Being out in the fresh April air and sunshine, exploring
the Ozarks with camera in hand, is one of the most refreshing and
healing ways I know to spend an afternoon.
Doyle and I struck out
Sunday afternoon to make our favorite kind of jaunt - a lazy, unplanned
meandering, turning down first one road and then another, hopefully
stumbling onto a part of the countryside we've never explored. Our
richest finds are remote creeks, where Doyle can "look in water," one
of this biology major's favorite past-times.
 "Look, honey, do you see those creek darters over there under that rock?"
Climbing
around in the hills, holding onto vines, peeking into hollow trees,
looking for pretty flowers and moss, trying to shoot the perfect photo,
walking out onto a fallen log over an icy cold creek...these are ways
for me to nourish the little girl who lives inside this middle-aged
woman.

On yesterday's jaunt, we ended up in the vicinity of Wolf
Springs and West Branch roads, an area we'd never been in before. We
struck out on a pleasant ramble along a creek I guess must have been
West Branch, enjoying the gurgling water and the purple wildflowers
that have cropped back up since the freeze last week, and speculating
about whether that disturbed place in the watercress might have been
made by a bear.

Until I met Doyle six years ago, for most of my
life, I’d spent way too little time in the woods. My lifelong
outdoorsman has introduced me to the joys of camping in a tent, wading
up streams, and hiking around in the woods. While we lived in Florida,
we did our share of walking through the palmetto scrubs and palm trees
and Spanish-moss draped live oaks of the state parks near Sarasota,
slapping at mosquitoes, wiping sweat out of our eyes, and keeping our
eyes peeled for alligators.
 In fact, one of my most embarrassing
stories involves the day we were strolling through Myakka State Park
with a couple of friends of ours, avid birdwatchers and walkers, who
are quite elderly. While we were walking beside some backwaters of the
Myakka River, we spotted a medium-sized gator, about seven feet long.


It was just lying in the sun, perfectly still, as alligators usually
are. When you live in south Florida, you become sort of immune to the
scary creatures, which I know is hard for you to believe, but it really
happens, because you see alligators all the time when you live there.
Normally they just lie there like an ugly statue and ignore you. We
just kept ambling along, chatting casually, with me somehow in the
lead. We were within about ten feet of the prehistoric reptile when it
suddenly jumped up onto its tiptoes and DASHED right toward us before
veering off into the swampland. When the scare was over, I was
mortified to find myself cowering behind our 70-something friend Terri
and her 82-year-old husband Bob. My three companions all gave me a
pretty hard time about that.
Even though every part of God's world
has its unique beauties - even the swampland of south Florida - being
out in our Ozarks, in every season, has made me fall more deeply in
love with nature than I've ever been.
Rambling around beautiful
old hills with my husband has helped me get back in touch with the joy
that many of us have lost as adults, the joy that comes with simply
"playing outside" like we used to as children.
 How long has it been
since you waded in a creek? Ran your hand across velvety green moss,
just to see what it feels like? Held onto a twisted grapevine as thick
as your wrist to help you climb up a hill?

Walked carefully across a
log bridge, or stepping stones, over a gurgling stream?
Shakespeare
said "Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care," and I believe that's
true; getting a good night's sleep goes a long way toward lowering your
stress level and rebooting your outlook on life. But when I'm walking
around in the woods, stepping over vines, shooting close-ups of
flowers, listening to a spring bubbling over the rocks, breathing in
the crisp, cool air that’s never been through any kind of machine, the
knots inside my heart begin to come undone, and deep peace flows in, as
soothing as an April breeze blowing over the greening hills.


By Celia DeWoody
Published April 17, 2007
Harrison Daily Times
Copyright CPI Inc., 2007

We are having a smorgasbord of weather in the Ozarks this spring, from warm, summer-like temperatures to killing freezes that murdered all the dogwood and azalea blossoms, to windstorms so strong they could almost blow cars off of the highway, and then yesterday, a granddaddy of a hailstorm!

Dear friends,
I'm safely back at home in the Ozarks with my sweetheart, and back at work. It's good to be home, and it's comforting to be getting back into my own routine.
I will always treasure the last two weeks with Mama, as hard as they were.
Here are some of my favorite pictures from the get-together after Mama's memorial service Thursday night. Maybe you can get a glimpse of our loving family:

Me and my sweetheart

My sister Cissy

My niece Ashleigh

My nephew Ben

Lovely hydrangeas
and lilies from
Mama's old neighbors in Virginia

Our little Mama broke free of her cocoon and flew away to Heaven about 10 this morning, with me on one side and Cissy on the other, holding her hands and praying the Lord's Prayer. We are surrounded by peace, and deep gratitude that she went so peacefully and gracefully.
Thank you all so much for your prayers and encouragement. My Xanga friends have been a deep source of support for me, and I ask our good Father to bless you all today.

I stayed up all night Saturday night, for the first time since I was in labor with Jamie.
Thinking it would be so hard to stay awake, thinking
I'd have a migraine by morning, thinking it would be an awful
experience, I had been dreading it, but it turned out to be a night that I'll always treasure.
I spent the whole night sitting - and often standing - beside my critically ill mother's hospital bed. It was a night watch.

I've
thought about Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane a lot during this Lent,
as I've prayed the Sorrowful Mysteries of the rosary.
Because
He was human as well as God, He was wrestling with having to go through
the horror of the Crucifixion. Before His night of agony in the garden,
He asked His friends to watch and pray with Him...but they all fell
asleep. He was left to struggle with facing His death alone.
"Could
you not watch with me for a little while?" He asked them later. He was
asking them to show Him their love, by staying awake all night and
praying with him.
Last night, I got the opportunity to do that for my mother. It turned out to be a gift.
The
first night my mother was out of ICU, my mother had a restless, fearful
night in her new hospital room. When she heard this, my sister Re, her
primary caregiver for the past four months said firmly, "I'm going to
spend the night at the hospital tonight."
Her
unselfishness amazed me. This is the sister who has a little boy with
special needs, who keeps her very busy all day long. This is the sister
who has such a bad back that she has to spend hours every week in
physical therapy and doing special exercises -  volunteering
to probably be awake all night - at best, catnapping in an
uncomfortable hospital chair. Out of love. And she stayed up all night
with Mama and didn't complain.
The
next night, our baby sister Holly said she'd stay. Two weeks ago, Holly
was in a car wreck that totaled her car, and has an injured neck that's
causing her much pain. She, too, sat up all night, or stood by Mama's
bedside, without complaint.
My
sister Cissy volunteered to take her turn when it came. My little
sisters set such an example of selfless love for me, I had no choice
but to try to follow.
I said
I'd stay last night. I dreaded it, selfishly thinking about how tired
I'd be, how horrible I'd feel the next day. Because much of the time
Mama has been restless and not sleeping, agitated, begging us to take
her out of the hospital, I dreaded having to try to cope with her
desperate, confused pleas again.
Saturday night, Mama
was calmer, with a different type of medicine helping her relax, and
with a new peace about her. She slept hard for several hours early in
the night, and I sat beside her and prayed my rosary, and thought.
She was awake the rest of the night except for little catnaps, and I stayed right by her, holding her hand.
When my
mother would open her eyes a little bit and look at me during the
night, she'd try to smile, and pat my hand. She'd say, "Hey, darlin'."
Or "Baby, I know you're so tired." Motherly, loving things.
Sometimes she just wanted to talk. She'd whisper a question, and I'd answer.
In the deepest reaches of the night, she told me, "I'm just so tired. I don't know how much longer I can do this."

And
I told her that it was okay for her to stop fighting when she got
ready. That she could just relax and lean back in Jesus' arms and rest.
And she whispered, "Okay."
During
those long hours in a dark hospital room, listening to my mother's
labored breathing, leaning over her time and time again to try to hear
her faint little whispers, I felt peace surrounding me like a warm
blanket. I did some crying. I did some praying. I did some listening.
And my mama and I did some heart-to-heart talking, some of it without
words, just with me holding her hand, or stroking her hair back from
her beautiful, ravaged face, or by her putting her little cold hand on
my arm and patting me.
I left there knowing that my mama is going to be okay, no matter what happens next.
And that I will, too.
I'm
thankful that our Lord, whose own friends couldn't stay awake to watch
and pray with Him in the garden, was faithfully standing watch with me
and my mama that night.

By Celia DeWoody

Published in the Harrison Daily Times, Harrison, Ark. April 1, 2007
Copyright CPI, Inc. 2007

Dear friends,
Please pray for peace for my little mama. She's been going downhill since Thursday, not able to take anything by mouth, so weak, but so agitated and unhappy. She wants her girls by her side all the time, and we're taking turns. She's begging us to get her out of their, to help her get to a place where she can rest and not hurt.  She thinks there is somewhere we can take her if we'll just get her out of the hospital, but of course, there's no place in this world like that for her right now.
I had reservations to fly home today, but canceled them. I just can't leave Mama, or my sisters, right now.
I hope you are all well. You're in my prayers, my friends. Thank you for your prayers and encouragement.
Celia

Hey, friends,

Cis and I just went for a walk around Re's neighborhood. Here are some pictures I've taken of southwest  Florida's flora today:

I know this one! It's a hibiscus....

Re and Steve's new house

Oleander

 The swamp down the street