Clann O'Dochartaigh took part in another breathtakingly beautiful Appalachian sunset this evening. Yes, the sunsets are different and more beautiful up here on our Walker Mountain homestead. We don’t just see and watch them, but in a very real sense participate in them. The experience is so real and glorious that our faces continue to gleam after the sun’s retiring. And the grand thing is knowing that this is just one of thousands, Lord willing, that we will embrace on our land. Some might say it’s just the homebrew goggles, but they might never know.

Just this week, so far, Katie has ground wheat and baked several loaves of bread, cut and sewed herself two skirts and Eilidh a dress, knitted a pair of socks, served supper to a family in our church, and mowed part of the lawn, all on top of her normal duties as queen of household. Eilidh served cake and Eoin gave out alot of smiles. I took out the trash.

In the last few days, I have taken five trips to the local dump with trash. We are still working on cleaning up all the junk that is scattered around the property here on Walker Mountain. The trash included eleven rusted out push lawnmowers and dozens more parts, a few hundred pounds of scrap sheet metal, and bag upon bag full of household refuse that was here when we bought the place this spring.

We want to go ahead of our children and prepare a good way for them to go. We want the good life for all our own to follow. We want to give our children an inheritance, but we also want to clean up after ourselves. As much as possible, we want not to leave a trail of rubbish behind us for our own ones to stumble over as they try to follow.

JD

When I was about eight or nine years old, my parents began building the house we would all live in. My dad designed it and we all helped in some way to build it. Now it is twenty years later and I have a family of my own. We have recently taken possession of fourteen acres in Washington County, Virginia and are in the design stage of building our own home. While that was Ohio and this is Virginia, I’m not really all that far out of my father’s footsteps.

As we walked by the way, and as he raised a home, my dad taught me much more than how to drive a 16d nail. He and my mother taught us kids to take on our responsibilities to provide for our own. They taught us to turn from ways of the world. They taught us to love the Lord our God and all His commandments. They taught us to teach our own diligently as we walk by the way.

Now when I’m working on our driveway with shovel, rake, and mattock, my own daughter, Eilidh, is right there with her yellow plastic “shubbill” and red plastic rake. When I’m moving large corner stones, she’s carrying rubble that is just her size. She would rather help Daddy and Momma than play. And when she gets in the way, she’s not in the way.

Last week, we all went to Galax for the Old Time Fiddler’s Convention. I’m only guessing, but I would say there were about twice as many people there this year as last year. If that is so, it is probably because of the enormous popularity of that soundtrack record from the O Brother, Wherefore Art Thou movie.

The convention is hosted by the local Stonecutter’s Lodge, or something like that, and has been for all of its 67 years. I had remembered that the contest began each evening with the playing of the Star Spangled Banner, but this year they added something. With all the hype these last few months, they followed the National Anthem with the Pledge of Allegiance. Out of a certain social respect, our family did stand, like everyone else, during the Anthem. And then we sat down on the front row of the grandstand on a nice soft piece of cement. Even with 2 Corinthians 10.4-5 boldly printed on the back of my t-shirt, I’m afraid a few of those old timers probably thought that we’re some of those “fuh-laming” liberals.

I must admit, however, that I did make a pledge that evening. I will, Lord willing, enter the old time fiddle contest next year, either at Galax or Mt. Airy.

At our last monthly meeting for the folk music association that I work with, we had a special organizing session. We met in a boardroom in an office building in Blountville, Tennessee. The woman leading the meeting began, “ I’d like to start out tonight with a little ice-breaker. We are going to go around the room and introduce ourselves and I’d like for you all to tell the others here which character from the Wizard of Oz you identify with the most.” I tried not to roll my eyes, but I had to yawn.

When it came around the room to my turn, I said, “I’ll have to say I identify the most with the Lion, because everyday I pray that God would grant my son more courage than I have.” Then a long pause.

“That’s interesting,” she said, then she cocked her butch-haired head and asked suspiciously, “Why do you say your ‘son’?” My pretty.

Matter-of-factly, I answered, “Because he’s my ‘son’.”

I think of my own father when I think of courage. And I pray that that courage would be given also to my sons. The prayer continues that they would also have the excellent character of my own dear brother.

Laurence can give colorful testimony that some ponies just shouldn’t try to take some trails. R.C., on the other hand, has a fine stud that can gallop up our driveway without a strain. I, too, am thankful to own a faithful horse to ride the steep trail from the road to our home on the hill.

But last evening, as we crested the top of our trail, I noticed that she was limping a bit. I climbed down out of the saddle to find that she had a flat tire. I think my Nissan truck probably made it up the driveway with the tire flat about half of the way. I am having someone look at her right now. She is going to be up and running in no time.

Some months it is easier to be thankful than others. While we do have to buy new tires, I am thankful to have such a nice truck that needs them.