Back to the Swamp

I can't believe that it's been over a year since I posted anything. All of you regular bloggers out there must have raised your kids of something. Anyway, if anyone out there was dying to hear from me, you would be dust by now.

My buddy David suggested I should post some new photographs, so that's what got me started again.



These were taken around the house on a rainy day.

I just couldn't resist a few more photos of what mother nature was doing in the swamp. The pink one to the left is one of the native azaleas. I think there are about fifteen different types, but this one and an orange one are the only ones I've seen here. Some people mistake it for honeysuckle because of the way the blossoms look and because it has the most wonderful smell. The purple one is Spiderwort. The purple flower you see will last only a morning before it is gone, but you can see the buds below. Each stem will produce around twenty flowers before it disappears. The Spiderwort is edible and has been used as a medicinal plant to treat insect bites and other ailments.

Oddly enough, it was Ralph Waldo Emerson, not a Hallmark writer that said "the earth laughs in flowers". If that is true, someone said something hysterical in Mingo Swamp.



Inspired by SD's azalea pictures, I took my camera in and around the swamp to capture these images. The goal was to only take photographs of things humans had nothing to do with.

The white lilies and ferns grow down in the swamp and come up every year as the soil warms. From the road you might think they were from an old homeplace, but no person has lived there.


The fields are covered with flowers. The red flowers are apple grass. We used to eat the stems as kids. The purple ones I'm not sure of.

"Crossing a bare common in snow puddles at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, I have experienced a perfect exhilaration. I am glad to the brink of fear."

When I am there, really seeing, I am as close to happy as I will ever be. Perhaps this is because , as Emerson says, "when we are in the woods, we return to reason and faith".

My own campaign trail

On my way home from Columbia today I passed a tour bus run by a company called "Faith Travel". The advertisement on the back said "Travel on Faith". I have no problem with faith. You might say I have faith in it, but when it comes to a bus line, I think you could throw in some scheduled maintenance, just in case.

This adventure began when I decided to run for a statewide judicial position. The first part of the process was screening in which each of the candidates was evaluated for judicial temperament, experience and ethics. After the candidates passed through screening, the tilt-a-whirl ride began. Let's go ahead and make that the blindfolded tilt-a-whirl ride. Because the position is voted on by the legislature, it was nothing but political. You might say I was learning the process. You might say I got my ass handed to me. The only person I really made an impression on was the man at the Cold Stone Creamery who mixed Heath Bars and pecans into my coffee ice cream every day. He knew what I was up to.

So was it really worth it? I wondered a lot. A few unrelated events conspired to let me know that perhaps it really was. When I was walking across the capitol campus, I passed an older man. He was homeless, but was hanging on to home. He had his bag with him, but probably stayed at the mission most nights. He asked how I was doing and I lied and said "fine thanks, but it's too cold". He said it was far too damp out. That hadn't occurred to me. Everyone comes from somewhere else and there are limits to what we can see.

Later, negotiating with myself over some burdensome task,like actually talking to someone, I told myself that as a reward, I could go to the art museum. Looking at a collection of antique snuff boxes, from China, each perfectly made of a different material like jade, agate, enamel or malachite, I was reminded of the good things about people. We create, we struggle to be better. We don't just wear black suits and trade votes. I may not belong in the black suit world, but I don't belong in any other, really.

So is this a good thing? It is. If I could choose to be a chosen person, I wouldn't. I like my past just the way it is, even with the detours. "They" say that you have to run more than once to win and I wonder, will I? I had faith going in, maybe too much. Next time I won't forget to check under the hood.

Greeetings From Our State Capitol

I'm back home and glad for it. I got the crazy idea to run for a judgeship. I can tell you there is a reason why I've been having this dream for years about running another marathon with no signs to tell you which way to run. Some simple illustrations might be of assistance.

This would be the way I felt before my trip.

This is me afterwards.

The moral of this story is yet to be determined. The only thing I know how to do is put on my running shoes and run.