I just want to sit here in this moment , but I know that the future is bright I just know that I want to act and not be complacent and not sit in indifference

A Conclusion; A Beginning

"I'm here somewhere in between Victory and a White flag."
I sit on the cusp of life , looking back to the memories we've had.
I walk these halls of my youth, filled with pain, love , joy and...
Proof that it had meaning.
With a few of you, and with a few things I never crossed the T's or dotted the I's.
To them I say sorry for not being real, but this is no conclusion.
We have a chance to live this life honestly.
In the depths of our hearts and minds we cry out hoping.
Hoping that this is true.
Praying that this isn't a lie we've been told since we were kids.
For some our paths shall lead to different places.
As we embark on life we look back and remember all of the faces.
All of the faces and hearts that touched our lives.
These people whether good or bad , shaped us.
From the school yard bully, to the pretty girl in your class.
They have helped mold you into who you are.
Not to say that you are not uniquely  yourself .
This is a conclusion yet a beginning.
I know people cannot stand the cliche.
But these words are true , these words I cry out to my future ,these words I give to you and say.
This is a benediction and a prelude .
We all see it a different way.
The question is which one will you choose?

A New Home : A story of the general, a hunting buddy and others. And or a weekend recap.

As last Friday was coming to a close and the sun was setting. A rag tag group of boys were headed North to the valley of the river . Riding shotgun was the general whose old grey eyes lit up with excitement as we were escaping this prison called the city. Phones were powered down, the radio turned on ,and stress blew away as the window rolled down. 

   In the backseat was the hunting buddy. A true friend and partner in crime. We have grown up near each other our whole lives. When we were little kids and didn't know each other we still lived a street over from each other. My dad would go running in our old neighborhood and pass their house saying    " dang that's a nice boat" (their family is just a little bit obsessed with ocean fishing).  

   As the sun was setting on a perfect evening we pulled up to paradise. The mountains were coated in shadows and the sky gleamed with the work of our creator. Ducks flew over on their way to the river, cows grazed , and calf's played . We the congregation of men gathered on the porch to watch this magnificent showing. The peace that this place evokes brings to mind the peace I once had not too far in the past. A place where the feeling of peace was just as evident. 

  As I sat there on that porch in that moment I realized that this place in time too shall pass on. My grandfather (the general) sitting and laughing with us. Our fathers sitting and teaching us. We as young men on the cusp of life waiting and watching anxiously to see what life has in store for us. But we must not look too far into the future . Sometimes tomorrow must take care of itself. 

  We rose early with dawn looking out the window at the dark , dark ,dark clouds that lay before. We rubbed sleep from our eyes and laughed as my dad fumbled around for his flashlight down the dark, narrow hallway of the Cornett homestead. The salesman that he is , he tried to coax out of bed and into  our camo . " Guys get you're sissy butts out bed the weather is going to be great". "Mr. Cauthen , your joking right? The weather is calling for over 80% percent rain" my friend replied still half asleep. " Lets just go for it and see what happens". A cup of straight black coffee and a jimmy dean brought us back to life as we drove to the hunt woods. 

 We parked by the old cemetery ( very cool has graves of revolutionary soldiers, but really spooky. Looks like the one from Skyfall. ) and headed for the woods. We hunted most of the day except for a quick hardware store run around lunch. 

 As Saturday was drawing to a close my friend and I climbed the hill to survey his family land. It was in a word beautiful. As I sat there and enjoyed this hunt with my friend I also felt saddened. He is surrounded by his history all the time. While mine was sold on an auction block like cattle. But life is funny like that. We must create new traditions to continue the love of hunting , and love of fellowship with family and friends. Tradition , like the one we had at the farm is gone. If you had told me a year ago that I would be driving to a no name town in southern Virginia , I would have laughed and said "hell no I have a place 45 minutes away"( pardon my french) . But God ordains events in our lives to transpire to help us grow closer to him and to others. 

  This land in VA is a new home. A place of healing where I can go and be away from the world. A place where I can sit on the porch until the wee hours singing and talking with friends and family. I feel that Virginia has deep roots in my blood . My ancestor General Robert E. Lee was born and raised here and supported his state in the Civil war. My great grandmother hails from this state. The list goes on. I am not just a Carolina boy, but a Virginia one. 

Now some pictures because you read through my incredibly long rambling. 

Will Cornett longtime friend and hunting buddy 

Reeves Homestead 

View from the old Reeves Homestead 

Lower Pasture by the New  

The General himself on a previous trip to the land 

The Cornett Homestead 

An Unexpected Pleasure : A Short Story

    We pulled up to the gate. A light fog had rolled in and the woods looked dark and foreboding  The old Toyota SUV slid down the back dirt road and head for the deep woods of Landsford. Owls hooted , and turkeys gobbled early as we "slowly" walked to our hunting grounds.

    Our leader is a wide eyed and spry man in his early sixties. After 3 cups of coffee any person is hyper but he is on a different level. As we reach the small stand of pines we stop and listen. The sun is rising , casting a wonderful orange and red canvas across the sky. With a sound that cuts through the air a mature gobbler has flown down and is closing in fast. We scramble to set up. Breaking twigs , getting caught on branches and tripping into the shadows to sit down, shut-up, and pray to God this bird comes to our calling.  Minutes passed which felt like eternity. Slowly a white head materializes out of the brush. "He is not liking this at all" our buddy whispers. "Take him while you can!"...I missed.

  For three years and with three different birds I have watched as they cackle and laugh as they alight , almost looking like Good Year blimps  trying to take off.  Curses were muttered , a deep sigh was heard , and we carried on. We hunted all that day , covering close to two or three miles for this property was immense. Landsford Canal , for those who know of it straddles the Catawba River for a few miles near Rock Hill SC. This area runs deep into my families roots and history. Our farm was near here, my grandfather would camp on the banks of the river and duck hunt with his old hunt buddies of childhood. We are men of the upstate , simple as that. As afternoon was closing in , we were tired , sweaty , and a bit discouraged. So we decided to hike to one last place.

As we reached the crest of the hill, I looked out and saw the true creation of God. The place where my grandfather hunted and fished with siblings and friends, where Native Americans lived and hunted generations before. For years I had driven by the river but never actually taken the time to be still and observe it . The silence and peace that it brought was refreshing, reminding me of why I love hunting so much. Two eagles landed on an old oak feet from us, a blue heron flew down to continue his rule over the riverbank. Fish jumped , turtles sunned themselves on old logs. It was truly beautiful.

It was at this moment when I started to feel at peace in area of so much loss. The farm is gone, the gate locked away along with my childhood. But the power and beauty that the area evokes breaks through this barrier that locked itself away last July.

   The rest of the day was great. A trip to Nichols our favorite one stop hunt shop, ( if you've never been its truly is incredible. Only place I know where you can buy a Glock and Grilled Cheese all in the same place.) and an afternoon of fishing with my oldest friend on the pond near our neighborhood ( I also didn't land the giant bass on the end of my rod. Bad luck I suppose).

   Life has a funny way of bringing you back to the basics. Of showing what is really important. I spent a great day with my father doing something we both love ( hint, not the missing part.). I spent a day standing in awe of the creation my God has blessed me with. That is truly and unexpected pleasure.

Turkey Bluff

Oh the ties that bind

We sit in our pews , like children on a school day.

Hands folded neatly in our laps. 

Bow ties, blazers , an old geezer in the back yawns and steals a nap. 

Empty lives, empty souls?

Are you here to check off your salvation ?

Going once , going twice...Sold! 

To the highest bidder?

What does it even matter to you? 

Let this be a relationship not a ritual.

You sit here week after week, 

fake smile, small talk... isn't this all trivial?

Do you claim to follow the man who was either lunatic, liar, or lord?

Many of us forgot his sovereignty and stared at our shoes and the church's old linoleum floor.

Wake up and smell the roses. 

Time is fleeting , even the common man knows this.

I do not preach of hell fire 

But at the end of the day even the scoffers and judgmental ones will sit wide eyed and listen.
To the story of depravity, forgiveness, redemption.

"A Son of Suburbia"

"I am a son of Suburbia"
A dreamer of dreams that are interrupted at the wrong moment.
A lover of lands that have been lost to a sea of blank faces.
Houses one by one that sit the same.
Back yard barbecues , flag football, and summer games.
Street lamps that blot out the stars.
This land is torn up , ruined and dying
...I still see the scars .
Man made game trails that all can follow.
Where are the times of the sycamore tree, whipper will call , and old barn swallow?
I sit and stare at the view in my head. Of the land , the trees , and of the old barn dirt in its can by my bed.
A son of Suburbia , I throw down these ties that bind
Over the city of walls, over these streets to the mountains I climb.
To a place I once knew. To a time I once loved.
Early morning walks through the pastures, I can almost hear the call of the mourning dove.
I open my eyes and see that all is the same.
A son of Suburbia's life is black , grey , and mundane.

A Confession of Sin with a Ray of Hope

We walk in the valley of the shadow of death, but there is a path
We are lost in the dark of night , but there will be a dawn
We are struck down but there is a hand.
We find that our lives are hard sometimes, its funny how that works
We complain , gnash our teeth and think about ourselves
We look to the floor , instead of looking to the heavens
We search for answers in culture , when they are in a book a few feet away ,or in a prayer that we need to pray
But there is hope. Hope in a God ; in a being that is ours and we are His.
"But for those who fear my name, a son of righteousness will rise , with healing in His wings."
So rise from this mire you are in. Bow your head , quiet your heart and pour out your praise , pour out your sin.
He is listening and quietly waiting.
For us to accept His gift of Forgiveness