The Saturday Journal: Thunderstorms, Switch Trees and stories...

tathelmillerwriter
Jul 5
4 min read

This writer, she witnessed a Mama sea turtle giving birth. She saw the tears in this Mama sea turtle's eyes. Scientists argue it is some sort of secretion--not real tears. The writer of this story--a Mama herself vowed it was tears--she saw them. They were tears of a Mama who would never see her babies hatch. You see as soon as a Mama sea turtle lays her eggs--she leaves--make her long trek back into the ocean--leaving her babies behind.

These past two weeks I've been riding the backroads--visiting--listening to stories--farm stories--life stories. I saw baby guineas for the first time--walked among the most beautiful of flowers in the early morning sun. And sat in an old rocker out in the farm shed--me and the farmer and the farmer's wife--we talked--we laughed--we told stories.

A few days ago I attended an author's event at the local library. Not only is he an author, but an accomplished musician. A gifted seventy-seven year old and he's not slowing down--he continues to help others--share his talents--his calling. He talked about family reunions--where stories are told.

A lady this week--she welcomed me into her home. I sat on her well-used--well-loved couch. And she shared part of her story--she's a widow--married for 57 years and then showed me a photo of her father-in-law and mother-in-law--the photo hung in her small living room--the same home where they lived. I just met her on this day--she called me 'honey' a lot.

One of my favorite North Carolina authors and writer, she just turned 88 and has another book coming out in October--a continuation of a series of stories--based in a small town in the mountains of North Carolina. I listened to an interview she had done recently--talking about her new book. She shared she wrote her first book when she was ten years old and had to hide it in a secret place in her room. And well, her sister found the manuscript and ran straight to "the writer's" Mama and the Mama ran straight to the switch tree. Her little girl had used a "bad word" in her story. The word began with a "d" and ends with "n".

Her story of the switch tree brought back vivid memories of my family's own switch tree--it still stands today by the covered carport. Back then you "the child" had to go to the switch tree or switch bush and break off your own switch--it could not be short--it had to be long enough to wrap around your bare legs a few times, at least. Leaves had to be stripped from the bark--leaving a few leaves and blossoms at the top and it had to be dry or at least partially dry--it was more effective that way--so they said.

And speaking of childhood--in my area we've had some bad thunderstorms this past week--all a part of summer I suppose. As a young child, as soon as the first crack of thunder was heard or the first streak of lightning moved across the sky--we went into full-blown survival mode. We knew the drill well--unplug everything in the house--I mean everything. Close the windows. Close the doors. We could not go near the bathroom--kitchen sink or windows or doors. The only place we could go was to our bedrooms. We were to lay on our beds--still.

And there's a second part of the "thunder and lightning" stories of my childhood--my Grandpa Lackey was deathly afraid of storms. He had a reason--his Mother, my Great-Granny was hit by lightning while she was standing on her front porch--so the story goes. Thankfully, she was fine--gave her a jolt and knocked her to the ground. But my Grandpa never forgot this and "somebody" told him the safest place during this kind of electrical storm was in a car--riding around. And there were more times than not, we would all be hunkered down--quiet in our beds and we would hear the car horn blowing. That was our "que" to get to his car--we were going riding in the storm. And sometimes we went and sometimes we didn't. Especially when the horn blew at 2am in the morning. He and my Grandma sat out in the storm in the car--we would stay put.

The seventy-seven-year-old author, he said, 'Stories are passed from generation to generation. Stories are how we hold on to memories of those we love."

And the Mama sea turtle--she can lay up to one hundred eggs. And when the last egg is laid, she'll go back into the ocean--her home. And within a matter of months, her babies will hatch and they too will make their way to the same ocean where she lives. And I would like to think their stories are much like many stories we live over our lifetime--the memories--if only for a brief moment of time will always lead our hearts back home again.

I will remember the works of the Lord: surely I will remember thy wonders of old. I will mediate also of all thy work, and talk of thy doings.

Psalm 77: 11-12

It's been two years this July since I started The Saturday Journal. To say I am grateful for each of you is an understatement. I am humbled and so honored you take the time to read my words and stories--for your prayers, encouragement, and kind words. And to those over the years that have allowed me to share your story---I'm undone with gratitude. On Saturday, July 12th, I will share in this space some exciting news about The Saturday Journal and the Beautiful Grace online shop.

To God be the Glory

That I may publish with the voice of thanksgiving, and tell of all thy wondrous works.

Psalm 26:7

A humble and heartfelt thank you for reading The Saturday Journal.

My prayer is to share The Saturday Journal every Saturday or at least bi-weekly--

and the stories shared here in this space will bless you in some small way.

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All photos @copyright Tathel Miller, unless otherwise credited to another photographer.