–Magnolia, June 3rd, 2007, Augusta, Georgia, all photos © 2007 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
The magnolias are blooming in Georgia. And the mimosas, wisteria, Spanish moss. I don’t have to dig all that deep. Everything falls into place the minute I ask. My body is tired; I am holding all this in my brain. The 5th Street Bridge, one of the first Coca-Cola bottling plants, the haunted pillar, Richmond Academy.
Broad Street, one of the widest streets in the United States, and Green Street and Reynolds Street. Walking through Magnolia Cemetery where my great, great aunt is buried near her father who was a soldier for the Confederacy; watching my mother walk down the leaf crackling road with a plucked magnolia in her hand, laughing and smiling and content to be back in the South.
Riding in the Chris Craft along the shores of Clarks Hill Dam. Calling the aunt I haven’t heard from since I was one or two. Hearing her Southern drawl on the other end of the line and knowing she’s related to me, bloodlines, blood kin, though I haven’t seen her in 50 years. It doesn’t matter. Before she hung up, she said she loved me. And I believe her.
My step-dad seems the happiest I have seen him in years. It’s as if he has a new lease on life. I ask the questions, we drive by childhood homes. He calls me Shug and tells me about Audubon Circle and the minute my chubby, two-year-old hands squeezed his cheeks and asked, “Can I call you Daddy?”
Hearing my uncle talk about our ancestors in the Civil War, photographs and relics lining his den, on shelves, and in drawers. Arrowheads and 400 acres of family farmland, and an island near Brunswick that can be traced all the way back to King George the Third; there’s proof on a letter that reads:
GEORGE the Third, by the Grace of God, of Great-Britain, France and Ireland, KING, Defender of the Faith, and fo forth, To All To Whom These Presents Shall Come Greeting: KNOW YE, THAT WE of our Special Grace, certain Knowledge and mere Motion, have given and granted, and by thefe Prefents, for us, our heirs and fucceffuors, DO GIVE AND GRANT unto…
And the letter is signed by the Surveyor General and the Governor in Council and dated April of 1763. Back, back, back. I listen, should not be surprised. All that history and the shape of shovels digging through the mind.
The things I carry are:
a Canon Powershot, an Olympus digital recorder, a trusty wirebound Supergirl notebook, a bag of Sharpies, Dell laptop, LG cell phone, cords to connect and connect and charge, two weeks worth of clothes, a 4 GB memory stick, black Adidas slingpack, camera bag, two sets of bifocals, a rolled family tree, water bottles, maps of Augusta and Georgia and South Carolina, a couple of rabbit fetishes, a lion, a turtle from Wyoming, and questions, yes, all those questions fall from me like curled rain.
–Amelia’s Magnolia, June 3rd, 2007, Magnolia Cemetery, photo © 2007 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
I carry the scent of magnolia, the purple of the martin, and the energy of all the ancestors, and I want to say I know what I’m doing, but I don’t. I have faith. I follow my nose and my heart and people seem to open to me. I watch generations before smile down on me, and generations to date, heal and let go. Soft kisses to the cheek and hugs all around. I am astounded every moment.
Tomorrow it is another trip to Clarks Hill Dam to meet my aunt who I found out helped her parents build the house I stayed in after I was born (and had photographed only hours before I called her). And I’ve located Mrs. Juarez but do I really want to spill the beans? Or should I save the story for the meet and greet.
I step across generations of sandy brown pine needles, past homes of Georgia brick. The land is red iron clay and the memories are mine. There is so much to say and too little time. I wanted to get something on the page, anything.
I wonder how long it will take me to sift the strainer and see what pours on to the page. It will not be everything. Only what is essential. Yet gathering these pieces leads me to feel complete.
It’s hard to explain what it’s like. All I can say is if you get the chance, go back and ask what you need to know. And write it all down. It is healing. It’s like discovering gold in a deserted mine where you thought the canary had sung her last note. But when you take a chance, and risk dropping down, you find the gleaming vein against a backdrop of emeralds. And somehow you know each line uncovers a rough-cut diamond made from thousands of years of lumpy coal, shining just for you.
Monday, June 4th, 2007
Sweet jesus, what a beautiful post. So evocative. So poignant. Words as clear and delicate as magnolia leaves.
I’m taken with the transition from the things you carry to the feelings you carry. I love the paragraph that begins, “I carry the scent of magnolia, the purple of the martin, and the energy of all the ancestors, and I want to say I know what I’m doing, but I don’t. I have faith. I follow my nose and my heart and people seem to open to me.” I love that you are following your nose as well as your heart. And how you get from walks along leafy roads to deserted mines is amazing to me.
Every single one of my senses was satiated by this post. Remember that book, A Natural History of the Senses, by Diane Ackerman? She wrote that, “We live on the leash of our senses.” Yours certainly led you to a deep, mysterious opening. Keep looking. Keep smelling. Keep hearing. Keep tasting. Keep touching. You are alive and we are made more alive reading about it. Thank you.
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Sharonimo, thank you. I remember well A Natural History of the Senses. I think I read it when I was in art school and I loved the book. It makes me want to reread it.
I am up after writing most of the night and we are getting ready to go over to my aunt’s house, the one I refer to in the post whom I have not seen in 50 years. There is so much happening so quickly, I am grateful that we all sat together last year (and that we all kept coming back, even though it was hard). Because the connections give me a sense of peace.
I’m grateful for what Natalie Goldberg has taught me during the last 7 years. For the silence and the practice and the other writers in my life, both my online groups, the Blue Mooners (you know who you are), and anyone who has believed in me – all of these things are carrying me. It’s a good solid feeling, right at my back.
What I am discovering is that excavating for memoir brings up many threads of memory. You don’t get to pick and choose what rises – it all comes to the surface. And I’m learning to hold it, practice, sift, and let go. I think when I get back home, I am going to have a wealth of writing material. But mostly, I am going to carry a more whole sense of who I am.
Thanks for believing in me and my writing. It makes all the difference. Because writing is hard work.
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Very insightful this: I think when I get back home, I am going to have a wealth of writing material. But mostly, I am going to carry a more whole sense of who I am.
As Sharonimo said, it’s evident you are alive and open to what’s in front of you right now. What a gift.
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Thanks, ybonesy, for sticking close by. Off to the country. And much more to follow.
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You got it, girl.
I meant to say, that closeup of the magnolia looks like a giant mutant flower. Wow, those are huge!
Also, one other thing is clear: your Southern writing voice has emerged. Fluid and floral. Like the magnolia. Have you noticed?
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I noticed. “Fluid and floral.” Love that. Keep at it. We’re write behind you.
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No, I had not noticed at all. Thanks for pointing that out. But I have noticed I’m starting to talk differently. 8) I’m almost to the point of saying Ya’ll on a daily basis, and I love it.
Oh, my gosh, the magnolias are incredible. They grow on these hugely tall trees and they are covered with magnolias like the ones in the photograph. I had forgotten how beautiful the flowers can be down here. My uncle said the magnolias are blooming like no other year. I like to think it’s just for me. 8)
Glad you’re all at my back. What more could I ask for?
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QuoinMonkey: This post is so very beautiful. I love that you spoke first of looking over history at your uncle’s house (“shape of shovels digging through the mind”) and then this:
“I step across generations of sandy brown pine needles, past homes of Georgia brick. The land is red iron clay and the memories are mine.”
Yes, delicious. Thank you.
Beth
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Oh, gosh, while I’m being all grateful, I want to add the support of my family (who has never wavered on my writing or my art), my close friends (who usually are writers and artists), and my partner, Liz, who really gets what it takes for me to do this. Thanks! I find that gratitude to others takes me a long way to the center. Crazy, I know, but it’s sort of like getting an Oscar – I don’t want to leave anyone out!
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Shug,
Thanks for the great pictures, the family check-in, the wealth of information falling into your lap. Obviously, your relatives were Confederates. Yet this seems terribly juicy and exciting…QM and her Rebel family.
Somehow, hearing what you are traveling with helped me. I felt like my feet were planted a little more firmly on the path marked “Writer” to hear your list.
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I loved hearing all the things you are carrying with you. Keep going. This material is rich.
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Me, too…
I’m in the market for a new camera and I’m heading out today to look at a Canon Powershot, thanks to your mention of it, and your posts filled with beautiful photos.
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Hey, Shug, back at ya, Sinclair! I’m getting a lot of Shugs on this visit and I’m savoring them and saving them up for when I’m back in the land of few such endearments.
Yes, I come from a Rebel background and history that is very rich. It was what I grew up with as far as family history with my great aunt. And I remember her talking about the history a lot when we used to visit her Victorian house in Augusta.
I spent the day with my mother going through some of her notes and archives on this side of the family tree. Very rich. She has done a ton of work on it and I was helping her organize it into files.
When my uncle came home tonight and we were sitting at dinner, he said it would be part of my mother’s legacy, to record and pass down the history. It made me feel proud of her for all the dedication and patience she has had to have in order to pull all of it together. It’s fascinating. And it is another form of excavating that makes my life all the richer. Especially my writing life.
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elizabeth, thanks for the support. I sure am finding a lot of support on red Ravine as I travel. I find I’m exhausted each night but everything I am uncovering is so full. Lists (and the details on lists) are helping to ground me. I am liking lists more and more.
Beth, the Canon Powershots are great cameras. I do love mine and it takes great photos, manual and auto.
Liz has one too that is newer and more fully automated than mine (and smaller) and I just love hers. The two things I like most about hers are that it’s powered by regular batteries (easier to replace on the go than lithium) and there is no parallax error through the viewfinder (i.e. the viewfinder on mine shows you only 80% of what you are actually shooting).
I’m an old school viewfinder photographer. So I’d recommend making decisions about what you like about those two those crucial things. The other thing is to check out the telephoto capabilities and decide what you want in that area. Can’t go wrong!
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QM
I wanted to comment on Tubman Junior High. I wasn’t sure where to post it, but this seems as good as any. It used to be Tubman HIgh , an all girls school. Richmond Academy was the all boys high school. It became a coed school the year I started and I was so disappointed, I had been excited to be going to an all girl school, can you believe it! Oh well. Since I met your dad on the school bus life as we know it may have been different and I would never change that part of it , where you were born and became an important part of my life. I always enjoyed being a mother and you were so precious. Of course all my children are precious but you started it all . !!!
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Mom, this is a great place to add this comment. Thank you, it’s very sweet. And, you know, I’m glad it all worked out the way it did, too. Isn’t it strange to look back and know that ultimately one person’s decision (like turning Tubman coed) changed so many lives. And that’s true about our individual decisions, too.
I was looking through the photos the other day, of the trip last June. One shot of Tubman was one I had uploaded into Flickr. Here’s a link: Tubman Junior High (LINK). (I never have gotten all my photos into Flickr so you can see them. So much to do! But I think of you often when they come up on my screensaver.)
Feel free to keep coming back to any of these posts when you think of memories you want to share. I love when you write about them. And red Ravine is so much about memories connected to writing and art. Thanks for being you. 8)
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