Banner Mountain Girl # 49 “from my diary”

1 November 1977– The rain drips and pours relief upon a dry, parched earth. It comes down steadily all day and all night. The brown leaves are soaked and lie heavily upon the ground. The roar of the rain sounds across the silence of the room, loud and then softer it falls, almost hushed, as it drips upon the leaves.

© Freeda Baker Nichols

Fallen Leaves

Banner Mountain Girl # 48 — “A poem begins . . .”

“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness . . . It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.”–Robert Frost

At the age of nine, I had not heard of Robert Frost when I wrote my first poem, there at Banner Mountain in the two room schoolhouse. But my first poem was about love for my mother. My words rhymed, and I’m sure I was following the teacher’s instructions when I penned my first masterpiece onto the page of that Big Chief tablet.

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But it would be many years before I set foot on my journey into writing and poetry. And now, I continue with writing and poetry because they are my destiny. The journey is still adventurous and lovely, sometimes frustrating but always satisfying. I agree with the quote by Robert Frost on how a poem begins. He created masterpieces!

~ Freeda Baker Nichols

 

BANNER MOUNTAIN GIRL # 44 (from my files)

As I shred old copies of my writing, I sometimes come across a note that makes me stop and think. Like this note within a folder, marked CADRON– “Writing is no longer fun. I work at it but I do not enjoy it. I seem to have lost something in the shuffle of life.
Today I must start the novel. First, I will give it a name. ALONG THE CADRON
THE CADRON CREEK
AS THE CADRON DRIFTS
THE CADRON DRIFTS EASTWARD
EASTWARD FLOWS THE CADRON
EASTWARD DRIFTS THE CADRON

The Cadron Drifts Eastward

Westward

The Cadron drifts westward
with its secret and song.
Two hearts wait patiently
yet ever so long.
One will claim ownership,
the other must leave
desolate and destined
forever to grieve.”

Years later, here’s the book in published form.    CALL of the CADRON

 

Banner Mountain Girl#39–from my files–an instance of regret

I noticed him as he sat on the motorized shopping cart and guided a half-filled grocery cart firmly with his left hand. He turned into the aisle by the dairy products. He picked up a gallon of 1% Milk. His cart already contained a case of Gatorade and a carton of Mountain Dew underneath the boxes of oatmeal, Oreo cookies, and a bag of Fuji apples. He also had bananas, grapes, a honeydew melon and tomatoes. There were frozen Stouffer’s TV dinners and several boxes of pot pies. He stopped briefly at the cigarette counter, then went on without choosing any. He reached for a bottle of Aleve and a can of shaving cream. He passed by the meat bin, without stopping. He raised his eyes to look at me as he maneuvered past my overflowing cart. His eyes were pale gray, so washed out–hardly any sparkle to them. His hair was neatly trimmed and short, showing beneath the cap he wore.  Even now, he was a handsome man.

He was a veteran.

I know because he was shopping in a military commissary, the day after Memorial Day.

I wish I had at least said hello to him. I wish I had thanked him for serving our country. © Freeda Baker Nichols

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BANNER MOUNTAIN GIRL # 38 A Journal Entry

Coreopsis in bloom on Banner Mountain.

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From my journal: “A nice sunny day, this 27 day of February 1991. I must get back to writing in a journal. That, at least, would help me get started back to creating stories.
Sometimes it’s easy to write, other times it is not so easy.
I hope that I haven’t written all the things I’m capable of writing. I hope I can get back to creating short stories soon. That is really my love, creating fiction–short stories, children’s fantasies and novels. That’s the real fun things to do in writing.
This Friday, Writers of the Foothills will meet. Our subject is War in the Persian Gulf. The war is almost over now. I feel relieved and will be glad when it is finally over and the troops are back home. ”  © Freeda Baker Nichols

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