Rose Glen 2014

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Sevierville Convention Center

The fifth annual Rose Glen Literary Festival was held last Saturday in Sevierville. And the 2014 installment of the popular event moved to a new venue: The Sevierville Convention Center on Gists Creek Road off Hwy 66.

Rose Glen is designed as a vehicle for local authors to come together once a year and talk about and sell their books. I've been a part of Rose Glen since the beginning, even serving as the initial keynote speaker at the luncheon. Since then, local authors Dr. Bill Bass, Fred Brown and Bill Landry have keynoted. This year's speaker at the noon banquet was popular News Sentinel columnist Sam Venable.

Special thanks to Carroll McMahan and Brenda McCroskey and the rest of the staff of the Sevierville Chamber of Commerce for organizing Rose Glen. 

One of my favorite aspects of the festival is getting to meet and talk to other writers. Two years ago, I met Luke Copas, promoted as the youngest author there. He penned and illustrated a book about the tragic sinking of the world's most famous ocean liner called, "Facts for Kids about the Titanic." Luke is well on his way of becoming a Titanic historian; he's now working on his third book about the 1912 disaster.

J.L. and Lin Stepp have a new book about the recreational side of the national park. Titled "The Afternoon Hiker," the book offers pleasant casual hikes in the Smokies. The hiking guide features color photos throughout.  Lin has also written several romances set in the region, "Tell Me about the Orchard Hollow (2010), "The Foster Girls, (2011), "For Six Good Reasons (2011), "Delia's Place" (2012), "Second Hand Rose" (2013) and the upcoming "Down by the River."

Event organizer and historian Carroll McMahan has a new book of his own, "Elkmont's Uncle Lem Ownby: Sage of the Smokies." Growing up in Gatlinburg, I remember when everyone's Uncle Lem still lived upstream from the Elkmont Campground. He had sold his land to the national park movement in the early 1900s but with the agreement that he got to live on it until his death. And Uncle Lem lived a long time. 

Beloved storyteller Bill Landry was on hand. His latest book "Tellin' it for the Truth" looks back on many of the people and stories he encountered during his three decades as the spokesman for the "The Heartland Series" aired by WBIR Channel 10. Others involved in the creation of the show, the best documentation of all that's East Tennessee, were my friends Steve Dean, Linda Billman and Doug Mills.

This year's keynoter Sam Venable, is a stranger to no one having had what he calls the "best job in Knoxville" for the past 40 years: columnist for the News-Sentinel. When asked how many books he has written, Sam replied "a bunch." He wasn't being glib, he probably doesn't know off the top of his head. I have several on my shelves and am lucky that he wrote the introduction for my first book. Sam's latest, or at least I think it's his latest, is "How to Tawlk and Rite Good," a look at how we East Tennesseans—and he is one—play with the language. 

Perhaps, my biggest surprise was to learn my friend at WBIR, Emily Stroud has herself penned a novel. "Broken News," a "work of fiction" draws on her experience as a news reporter for several television stations. Always smiling, always energetic, I can't wait to read this "fictional" behind the scenes look at television news. We know what goes on in front of the camera, what about behind? Even if it is fictional, there has to be a grain of truth in her book. Caution: It may contain "salty" language. 

Since I also illustrate my books, I generally spend time at Rose Glen talking to young people about drawing. All kids draw, some, like me, do it all their lives. I met Jordan Roberts several years ago at the festival (she's gotten taller, I grayer) and enjoy seeing her every year to talk about art. She likes to draw animals, as I do. Here's a photo of her holding one of my recent butterfly pen and inks.

And to all of the dozens of authors I didn't get to meet and talk to this year, there's always next year's Rose Glen set for the last Saturday in February, 2015.

Michelle and Carroll McMahan and moi

Me with young author Luke Copas and his fan club

They've written a bunch: Sam Venable, Lin Stepp and Bill Landry

Always smiling Emily Stroud and myself. Photo by Luke Copas

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who's the wiser?

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"A bird never doubts its place in the center of the universe."
- From "Prodigal Summer" by Barbara Kingsolver

Indeed. A bird doesn't know string theory or quantum mechanics. A bird doesn't know Big Bang or black holes or dark matter or, for that matter, doesn't spend much time pondering its own existence, or its own navel. It doesn't even have a navel, so the existence of such is also unknown.

A bird just is, ergo, the universe is it. N'est-ce pas?. 

Its days are governed by only a few overpowering needs. A) Find food. B) Not get eaten. C) Once a year, make some babies. 

Each year, your basic bird—say a redstart—has less than a 50-50 chance of surviving until the next year. They don't have much free time for pondering the non-essentials. In fact, pondering the non-essentials can get a redstart eaten by a Cooper's hawk.

Mind you, they aren't completely oblivious to celestial machinations. Birds that migrate—like the redstart—use the movement of the Sun and Moon and stars to navigate which is more than I could do. Sextant 101, I had not. 

So, Barbara Kingsolver's line got me thinking, as any good line should: I can stress over my place in the universe but I couldn't find Guatemala without a stack of maps, a feat an American redstart does annually sans Rand McNally.

So who's view of the universe is more germane to its own existence? 

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to think of time

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Black-winged Stilt (Himantopus himantopus) Photo by J. J. Harrison

To think of time and the coming spring, the renewal, 
the rebirth, the born again.

 And a quote from Whitman...

"I swear I think now that everything without exception 

has an eternal Soul! 

The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of 

             the sea have! the animals! 

"I swear I think there is nothing but immortality! 

That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous 

             float is for it, and the cohering is for it; 

And all preparation is for it! and identity is for it! 

and life and materials are altogether for it!"

"To Think of Time" from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman

And in this case, I love his use of the word cohering, as in: to stick together; be united; hold fast; as parts of the same mass, the same continuum, the same nebulous flow.

La vie est belle.

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I swear I see now that everything has an
    eternal soul!
The trees have, rooted in the ground . . . .
    the weeds of the sea have . . . . the
    animal. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21929#sthash.xEfQ4hFD.dpuf

I swear I think now that everything without exception has an    eternal Soul! The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of the sea have!    the animals! I swear I think there is nothing but immortality! That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is    for it, and the cohering is for it; And all preparation is for it! and identity is for it! and life    and materials are altogether for it! - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21927#sthash.OrC5Yxmz.dpuf

I swear I think now that everything without exception has an    eternal Soul! The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of the sea have!    the animals! I swear I think there is nothing but immortality! That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is    for it, and the cohering is for it; And all preparation is for it! and identity is for it! and life    and materials are altogether for it! - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21927#sthash.OrC5Yxmz.dpuf

I swear I think now that everything without exception has an
   eternal Soul!   
The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of the sea have!
   the animals!
   
I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!   
That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is
   for it, and the cohering is for it;   
And all preparation is for it! and identity is for it! and life
   and materials are altogether for it!

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21927#sthash.OrC5Yxmz.dpuf

I swear I think now that everything without exception has an
   eternal Soul!   
The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of the sea have!
   the animals!
   
I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!   
That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is
   for it, and the cohering is for it;   
And all preparation is for it! and identity is for it! and life
   and materials are altogether for it!

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21927#sthash.OrC5Yxmz.dpuf

I swear I think now that everything without exception has an
   eternal Soul!   
The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of the sea have!
   the animals!
   
I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!   
That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is
   for it, and the cohering is for it;   
And all preparation is for it! and identity is for it! and life
   and materials are altogether for it!

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21927#sthash.OrC5Yxmz.dpuf

I swear I think now that everything without exception has an
   eternal Soul!   
The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of the sea have!
   the animals!
   
I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!   
That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is
   for it, and the cohering is for it;   
And all preparation is for it! and identity is for it! and life
   and materials are altogether for it!

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21927#sthash.OrC5Yxmz.dpuf

heart-shaped

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Happy Valentine's Day valentine
and to all lovers of the coming vernal redbud. 


La vie est belle.

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snowy night into day

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 "I cried over beautiful things 

knowing no beautiful thing lasts...

new beautiful things come in the 

first spit of snow 

on the northwest wind, 

and the old things go, not one lasts."

- Carl Sandburg

Like in a dream when everyday objects 

become uneveryday and fluffy with no hard edges. 

Life shouldn't be so hard-edged all the time,
Ullr, the old Norse god of snow, wills it.
Ever so often, even the Vikings 
took off their helmets and played with bunnies.
or, so it has been whispered in my ear
by an old Norse god.

Officially, 5.8 inches in Knoxville, 
the deepest snow in 18 years. 
 

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groundhog die another day

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Perhaps the most depressing photo ever taken and posted by me:
kudzu destroyed hillside, yet it's where groundhogs live 
and, in time, find rotund rodent romance

A follow-up to my last post:

A second groundhog turned up as roadkill on Chapman Highway. My naturalist training tells me that it was yet another male searching for a female. (Forgive me but I didn't go out into the busy four-lane to investigate its gender, or there might have been yet another male laying there.)

Active burrow

Opposite the location is a massive kudzu covered hillside. See above photo, the circle marks the active burrow. 

Also note the devastation that kudzu does in the South. It is now dormant because it's winter, so you really get a sense of the damage the invasive vine causes, like Sherman's march to the sea. Scorched earth. Or Grapes of Wrath blighted. Enough for the Joads to pack up and leave. 

Yet, groundhogs love kudzu. They live in it and eat it. They just can't eat it fast enough. We need more groundhogs, not less.

If you read my last post, you know that male groundhogs stir early and search for the scent of a "receptive" female, which, or so I have been told, smells like chicken soup.

Obvious moral: If you are a male groundhog in February and you get the whiff of chicken soup wafting from the other side of a busy four-lane. Stay home!

The soup is not always soupier on the other side of the street. 

Another kudzu destroyed hillside where groundhogs live

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his last groundhog day

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Groundhog (Marmota monax) R.I.P.

Six days after Groundhog Day I spied my first of the Rubenesque rodents of 2014. 

Although it wasn't vertical, but horizontal, roadkill in the middle of a south bound lane of Chapman Highway. For it, there will not be six more weeks of winter. As cold and dreary as the last four weeks have been, some will say it took an easy out.

The first groundhogs that stir any given year are the males, in search of females. Hubba-hubba. The genders hibernate in separate winter burrows deep underground. As the temperatures begin to moderate, the males trundle around outside sniffing the entrances of nearby holes. I have read that the burrows of receptive females smell like chicken soup, an inviting aroma to an animal-boy that has been asleep for three months.

One year I tested this at the nature center and sniffed the entrance to several groundhog holes. All seemed to smell like gazpacho, a summer soup as cold as the recently deceased Chapman Highway groundhog.

You know, I never have really liked gazpacho.

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butter butt

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We only have a few more weeks of desolate winter to weather before the coming of vibrant spring. 

I find that by this time of the year, I long for color. The grays and browns of winter start to wear on me and sometimes just the briefest flashes excite.

Example: a species of warbler that spends its winter here in the valley, the yellow-rumped, spends it in its dingy winter plumage, that is except for its namesake bright "yellow rump."

Joy Baker recently captured one with her camera. And even though it is a ho-hum color, her photo (above) shows that its "butter butt" shines for all to see.

In a few weeks, Joy's warbler will migrate north to New England and the provinces of Canada where it nests. 

Breeding plumage Photo:wikimedia

It will also molt into its more dramatic breeding plumage (left), shedding its winter drab. But the yellow rump stays bright.

I understand why they molt into bland plumage to better blend into the dull winter background, and the intense contrasting colors of spring to attract a mate.

But here is the question: Nature is enormously practical, why keep the bright yellow rump in winter? To what purpose? Doesn't it make them more noticeable to predators like sharp-shinned and Cooper's hawks? 

To what advantage the butter on thy butt?

Thank you for the use of the photo, Joy.  

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snowy wanted

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W A N T E D

One snowy owl to come to my state!

R  E  W  A  R  D 
I am offering a crisp new Ben Franklin 

$100 dollar bill 

to any snowy owl (Bubo scandiacus) 

 that comes to Knoxville and/or 

the Great Smoky Mountains this winter.
No questions asked.

 And mister or miss snowy, 

$100 will buy a lot of lemmings.

The short-eared owls in Cades Cove have me wanting unapologetically more.

This has been a big winter for snowy owls. National Geographic reports that in normal times, the winter migration zone for the snowy is along the southern border of Canada. Irruptions, or sharp increases, of these white owls made famous by Mister Harry Potter, in areas outside of Canada are usually only in a few northern states on the East or West coasts.

"An irruption on both the East and West Coasts of America at the same time is rare. The last continental-wide irruption of the snowy owl was in 2011. Sightings were reported in 31 states and most provinces in Canada," reports National Geographic. "This year, the snowy owl is rumored to have traveled as far south as Bermuda and in an east-to-west arc stretching from Nova Scotia to North Dakota." 

Maryland, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Cape Hatteras, North Carolina, all have one or more, even Jacksonville, Florida got a snowy. 

Ijams' vet, Dr. Louise Conrad brought me a newspaper clipping about one that was rescued weak and hungry on a freeway ramp in Louisville, KY. It later died of natural causes (burst carotid artery) but it died knowing someone was caring for it.

This winter, the migrating owls seem to be very young, hatched as recently as last June.

They seem to prefer the wide-open spaces like airports, probably because they look like tundra. Logan International in Boston attracted one, as did Hazelton Regional in the Pocono region of PA. One was hit by a bus in Washington DC and taken to the National Zoo for treatment. So apparently we are stinky with snowys north of the Mason-Dixon.

So, hey, mister or miss snowy, come on down! McGhee-Tyson Airport, only about 8 miles from where I type this sentence, is most hospitable and currently snowyless. 

AND I've got a crisp new $100 bill for you. That equals $110.76 in Canadian dollars at the current exchange rate.  

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a short-eared winter

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One of the topics that kept coming up in conversations at Wilderness Wildlife Week in Pigeon Forge the past few days are the short-eared owls that are spending their winter in Cades Cove this year.

The local bird club tallied four during their Christmas Bird Count on Dec 29.

Scientifically know as Asio flammeus, with the specific name "flammeus" being Latin for "flaming, the color of fire," and they do have a warm glow at sunset, short-eared owls aren't here every winter. In fact, more often than not they aren't here. They are an irruptive species that only venture this far south in good numbers when food isn't readily available to the north. Or, so we think. Maybe they just need a change of scenery. And Cades Cove is remarkably scenic. 

Birds of open country and grasslands, short-eareds look like large flying moths that are noted for patrolling fields like harriers in search of mice, moles, voles and shrews, with voles being a particular favorite.

Most that I spoke with told me they were fairly reliable in fields off Hyatt Lane. Janet Lee found one Monday last, late afternoon. I have yet to make it to the cove but yesterday I met Tyson Smith. He shared the above photo taken on January 5.

Tyson emails, "Yes, I took it in the field off Hyatt Lane. I have seen two of them at once. They are usually flying morning and evening and sometimes when it is cloudy. January 5 is the only time I have gotten that close to one of them."

For more about Tyson's short-eared encounter and his other beautiful photography, go to: Wild and Wonderful


Thanks, Tyson.

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