She's Having a Baby!

For someone as preggers as Nicole, the girl did great during for our session. The woman is 9 months uncomfortable. Ready to have this baby! The park where we met held many photo ops: benches, paths, trees, ponds. She pointed to a 20 foot radius of lawn. "This is my area. I'm not moving anywhere but here. Not one step further than I have to." Alrighty then. I can work with that.

We had a lot of laughs laying mama down on the grass. Hoisting her back up. It was a lovely maternity shoot as husband Steve was enthusiastic about every second. The guy is simply thrilled. I brought along a few props: chair, old suitcase and the blue gerber daisy. But the magic was all theirs. I turned around to change a lens. When I looked back, Nicole sitting with Steve praying at her belly. So relaxed. So them.

Both parents are big fans of the novel "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho. One of their favorite quotes:

"Sometimes there's just no way to hold back the river."

That can mean a lot of things. To this couple, it encapsulates how they feel about their relationship and  expected baby boy. Fitting then, they've decided to name the child River. I can't wait to meet him.

And as for Nicole's little radial area, even I was shocked how many fantastic images we snapped within limited space. At parks with families, I usually hoof it all over the place. Breaking a sweat chasing young children over slides and swings. Boundless energy, etc... This was a nice reminder that great things come in small packages. For memorable shots, you don't need much more than a patch of green grass and a couple whose madly in love.

www.kathleenmoorephotography.com

BBQ Fund Raiser at the Firehouse

“Once. Twice. Three times…sold!” rang the auctioneer voice of fire chief Mr. Chad Dixon, gesturing enthusiastically in the direction of someone other than myself.

Rats. Outbid fair and square. I really wanted that item too. After all, who wouldn’t get a kick from an airplane joy ride high above Rabun County in the depths of spring?

But that’s how it goes at the annual Tallulah-Persimmon volunteer fire department BBQ fundraiser.

This year’s event took place March thirty-first, at where else - but the sturdy firehouse itself. Polished to a glorious shine the station’s arsenal of trucks patiently waited outside, grabbing gravel during the affair. Their home temporarily parlayed into a party venue. And what an amazing event fireman and organizer, Mr. Tom Madison Sr., created.

Old and young gathered together under a big blue sky, American flag waving overhead. Thanks to The Foxfire Boys, mountain tunes tickled the crowd as the scent of BBQ punctuated the air. Several ladies broke out in dance as we all clapped along. It was a festive atmosphere almost belying the gravity of the event. Each of Rabun County’s twelve volunteer fire stations needs every dime they can get.

  


































“Raised funds go primarily toward life support equipment,” Mr. Madison informed me. “We’re in critical need of pagers, portable radios and breathing apparatus.” He also explained the importance of a solid ISO rating: a ranking system that gauges a community’s fire-fighting capabilities. Ratings are based on several criteria: well-trained fire fighters, proper equipment and adequate supplies of water.

    


































“ISO ratings effect citizens directly. Great scores equal lower rates for home insurance,” Mr. Madison continued. “A couple of years ago Rabun County received an upgraded rating. It’s in everyone’s best interest to maintain that quality.”

 Think of it as a help-me-help-you kind of thing. Attend fund-raiser, eat BBQ, enter raffle, bid on auction items, raise money, lower insurance rates, sleep well, eat more BBQ. If properly orchestrated it all comes full-circle, like a well-played Seinfeld episode.

This year’s auction and raffle prizes alone were something to get excited about. Just ask Mr. Kenny Walker, who strolled away with a $500 Wal-Mart gift card. Not to be out done, pastor Kevin Hurt won a $500 Ingles gift card. Go in peace. Reeves Hardware donated a serious looking riflescope, but I was more taken with the gorgeous leather ottoman offered up by Timpson Creek Gallery. I didn’t win that either. Mr. Madison’s daughter-in-law Jennifer, was the high bidder on that piece. Her feet are probably comfortably propped-up on it this very minute.

    

I did however come away with a hand-made bracelet and one oversized carrot cake. Plus, a newfound appreciation for all this station does for the community. Approximately two hundred 9-1-1 calls are answered annually by the Tallulah-Persimmon department, working with a current roster of only twelve volunteers. Their area of service covers the Northwest region of Rabun County, including Lake Burton up to the North Carolina state line.

Without a doubt my family will be back in attendance at their BBQ fundraiser next year. We’ll be armed with hungry bellies and a handful of cold hard cash. I’m already looking forward to it. Next spring that airplane ride over Rabun County oh-so-generously donated by Joan and Wayne Plaster, is oh-so mine.

https://sites.google.com/site/foxfireboys/

Bald Eagle Thrills Over Burton

Winding north over back roads heading to Lake Burton, the speedometer of my car keeps to the obligatory slow speed limits, but my heart races ahead. Expectations are high. For I know what I shall find. This place has me trained now. Languid rolling mountains in flawless fellowship with emerald waters. And over those waters, the scent of a bonfire wafting through the air, curling down the lake, just as the mist will do tomorrow at dawn. 

Especially enjoyable, the smallish wooden sign nailed to a tree off Lake Burton Dam Road. PRAY, it suggests. Like I’m not already. Is it even possible to lay eyes on this place without one’s soul surging upward in a swish of gratitude? 

But where is the fun, if known expectation can’t be turned on its head, further enlivened? Such was the case this summer during a family afternoon of boating. The kids - three of ‘em, ages nine and under - had worn us down with what seemed like the one-hundredth wakeboard run. We, the parental authorities in charge, had finally exerted veto power, demanding a lunch break. Off to La Prades. An hour later, full, refreshed and recommitted to the day, we clamored back down one of those long docks, piling into our oldie-but-a-goodie bow rider. 

Suddenly at the top of her six-year-old lungs, our daughter shrieked. Shattering the afternoon peace, she hollered, “Bald Eagle!”

Snapping to attention, I whirled in the direction her pointer-finger furiously jabbed. Eyes flashed to the sky, even as my mind zoomed in the opposite direction. No way. She mean a hawk. Maybe a really big hawk. 

But the unmistakable vision, a mere thirty-five yards away begged to differ. Fresh from his hiding place high in the trees, a speeding form raced like a black and white dive bomber. Ebony wings stretched themselves from the biggest raptor body I had ever seen. A fierce white head lead the charge in a nose dive toward the unsuspecting lake. Like a scene straight out of Animal Planet, the creature deftly changed motions at the last second. Propelling underside forward, feet and talons smashed through the surface. Spray erupted wildly. From the restaurant’s patio a chorus of voices sang out in unison. 

“Bald eagle! Bald eagle!” yelled half a dozen people at once.

Perhaps distraction got the better of him. Performing under pressure always a tricky dish no matter what species. In a flash the eagle rose back into the air, empty fisted. Some lucky spotted bass or trout left shaken but alive, free to swim another day. Mesmerized, every head turned in the direction the bird flew. Remembering that for once, the camera was aboard, I lunged for it chaotically, managing to snap a shot. We watched, soundless now, as this iconic raptor elegantly lifted himself higher and higher. His black silhouette pitched vividly against the cloudless, chalky-blue sky.

Euphoria at such a spectacle ran high through the children. My husband and I more quietly, more deeply moved.

“Remember this,” their father told them. “You’ll probably never see it again in your lives.”

But then again, perhaps they might.

After speaking to Mr. Jim Ozier with the Georgia Department of Natural Resources, I learned the American Bald Eagle has been on the dramatic increase here in Georgia since 1980. Conservation laws, restoration work and a ban on the pesticide DDT have helped the bald eagle recover from near-extinction.

“This year we counted 143 nesting pairs,” Mr. Ozier told me over the phone. “Georgia’s eagles stick mostly to the coast, but we do hear reports of sightings in the Lake Burton area.”

Of course they do. And really, what’s so unexpected about that? If tired of the usual haunts, an eagle succumbs to wanderlust and happens upon Rabun County, he like the rest of us, would be enchanted. And if, on a lazy afternoon, the mood strikes to do a little fishing, undoubtedly the choice local would be our beloved Lake Burton.

If while enjoying Rabun County, you spy the unexpected, let the Georgia Department of Natural Resources in on your find. Mr. Ozier encourages the public to report all sightings of American Bald Eagle nests and pairs. Contact him at jim.ozier@dnr.state.ga.us or call 478.994.1438

www.kathleenmoorephotography.com

I DO. DO-OVER.

I loved my wedding day. I really did. And I even still love the guy. So I've got that going for me.
But after recently viewing images from events masterminded by L.A. wedding planner, Lisa Vorce, I had a momentary flash of do-over.

Check out this image by photographer Thayer Allyson Gowdy, from a wedding day entitled: "Vintage Fusion". Aww. I love vintage fusion. I want vintage fusion. Anyone who knows me, is well aware of my fondness for old, lovely things. And an entire wedding concept done in this fashion, is no exception.

John and I were married almost thirteen years old in Dallas, Texas. We chose the historic Stoneleigh Hotel for our reception. Not bad, not bad. But nothing like the events Mr. Vorce and her events team are putting together these days. Why, may you ask was I on a wedding website in the first place? Nosey you. Answer: I was doing recon for my younger sister Carly, who is in fact, tying the knot later this year.

To view more inspiration (even if you're not a celebrity bride on the California coast) visit:

www.ohhowcharming.com

310.927.1696

Most freakishly, productive day ever.

Obsessed. I really must be. In between crock pot orders and the hours 8pm - 2:34am, what's a creative girl to do? Go to sleep? Aww...too easy. And all this cool bling and vintage jewelry sitting around. I know, let's make more stuff! Like one-of-a-kind necklaces. Some curios I find, that must be gathered up even though not applicable to slapping into a layer of grout (crucial step for mosaic work) are fabric based. Example: this crazy little polka-dot, abstract owl I found at Lakewood 400.

Me thinks it was supposed to be a shoe adornment. Who knows. I snapped it up months ago, not knowing what its new fate would be. This week, its back clip was removed reconfiguring it to be the star of this black, red and white neck piece. Add a few more dangles here and there - old earrings no longer in ear-lobe service, and...Voila! Completly unique chunky-funky necklace! As if the world really needs one more piece of jewelry. Oh well.

But now I was on a...what'd you call it? Oh yeah. A roll! What else is lying around here dying to reincarnate into a necklace? I scrummied through my drawers-o-stuff. Put on a pot of coffee. Built three more necklaces. Took some photos. More coffee. Designed a quick, little website. More coffee. Bat husband away - "For the love of God Kathleen, come to bed!" - end quote. Finally, finally, Sleep commenced.

In the morning, I awoke. Snapped on my computer. Entered my new URL:

http://www.decktheneck.com/

And smiled.
Now that's what I call a freakishly, productive day.

7-11 meet Norman Rockwell

Lake Burton Grocery has a real name. Lake. Burton. Grocery. But we simply call it Joe's. That because it's Joe who's running the place, and Joe's life-blood sunk into it. Joe and the rest of his hard-working family originally hail from Florida. But he's here in Georgia now, cooking up the best batches of turkey and artichoke dip I've ever had. The "grocery" is hardly just a grocery. Oh no. It's a deli, a kitchen, a place to buy your bait and firewood, grab some Tylenol and ice cold beer. Perhaps not in that order. The place is like something out of the 1930's. Just one look at the old building and ancient gas pumps, give a clue that you're in for a real treat.

When you visit Joe's - I mean, Lake Burton Grocery -follow this plan: First, pull off of Hwy 76W, parking on the splash of asphalt out front. Do not run over any free-range children who've walked up from the lake for ice cream. Do brace yourself to be hit by the scent of bbq wafting from a beat-up smoker to your right. Pause. Breath deep. Walk up, pulling open the old screen-door serving as the grocery's grand entrance. Let it smack shut behind you. Register that oh-so-satisfying sound. Nothing says you've left the city like an anciently painted screened-door banging shut. Step foot over the decade-old, scuffed-up wooden floors. This aint no 7-11. You'll be greeted by a friendly smile and a "How ya doin'?" by either Joe himself, daughter Barbara or a real-deal Rabun County resident.

The front room of the store offers anything a visitor or local resident may need. There's cold drinks and matches. Lighter fluid and tick-tacks. Graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate for those parents who couldn't get it together, coming up to the mountains without s'mores supplies. There's dog food, canned beans and Starbucks iced coffee in the fridge - for city folks and their ensuing coronaries if gourmet caffine consumption is disrupted. Joe has his wooden shelves stocked with wine (that's for me), fishing line and lures, shampoo and homemade fudge. But wait for it. It gets... better.

Durk's Take-Away is the official name of the kitchen and deli in the next room. This cozy space while small in square footage, feeds masses of hungry. Visitors and locals alike. It's a great mix of people milling around waiting on their BBQ and slaw. The daily menu board will make your mouth water. Realizing you missed home-made breakfast sandwiches makes you wanna kick yourself. Noting that on summer eves Joe produces gourmet take-out dinners, will having you placing an order faster than a...well, lets just say, really fast.

I don't know who the Durk, in Durk's Take-Away is. Usually it's Joe himself back in the kitchen. Looking like a wild mad-man, tongs and cutting knives whirling. Longish white hair attempts escape freedom-fight style under a tightly worn ballcap. His white goatee - much better behaved - surrounds a wide smile of interesting dental work. Joe wields his spatula more like a pitch fork or light-saber. The man is a mix of Sweeney Todd meets Emeril Lagasse. Don't be scared. He won't bite. He just wants to feed your belly.

It's touching how proud Joe is of his place. Last summer he showed me all around the storage rooms explaining his plans and grand visions. He giddily showed off his place like a normal grandpa would photos of his grand-kids. Joe asked what I thought of his ideas, inquiring if I liked the new and improved patio. How flattering. And yes, I did like the new patio - a.k.a. relaxing waiting area. Huge logs-seats and benches provide a fine space to kill a little time while you hang-out. Newspapers lie scatter around underneath a huge map of Lake Burton hung perfectly at eye level. Nearby, that rusty smoker churning out the scent of tantalizing pork being cooked oh-so right. You'd better sit down.

Most of the folks who traverse through the place are salt of the earth. Its sweet - sentimental in my old age I am - to see the local, older guys come in for their morning cup o' jo.. Clad in jean overalls and wilted ball caps, you get the feeling you're witnessing what's been their daily uniform for 60 plus years. However, I can report at least one instance of the direct opposite. It wasn't pretty. High-glossed Range Rover barrels into the tiny parking area like they own the joint. Two people hop out. You know them: Ken and Barbie. Stepping up to the kitchen's counter, Ken can't wait to order those sandwiches. And he's going to do so, with great lunch-ordering authority. However, Joe had stepped into the back. Kitchen momentarily unmanned. My sister, Nicole, stood nearby, holding up the wall while waiting for her own sandwich she'd just ordered. Ken glances around blinking. Empty kitchens confuse him. Darting eyes quickly settle on Nicole. She's positioned on the customer side of the counter - just like he is - but clad in jeans, t-shirt and ponytail. Typical weekend attire.

"I want to place an order," he informs her.
Amused, she looks up. "I think you should."
Ken just stands there. Emaciated Barbie linked to his arm, scrying hungrily, hoping her man will provide.
"Aren't you going to take our order?" Ken demands.
"I don't think so." Nicole informs calmly.
"Why not?"
"Because... I. Don't. Work. Here.

Just then, Joe emerged from his cloisters quickly taking the guy's order. He then handed my sister her steaming-hot BBQ, thanking her by name - as he does all his regulars. But as I stated, this type of customer is the anomaly. Most folks milling around are either up from Atlanta on a fantastic day-drive, or weekending at the lake. Either way, its a prime environment for a lot of happy, shiny people. Often, I've envisioned Vermont's Norman Rockwell - great American illustrator who's paintings showcased small town U.S.A. throughout the '30s - '50s - waltzing into Lake Burton Grocery feeling right at home. It's a special kind of store, with the authentic feel and flavor of a bygone area. And except for the occasional out-of-line Range Rover, you'd almost believe not a day has passed.

Lake Burton Grocery / 7335 Hwy 76 West / Clayton / GA 30525

phone: 706.782.4646

website: yeah, right

I've died. And gone to Edith's Daylilies.

One of my favorite drives through northeast Georgia is lovely, winding Hwy 255 near Clarksville. Heading north, I know that soon the simple two-lane road - hardly a highway - will morph into 197. Which then weaves around the west side of Lake Burton. Another gorgeous slice of sightseeing to be sure. But before all that - there's Edith's Daylilies.

As you approach, a wooden sign stuck in the ground is all the warning one gets. And it's pretty much all one needs. Rising atop a perfectly landscaped hill appears a little white house. And all around it - paradise. It's hard to miss. Edith - yes, there's definitely a real Edith involved - has taken the grounds around her home turning it into a sweetland. If you happen across the scene during peak, you'll hardly believe your eyes. Rows and rows of lilies, in all shapes, sizes and hues. And behind the lines of botanical-garden worthy flowers is an old-fashioned vegetable garden. Behind that, nothing but fields and woods. It's an unspoiled world of loveliness Edith and her grandson Samuel have lovingly created.

At Edith's Daylilies there's an open door policy, with visitors welcome anytime. As they tell folks, "A phone call will assure someone being in the garden, however during the bloom season that is not necessary." The day we stopped by last summer, it was Edith herself who appeared - thin white hair in curlers no less - helping us choose the first of many purchases we'll be making. As friends and family know, I will stop anywhere, anytime to scour a place which looks even half-way interesting. Lily gardens no exception. Though I knew this venture would produce nothing in the way of antiques or rhinestone brooches, I discovered better: a charming lady who's been living among the same gentle hills her entire, long life. Warm and friendly and happy to chat. As if she were downright tickled we'd stumbled by. She spoke of the area and her family homestead where she grew up. Her sparkling white childhood farm home standing proudly just down the road. One of her sisters residing there still.

Edith likes everyone to know that mid-June is peak time in the garden. If you ever stop by that time of year, you'll note all the happy people strolling through the lily aisles, cameras in hand. Sun shinning down, fresh air, just gazing at flowers. All for free. You get the feeling Edith would just as easily talk about a canning recipe, as make a sale. There's no pressure to buy. What there is, are dozens upon dozens of fantastical prize lilies. Some gorgeously healthy mounds born 20-25 years ago. In front of each, a petite medal stake spelling out its stats. Our kids were floored to discover flowers decades older than they. Actually, that was one of their favorite parts of the visit. Seven year-old Hoffman ran from lily to lily shouting out floral inception dates. The whole experience was picture perfect. A charming open-air education for mind and spirit.

If ever you find yourself in that neck of the woods, do your soul and senses a favor and pull over. Hopefully, you'll visit with Edith. She can explain the colorful world of lilies to you. And if you have the time, a smidge more.

http://www.edithsdaylilies.com/