He won’t let me write or tidy the desk or clean the fabric on the chair. When I complained he said, “You’re fired!”
Author: Janna Hill
Summer Adieu
Summer Adieu
It’s out of the flip-flops
, and back in the Reeboks and long pants dug out of the dust
So long to the tank tops, bikinis and cut offs and lawn chairs left lying to rust
Adieu to the sand dune, the pelican and plain loon
My loves, we’ll see you `fore long
Leaves drop as trees swoon, long past the crop moon
With the scent of a sweet autumn song
Let’s all take a big swill
to ward off the night chill
Winter’s a season away
Crank up the camp fire; avoid the ole quagmire
With children perched high on the hay
More about the Autumn Equinox at National Geographic
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From Port Lavaca to Rockport-Fulton & Back
Four weeks into the aftermath of Hateful Harvey – – the hurricane from hell.
If you have ever visited/lived in the Texas Coastal Bend you know how charming it was… how charming it will be again!
Yes, Harvey wreaked havoc, destroyed homes, businesses and even lives but he did not break the spirit!
Where did the Port Alto beach go?
Severe shorline erosion Indianola
A few things out of place Magnolia Beach
Back to shrimping
Going west on hwy 35
The traffic lights are working
Entering Rockport-Fulton area
Backside Fulton Mansion
Historic Fulton Mansion faired well — the trees, not so much
Texas Throne pink port-o-potty
Beach Road cleared Aransas Bay
Once beautiful live oaks lined a charming street
Devastion. Mailboxes still standing
The once shade dappled lane to Goose Island State Park (home of the ancient Live Oak)
There was so much more to photograph. There were weary folks still digging through the ruble, swatting at mosquitoes and pausing to cry. The locals and volunteers shared kinship and friendship and displayed such gratitude for the simplistic things; basic items like trash bags, bug spray, and gloves – things we tend to take for granted on an average day.
Humbling.
Sorry, I did not have the heart to pick up a camera in those seconds of pained expressions amidst devastation – the ones that make for cover worthy photos. I simply lived in the moment and tried not to infringe upon their privacy or their grief.
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Just Touching Base…
(HaPpY BirThDaY Katie Bug)
September Gale
Whistling, blowing
Pushing trees
Pressure, growing
Sweet scent breeze
Windows rattle
Base boards creak
Rumbling thunder
Lightening streak
Panting breath
Heavy sigh –
Oh it’s just Katie
Running by
For my granddaughter
From Getting Me Back (A Poetic Memoir)
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Not-So Wordless Wednesday (That was Many Moons Ago)
The light in the window was just bright enough to make the shadows seem to dance across the ceiling. Mary stared out at the large oaks waving to the hanging clouds; their long arms outstretched to the heavens. A full moon was looming and she could not sleep…
Excerpt from Behind the Rage (Clan Destiny, #2)
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The Working Man (A Labor of Love)
Happy Labor Day to the muscles, masses, heartbeats, sweat and backbones that make America great.
With all the troubles and tension felt in today’s USA y’all deserve to relax and be recognized.
However I must say as tough as it sometimes seems I believe this country has certainly seen worse. Our predecessors and ancestors would probably attest to that. As a matter of fact The Sharecropper’s Son, though written as fiction was based on such history.
As many of you already know The Sharecropper’s Son was inspired by a photograph (and a few stories) of my husband’s late grandfather who was indeed a sharecropper in Navarro County, Texas. That is him on the cover dressed in his “Sunday best”. My work is not always as grueling or strenuous as that of the ‘blue collar’ man but it is a labor of love nonetheless . If you haven’t read The Sharecropper’s Son yet, today is a good day to start.
All eyes were on Wall Street, but truth be told, the market crash paled in comparison to the Navarro County drought.
Between the stock market crash, a rich man’s greed and the Navarro County drought an indentured slave is left with few choices. Jamison Baines Weir is born the son of a sharecropper where hard times and sorrow are a way of life. It is a way of life Jamie never questions until famine and malice force him to leave the dying farm and follow a path that leads to murder and mystery.
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#God Bless Texas (Thankful Thursday)
Corpus Christi (about 90 miles SW) reportedly came away with minor damage.
Rockport (about 50 miles SW) suffered major damage, Vice President Pence and Governor Greg Abbot visited today.
Houston (120 miles NE) was inundated with record amounts of rain and heart rending fatalities.
In my neck of the woods the city is in restoration; making progress with power, water and sanitation. Some homes and businesses will need to repair or rebuild, most piers are gone, shorelines and beaches have been permanently altered but our little fishing shack was spared with minimal damage. I am thankful.
I am also thankful for the outpouring support from so many wonderful people from all walks of life, counties and states.
We are staying in East Texas now but we’ll be heading south when the roads clear and the fuel panic simmers down. You know that fridge is stinking!
Hopefully we [too] will be able to lend a helping hand to those less fortunate.
For The Impact of Hurricane Harvey in Pictures visit The Stream
*(distance from our little place outside Port Lavaca TX.)
Friday’s Free-for-all (That Blasted Cat) #Vanity
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#TBT (How I met Maggie and Almost Killed Clara)
That was over 4 years ago.
But I think it’s worth telling again 😉
I was wading in the surf on Matagorda beach one warm, sunny day exchanging dialogue with Clara.
I had known Clara for about ten years and I have to admit, conversing with her was like pulling teeth. I don’t want to say she was dull, but she was too quiet and a tad introverted. Don’t get me wrong, she is a lovely girl. She is smart and pretty and sweet and kind, but she was just too darn nice for the most part. Too calm, too reasonable, too… dull! There, I said it!
Anyway, as I was wading in the surf, dragging my feet (literally to scatter the sting rays) I was thinking how I might kill her. I know that must sound horrible, we had been comrades for so long, but she wearied me. Her unspoiled, hoity-toity, prim and proper, everything by the book personality made me want to send her sailing face down with the outgoing tide. I think she knew it (she has a sixth sense thing, you know) and I figured she wasn’t going to fight me. It wasn’t in her nature. I thought maybe she wanted to die?
I had mulled it over and finally come to terms with the decision when a perky little blonde came running down the beach waving and shouting,
“Hey y’all wait for me.”
Oh my lord, I thought, while trying to ignore the thin, tanned Mississippian’s approach.
I quickly shoved Clara toward the incoming wave but her feet were planted too firmly — she didn’t budge, and to my surprise she pushed back!
“Do you know her?” I asked.
Clara shook her head slowly and replied, “No but you do. You met her on a trip to Biloxi once.”
I was speechless.
“Hey, I’m Maggie,” the lady smiled as she looked past me and held out her hand, “you must be Clara.”
I suppose it’s true that opposites attract. I watched Maggie come alive and in doing so she saved Clara.
*This is a story about a story. Clara and Maggie are safe and sound (for the most part) inside a fictional series.
Read about their meeting in Book 1
The Real Janna Hill in 