good morning Jacob

letter to my son
sunday, 29 november


         Jacob

another carolina morning

              love,
                      Dad



©  Tom Taylor

good morning Jack

letter to my son
sunday, 22 november




         Jack

kannapolis  woods

  

             love,

                       Dad

©  Tom Taylor

Good Morning Jessicca

Letter to my Daughter
Sunday, 3 May


Jessicca...

Taking away the moments or adding to them.  What are we doing?

pine needles

sunset

roadway

facing home

Love,
          Dad




© Tom Taylor   All Rights Reserved

Good Morning Jack

Letter to my Son
Sunday, 12 April

Good Morning Jack…

It’s difficult getting lost in Southern California.  There are too many prominent landmarks.  The ocean is west, the mountains east and the desert has few roads so there is little opportunity to be confused as to which way to go.  Generally, it’s a choice of continuing forward or turn around and go back the way you came.  The simple layout there was a real confidence builder for me.

My navigation skills were useless for North Carolina.  After a number of years here I still confuse east with west.  I blame the trees for blocking my view in every direction. 

Tuesday morning I went out towards Reed’s goldmine from Kannapolis.  It was the last day of cool, overcast weather.  There were signs of light rain the previous night.

We get more rain than Seattle here.  Big deal.  We've got a roof over our head.  The animals outside put up with whatever comes their way.  Any kind of shelter makes matters a bit more tolerable.  An insect finds a hole in some wood and scurries inside to escape the drops and to hide.  Soon another insect finds the same hole and creeps inside.  He is quickly eaten by the first insect.  First come, first serve.

This path leads you to the princess castle where Sleeping Beauty waits for your kiss.

Here’s a portion of the forest being redeveloped.  Termites have been contracted to reverse engineer this ancient tree.

This is the kind of environment where you have all kinds of Whos for Horton to hear..

A tree dies and wills its remains to a slew of upstarts.

A wandering root drinks from a goblet of murk.

Scampering life abounds.  This would be paradise except for the fact your neighbors are trying to eat you.  When you think about it we've evolved from a long line of traumatized species.  It should be of no wonder we are the way we are.  I wonder if we are about to get ahead of ourselves – the power of science outsmarting our wisdom.  For instance, we find compelling advantages to redesigning ourselves genetically.  Enthusiasm abounds and we program out characteristics that made us who we are.  We shed our biological heritage and become something altogether different, by choice.  We each become a tree of knowledge and we rule our own bloodline extinct and we are finally good.

Love,

          Dad

©  Tom Taylor   All Rights Reserved.

Good Morning Jessicca

Letter to my Daughter
Sunday, 5 April

Good Morning Jessicca…

This is the time in each year nature sheds its hunkered down ways and revives itself to benefit from the launch of spring.  Friday morning started out cool and overcast, kind of like the June-gloom mornings I experienced as a kid growing up in San Diego.  I drove about three miles to the site of this morning’s browse.

I walked an abandoned road into the forest.

The creek was low, leaving a necklace of still ponds for tadpoles to grow.

Dogwood is in bloom.   Bees are here but it’s still too early for hummingbirds.

Some tree crowns filled with vine, looking like soaring bramble.

Thick and rope-like these vines grasp the nearest tree, catching a ride upwards.

Much of the area still has the feel of winter, but this will quickly change.

A derelict shed gives way to the incessant pull of earth.

Strewn wood waits for the services of fungus and termite to return it to the soil.

Two wild turkey flew into a farmer’s field and were quickly hidden by the grass.

North Carolina’s natural state is a carpet of forest.  Trees grow at the slightest provocation.

Ever wonder where the term tar heel comes from?  It’s what North Carolinians call themselves – like Hoosiers of Indiana.    I think it has to do with all these trees.  Old sailing vessels would put into this state’s ports for refitting because wood was so readily available.  The tar used in processing the wood for ocean voyages would get on the workers’ feet and they would track it everywhere.  It’s a nickname quickly and accurately given.

Love,

          Dad

© Tom Taylor   All Rights Reserved.

Good Morning Jack...

Letter to my Son

Sunday, 2 March

Forest of the Tarheel State

Good Morning Jack…

As you know the natural order of North Carolina is to be a carpet of trees.  This certainly helps to explain why the state has historically been a thriving center for furniture manufacturers – Thomasville, as a ‘for instance’.  Like the textile industry in this region, though, most of the manufacturing has relocated overseas.  Of course, the trees are still here.  They crop up everywhere in neighborhood yards without the slightest encouragement.  People constantly pull them from their gardens and mow them down in their lawns.  Part of the cost of living here is having a local tree service barber the lush growth of your stately trees. 

Of course, with all these trees about the realm comes an infestation of squirrels.  I suppose infestation is the wrong word because they are not like rats that invade your home.  They are known to nest in people’s attics but unless you keep a bowl of acorns sitting out they won’t be startling you if you happen to walk into the kitchen during the middle of the night.  They mostly ignore us.  They aren’t terribly fond of human ways.  They do appreciate gardens, though.  One year I planted several large, fat and healthy sunflower seeds only to have every one of them hunted down and devoured.  They have a keen sense of smell as they rely on scent to uncover their own buried acorns, even beneath the winter’s snow. 

Imagine a forest without woodpeckers.   No, I can’t either.  They’re not hard to track down with their red heads tapping in the trees and their curious looping flight.  I guess undulate is a better word for it.  The bird can’t fly in a straight and level fashion like most birds.  It’s like the bottom falls out between wing beats and its flight constantly wants to sag towards the ground.  What’s with that?  Everything has a reason, right?  Is it possible the bird just thinks flying the dipsy-do is more fun?  You know birds have an amazingly small brain to be able to handle all the sophisticated acrobatics they do.  I wouldn’t think there’d be room left over to slip in a pleasure center.  Imagine a scientific paper being published that concludes woodpeckers fly the way they do just for the hell of it.  They enjoy the giddy feeling it gives them in their stomach.

Occasionally deer wander through the yard.  They are everywhere, as you might expect.  I avoid driving most country roads at night because the local deer are still in the process of adjusting to the presence of cars.  There’s a healthy population of black vultures here that feasts upon this fact. 

We’ve got raccoon and fox here.  A box turtle once wandered by.  There’s also a few interesting snakes that hang out in leaves and snoop around barns.  Owls hoot and hawks make their daily rounds.  I could come up with a pretty good list of wildlife varmints seen around here if I really tried but I think I was talking about trees and I got off track.  I missed my point.

What I wanted to say is that most people really love trees and forests.  Why not?  It’s all so green and lush and vibrant with life.  Yet, there are a few people like me that find all this wooded growth a bit claustrophobic.  Personally, I am a big fan of the unobstructed horizon.  I love seeing where sky meets land twenty miles further down the road.  Sure you can plunk a tree somewhere to break the monotony.  They make for a great accent piece.  But a few trees go a long way with me.  That holds true for most any form of living thing.  Allow me to contemplate the unique qualities of just one animal, isolated and very much alone.  A lizard enjoying the morning on a rock will do.  Maybe he’s in the midst of savoring the full-bodied flavor of a juicy cricket while he sunbaths.  His head raised and cocked to one side he gives me his cold-blooded reptilian assessment.  I’m not worth much.  Just keep my distance and we’ll all be cool.  That works for me, too.  I count myself among the critters that probably need more personal space than we have a right to expect.

Love,

           Dad