getting my hands in the dirt. I even get really excited when I think of getting to turn the compost! (I've already peeked on the south side of the house for any sign of an eager crocus...none so far..)

This summer, I think my garden will be small but packed with tomato, squash, cukes, and lots of datura and dahlias. I'll have a variety of sunflowers around the house, some zinnias, and basil for pesto. My gladiolas will produce delicate pink and white blossoms, and hopefully, the annuals I planted in the side shade garden will return in full glory.

With some good luck and a little pampering, my faithful tractor won't fail me as I zip around the farm, cutting the grass and attacking weeds. I'll rake the cuttings and toss them on the compost pile.

And ultimately, the really high thought in all of this is that I won't have to teach! Graduation takes place in June, and then it's playtime for a couple of months! YEAH! I can't wait!

Peace to all....Think spring!

LUNAR ECLIPSE - PHOTO

I took this photo of the lunar eclipse last Thursday evening...It's quite amateur, but it shows the eclipse at its fullest.

MIDWINTER BLOSSOM

Finally, something's blooming here at the farm. Enjoy these photos of the first amaryllis to bloom, a dainty, elegant pink and white that shimmers in the sunlight as if it had fairy dust coating its petals. There are two bloom shoots up out of the bulb, each with five huge flowers.

WOW, they make me happy when skies are gray!

(Click on the top photo, and you'll get an enlarged viewof this magnificent flower.)

FULL LUNAR ECLIPSE TONIGHT!!

Although it's snowing to beat the band at the moment, I understand the skies should clear later in the afternoon to make way for a spectacular full lunar eclipse tonight. Imagine the power of the event--- full moon lighting up the snow-covered earth darkened by the passage of the earth, only to emerge again a couple of hours later to bring back the light. I'm sure it will be an energetically-packed time. I can't wait!!

For more info, see: http://www.skyandtelescope.com:80/observing/home/15357796.html

I believe the next full eclipse is not until winter solstice in 2010. Here's hoping tonight's celestial spectacle removes the funk and illness that seem to prevail at the moment.

I HEART VALENTINE'S DAY & I HEART YOU!

Infinite love,

Tanya

GRAY, WINTERY DAYS

Today has been a classic winter day here in the Mid-Ohio Valley. I awoke this morning to about 3" of snow, and it didn't take much self-convincing to talk myself into staying at home today rather than venture out in the mess. I've had a bit of a cold, some achy body moments, and a lame, but persistent, cough, so it has been a tea, nap, and do nothing day here at the farm.

In preparation for my trip to NC this weekend, I took advantage of the day to think out what I need to have ready to talk to my father when I see him. I am embarrassed to confess that he's been rude, mean, and hurtful to my mom, the woman who has cared for him 24/7 since the diagnosis of his illness 30+ years ago. He's crossed the line for passive tolerance of his antics, and although I can still access huge compassion for his situation, I am about done with his nastiness. The dilemma of not knowing for sure how much he understands has vanished for me since it's obvious he thoroughly understands what he's doing. I seek patience and the right words to let him know that his words and actions are inappropriate and unacceptable. Feathers might fly when the two of us meet....It won't be the first time, that's for sure.

I remind myself that this time of the year is when all humankind in our hemishpere should be in our caves, hibernating and resting until the light of spring beckons us to emerge. Today, here at the farm alone, has been just a taste of how much I would love to stay in a couple more days, weeks, or a month.....

CHECK OUT THIS BLOG

I just got an email this morning from Beth Nash letting me know that she's taken the plunge into the blogging world. Click on her name here, and you should be able to go right to her new venture. (Her blog is also linked to Namasté on the right side bar under "Tanya Recommends These Blogs.") It'swell worth the time to take a look at what Beth has started here. She's one amazing woman and an equally amazing artist!!!

Of further interest, check out her website as well: http://www.bethnash.com/

Purchase one of her paintings!

Commission her to do a portrait!

Visit her studio!

Tell everyone you know about her blog, her website, her work....!

Enjoy...

GUSTY WINDS = SHAKY BARN

Like other parts of the nation in the last 24 hours, wind gusts in our area have been pretty intense, and the barn here at The Farm is taking a valiant "stand" at staying standing. The back side has lost a lot of side boards, and my makeshift "flying buttresses" (= stakes in the ground supporting the doors that blow out from the sides of the front of the barn) have held so far. We're beginning the second night of high winds and really stout gusts....In short, this sort of weather is NOT what the barn (or my nerves) needs.

Crazy energy abounds from a lot of directions.....My high thoughts (in attempts to balance my fear of a huge collapsed structure on my hands) are that perhaps the winds are this strong to tranquilize the winter funk and illness around us and blow them away!! I'm not sure the barn would concur at this point, however!

ONE PERSON'S TRASH = MY TREASURES!

Since I'm surrounded by creative people who always come up with really neat treasures for very little money at places like Salvation Army and Goodwill, the urge to jump in and try my luck has overtaken me. Once the first really good deal came my way, I was hooked, and now I wait for office hours to pass by so I can make my daily trip to the thrift shops.

Here are a few things I've picked up in the last week:

Swanky Swig Juice Glasses - 1950's

I understand these little glasses are now referred as "swanky swig" juice glasses. Mary Ann collects these, and after my find today, I think I'm now an official collector as well. I got 7 of them in different designs for $7.50 at a local antiques store. I remember drinking orange juice from similar glasses when I was small at my Aunt Lora and Uncle Link's home when my family would go to visit for the weekend.

A Pressed Glass Plate - 1930's

This sweet little plate cost 50 cents and is clear glass. (It looks a little like amber glass because of the wood table underneath in the photo.) When I hold this up to the light, the designs in the glass refract the light in a beautiful way. It reminds me of glass plates I used to admire in my Great Aunt Kat's house in Statesville, NC.

Franciscan Trio Pattern Plate - 1950's

I stumbled upon two of these in Goodwill and got them for 10 cents a piece. I've found them on the internet for prices ranging from $14 - $18 each. The neat thing about this pattern (which isn't visible in this photo) is that the woman who designed the pattern hid her name in one of the clustered flowers on each pattern piece. Her name was Esta James, and inside the little flower coming out of the green leaves at the top of the plate, I found her signature. Apparently, she pulled one over on the company since designers for the Franciscan Pottery company forfeited their right to sign their work and claim it as theirs. I'm inclined to look for more of this pattern...I really like it a lot.

And finally...

Homer Laughlin Buttercup Pattern - 1950/1960

I got 6 of these little buttercup dessert plates for 10 cents each. They're really pretty and dainty. Only one has a chip! I found the pattern on line, and the prices quoted for one of these was $4 - $6.

I'm hooked.....I want to collect and collect and collect....Then I'll open up an Etsy or E-bay shop and see if I can let go of my finds...My only problem is I get attached, and I'm sure sending them to another home will be a challenge!

STUBBORN BEYOND REASON

Zeb Shook, my dad, is the living definition of stubborn. In fact, if one were to look up the word in the dictionary, I believe his name would appear. Papa's not a happy camper at his new residency, his caretaker's home, and although he can't even lift his arms high enough to put on his glasses much get himself out of a chair and to the restroom, he insists he's going to walk home (a distance of a good 25 miles or more) and take care of himself.

He's so homesick he can't think of anything positive in his life, despite the fact he's been able to stay at home many more years than many, many other people in his situation get to, despite the fact he's cared for by Pansy, the most wonderful caretaker on earth, in her home where he gets total individual attention, homemade food, an immaculately clean living space, total attention to his needs, his own television, company during the day and visits from family and friends. He simply can't count his blessings.

He's so homesick he's nasty, hurtful, and outright mean when my mom or I try to reason with him and assure him we understand how difficult this transition is for him. He's especially not nice when I remind him his only other option is to go to a nursing home since my mom can't care for him any more. Again, he insists he can and will care for himself.

Unfortunately, these behavior patterns are little more than a continuation of the ways we've all known from him all his life. Zeb's never been an easy person to get along with. And unfortunately for him, he's met his match in my sister and me when it comes to holding firm, very lovingly so, with him.

My heart overflows with love and compassion for my dad. And, I'm very, very conscientious of all the factors figuring into the dynamics of trying to help him. I so hope he can come around and begin to appreciate the depth of our love for him, as well as the love and respect Pansy's home offers him. He really is loved and all of us who are involved in his life are doing the best we can for him.

Keep your fingers crossed for all of us and stay tuned.....