On The Front Porch

           Looking through Norman Rockwell paintings, one can expect to find one of an ancient country couple, sitting in rockers on the front porch of an old log cabin. I always looked at it as such a mountain cliché, until I moved out to the country and into my own log cabin, and suddenly realized what this picture of such solitude and serenity was inspired by. 

This morning, I sat bundled up, rocking on my own front porch and had to smile thinking about old Rockwell. Maybe he had done this a time or two, himself. Or, perhaps he’d been invited to “set a spell” by a weathered mountain couple somewhere along the line. How Americana it felt to me. How Americana I felt I must look.

As a native South Floridian, living in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, these mountains and their beauty never cease to amaze me. Starting in mid-summer, I strain my hurricane-blurry eyes to see the first hint of the leaves changing, and now that it’s the first of December, my head swivels around like some out-of-control bobble-head looking for each and every peak that the falling leaves have left exposed. I wait all year for the cool/cold months, though I try to remind myself to live for the moment and enjoy the warm/hot months, too. But, for someone like me, who’s lived in a year ‘round green landscape, this is nothing short of thrilling; it’s a miracle, actually.

It’s the little things that are so important to me anymore, and I often find an unexpected muse in them. I suspect that most artists do. Like this fall, I happened to glance out the window and spot a mother deer with her fawn. They leaped and bounded through my yard, until they came to the salt licks I had set out for them. (Most people can’t understand why they like those licks, but being an anchovy fan, I do.) I stood there mesmerized, and couldn’t help but wonder if that’s exactly what Pulitzer Prize-winning author Marjorie Kennan Rawlings was doing when she was inspired to write The Yearling.

I was at the grocery store a few weeks ago, and an older woman let out a loud “Hey darlin’!!” when she spotted me. I didn’t know her from Adam (who’s Adam anyway – and maybe that’s the point), but I reached deep inside of me and brought forth that decent little actress. I didn’t disappoint. I gave her a huge “Hey honey! It’s so good to see you!!” in return. We stood there for several minutes and talked. I let her do most of it, since I didn’t know who the heck she was, but I nodded in just the right places, and even threw in a “bless her heart” where it seemed appropriate. Then I promised to see her soon upon our parting. I smiled the rest of the way through the store, and I didn’t forget her. She became the inspiration for a character in the first book that I’m working on in my new series - A Corner in Glory Land - which will make its debut in December of ‘17.

I’m meeting a friend for dinner tonight. She’s a hurricane Katrina survivor from Louisiana. We realize how fortunate we are, having ended up here. For one thing, we know we’ve struck inspirational gold. Our muses are as plentiful as BBQ joints, Baptist churches and breathtaking vistas. And even though I know many of the locals are not thrilled that we’ve increased their traffic, taxes, and new developments, the truth of the matter is us transplants love it here – with a passion. Heck, everyday we’re rocking on our own front porches, appreciating the little things and keeping that old American image alive. Norman Rockwell would be proud. And I hope Marjorie would be, too.