Waking Dunes

My friends from Indiana are here this week so we decided to meet for an early walk on the beach. The sun was just rising as I made a pot of coffee and sat out on the pizer watching the day open as they arrived by bike. I bid farewell to Philip who would be home enjoying a quiet breakfast,for a change, as we made our way to the sleeping dunes.

Ahhh, the beach is so lovely in the morning. We walked along the shore letting the waves lap over our still pale Indiana legs as we told stories and had girl talk!

When we turned around to walk back the beauty was strikingly beautiful of the day awakening. We stopped to watch dolphins in the water and then headed back to the village for breakfast. We were full of salt and sand, but it doesn't really matter here. It is good to share this life with my friends.

Lou Ann Homan-Saylor lives in Angola, Indiana which is nestled in the hills of Northern Indiana and spends her summers on the wind swept island of Ocracoke. You can find her gardening or writing late into the night under the light of her frayed scarlet lamp. She is a storyteller, a teacher, a writer, an actress and a collector of front porch stories

'What Could Possibly Go Wrong Festival'

This morning after a long walk on the beach and a lovely swim in the water that was the color of aquamarine jewels, Philip and I biked down to the Community Store with our canvas chairs to spend the day at the What Could Possibly Go Wrong Festival. (This is, by the way Friday the 13th!) We set up our chairs on the porch facing the water and the musicians and enjoyed the company of friends and music and a pig pickin to go along with it. All of this was in financial support of a new radio station for the island. Folks of all ages were joining in the festivities...laughing, telling stories, dancing. The last act of the day was performed by Baby Dee and The Free Moustache Rides Again. All performers were islanders making it all the more special. By nightfall all had dispersed and a quiet came over the sandy lanes once again.

It was quite a wonderful day...so much that, in fact, we will talk about it around the village tomorrow.

Lou Ann Homan-Saylor lives in Angola, Indiana which is nestled in the hills of Northern Indiana and spends her summers on the wind swept island of Ocracoke. You can find her gardening or writing late into the night under the light of her frayed scarlet lamp. She is a storyteller, a teacher, a writer, an actress and a collector of front porch stories

Time...fluid and flowing

Time has been something that I have been thinking about this first week back on the Island. This is the first year I am not working in the shop, so the gift of time has been handed to me...or should I say tossed at me. I wasn't sure at first how I would handle this or even what to do with it. So, here it is Wednesday morning and here are a few of the activities that I have participated in: sitting on the porch of the Community Store, attending events at the museum (Philip has one in about an hour!), hosting the after festival party, sitting on the porch of the Community Store, biking, walking the beach, baking bread (well, not really, but hope to soon!), giving ghost tours (two of them last night!), re-writing radio shows for the Opry, talking with Philip by the hour, sitting on the Community Store porch, dinner with family, dinner with friends...OK, the list could go on and on.

Time. It is lovely for me to have...to use...to savor...to gather.

Lou Ann Homan-Saylor lives in Angola, Indiana which is nestled in the hills of Northern Indiana and spends her summers on the wind swept island of Ocracoke. You can find her gardening or writing late into the night under the light of her frayed scarlet lamp. She is a storyteller, a teacher, a writer, an actress and a collector of front porch stories

Home on the Island

So, here I am again...Home on the Island. The leaving is always difficult and busy, but once I am packed and locked up I am fine and ready to begin my adventure.
It took three days of driving as I took my time to enjoy the journey. I got caught in the storms in Pennsylvania the first night so stopped early.

I drove an old road through Virginia and thought of Adam the whole way as I passed through Confederate territory with signs every few miles. It was a stunning drive....highway 17 in case you need to make the trip. I arrived to a house full of folks and the pot luck supper and the auction. It was as if I had never left...good friends, good food..

Philip's cottage is as it was. Quaint...small...full of history. I felt at home right away!

The week end was the Ocrafolk festival out under the shade of the live oaks. The weather was hot as it was everywhere else, but tolerable. Philip and I did our old fashioned radio show as well as call the evening square dance. We sat by the hour listening to all types of music from jazz to folk to original pieces.

Last night after the festival we hosted the party. All the musicians came and filled up the old cottage with music....accordions, banjos, guitars, and even a keyboard. A new baby slept in the old bedroom while laughter and friendship was shared. The music went on until after midnight. Philip and Jim and I then sat out on the front pizer watching the half golden moon talking about how wonderful life is.

I did wake early this morning and biked down to the cold restored Community Store for coffee and conversation. I sat out on the porch in the early morning light and just visited with folks as they stroled by.

Today is unpacking, settling in...

It is lovely to be back...to be Home on the Island.

Lou Ann Homan-Saylor lives in Angola, Indiana which is nestled in the hills of Northern Indiana and spends her summers on the wind swept island of Ocracoke. You can find her gardening or writing late into the night under the light of her frayed scarlet lamp. She is a storyteller, a teacher, a writer, an actress and a collector of front porch stories.

The U.S. Embassy to the Rescue

So, the saga began on early Thursday morning when the first to-be hurricane of the season was named Alma and headed for the Nicaraguan Coast. Of course, my children are in the heart of Nicaragua on a butterfly/moth hunt! I realize it is not every one's idea of the perfect vacation, but they are adventuresome boys.

The news reports were alarming with mud slides, 75 inches of rain, and life threatening conditions. As you can imagine, the girls and I were on panic mode. Finally Karen called the U.S. Embassy in Nicaragua who dutifully went on a search. They called her back numerous time as well as the Embassy in Belize! It seems as if all were on the hunt for these three American young men. On Friday they located them and took Aaron to the Embassy to call home to Karen. All is well. "What is all the fuss about?" he asked. So, all is well, we slept well last night and they will be home on Sunday with stories that will be told for years!

Lou Ann

Where in the world in Marguerite??

So, the tea cups are ready and the boys are watching expectantly out the window..but no Marguerite. I finally put out tea party away and we went on with our day. Later on she called and said that she could not find my house and did not dial my cell phone number properly. She even stopped in at the Herald/Republican. Alas, alas...she will come on Sunday. I am excited to hear this story, write it and make my millions...or at least my $25 per story. Tune in later. In the meantime, it is a gorgeous day after two nights of light frost. The sun and sky are gorgeous...a great day for gardening!

Lou Ann

Lou Ann Homan-Saylor lives in Angola, Indiana which is nestled in the hills of Northern Indiana and spends her summers on the wind swept island of Ocracoke. You can find her gardening or writing late into the night under the light of her frayed scarlet lamp. She is a storyteller, a teacher, a writer, an actress and a collector of front porch stories.

A Visit With Marguerite??

Today is my Nannie day with Matthew and Jonah (Kristin, please bring little Miss Holly to Indiana...she is missing all our fun!!) I met them sleepy eyed and cold (frost last night), they got dressed and I brought them home to hot oatmeal with brown sugar and butter. As my grandmother used to say, "They licked the platter clean." We have done our 'morning' work and are waiting for a visit from Marguerite. She is an elderly woman who called me last week and told me she had a story to tell and that I must hear it! I have never met her, nor do I know her last name, but curiosity always gets the best of me. So with tea brewing and a fresh pad of paper, I wait for a new story!! Lou Ann

Tonya, sorry about the repeat!!

Memorial Week End

Today I rose early (before the sun was out) to bike down to the mound to photograph the monument as the sun was rising. It was chilly, but beautiful and so quiet! A few folks I knew waved as they circled, but, for the most part, on this quiet Sunday I had it all to myself. Here are a few of the photos.

My Hometown

First published in the H/R. Enjoy!

It is dusk. The time reserved for poets and writers and singers of the world. The gray of early nighttime mingles with the last of the rain. In the path of the rain stands my crabapple trees adorning the front of my house. Their petals cascade with the rain…like pink snow. Two girls walk by with umbrellas. They are telling stories and giggling as they twirl their colorful umbrellas. I smile at them through my windows on my porch. The spring leaves have come out so much this week that my writing area is half covered in bushes gone wild. I should trim them, but I haven’t the heart to take the hedge trimmer to their beauty.

I bought this house in the spring from Randy and Shannon five years ago. It was a day like this with flowers and trees blooming all over town and in their garden. They had placed a small flag in the yard along with a homemade For Sale sign. I had a realtor who just could not understand what I wanted as she helped me find The Perfect House. Finally, one day, she asked, Lou Ann, what do you want? Sometimes it is hard to put in words all that I was looking and hoping for. I simply said, A house that says welcome home when I open the door. We spent a lot of time that winter just opening doors and putting my head inside listening. When I stumbled upon this one, Randy opened the door for me…and it whispered from every corner, Welcome Home.

Before I moved in, they hosted an ice cream social in my house-to-be so that I could meet all of the neighbors. I remember shyly walking through this house that would soon be mine and wondering what name I would give it. I was already in love with it. I imagined all of my ‘things’ spread out in all the rooms. The neighbors came visiting through all the small gates in the White Picket Fence, just as they do now. It was on that moment that I named this lovely old house.

Home is where we put our shoes, our hat, our teacups, our dreams. Here is a short story of home. A few years ago I met Edith. I was helping out with some hearing testing for wellness day when she showed up to have me test her hearing. She would not take off her headscarf as her hair was in pincurls. We began chatting and she invited me to visit her on Sunday, which was Mother’s Day. She told me her house was on a hill inside the outlet mall. I found her house without any trouble, but was so ashamed that I had never noticed her house. I am supposed to notice these kinds of things. She greeted me at the door with swooping red earrings and red high heeled shoes. Her gray hair was twisted up and around her head like a crown. I brought her a carnation which she put in the house and then closed the door as we walked around her small place. There was an old rusty station wagon, dogs on chains, bones strewn around, and her pride and joy….a cardboard box of baby chickens and ducks. She handled each one with so much sweetness and love that it was as if they were her children. I looked around at all of the traffic surrounding us…no one really noticing, and I looked back at Edith. I asked her why she stayed there with all the cars bustling about her tiny farm…she answered me perfectly. Where would I go? This is my home. She told me that she and her husband had built this space together. She was right, She didn’t see the rusted station wagon or the bones. I learned two things from Edith that day. First of all, to be more observant in my life and secondly, home is where we are…where our friends meet, where we go at the end of the day…and what we fall in love with.

It is late, darkness has descended and the day is over. I close up the lap top, turn off the frayed scarlet lamp, time to close the doors and pull down the old sashes on the windows. I walk in and notice my red shoe collection…in windows, on steps, by the guitar and the piano, next to guest beds and doll collections…for there is indeed no place like home.

Lou Ann Homan-Saylor lives in Angola, Indiana which is nestled in the hills of Northern Indiana and spends her summers on the wind swept island of Ocracoke. You can find her gardening or writing late into the night under the light of her frayed scarlet lamp. She is a storyteller, a teacher, a writer, an actress and a collector of front porch stories.

Mother's Day

It is a cool rainy day in my hometown. It was a good morning to wake up to work on crossword puzzles, read my book club book, The Sun Also Rises, by Hemmingway and bake bread. It is also the day I like to just look out the window and watch the rain drip off the crabapple trees in my yard. Maybe later I will put on my pink boots and take a stroll to town dodging the puddles as I walk.

For those of you Moms out there, Happy Mother's Day!

Lou Ann
Lou Ann Homan-Saylor lives in Angola, Indiana which is nestled in the hills of Northern Indiana and spends her summers on the wind swept island of Ocracoke. You can find her gardening or writing late into the night under the light of her frayed scarlet lamp. She is a storyteller, a teacher, a writer, an actress and a collector of front porch stories.

Exciting Elections...

OK, I am really into this election. My yard sports the Obama sign...I wear a button, Women for Obama. I suppose you all knew which way I would vote anyway. When we were kids growing up, it appeared to be a secret, like how much money someone makes. Maybe the secrets aren't the right way to be anymore, just as they probably weren't then. I like to be vocal about who I am and how I believe. Now, my kids are not Obama fans, but that is what makes America so successful!

I voted at 6 in the morning and spent the next hour at Rachael's coffee shop doing my own exit polls. My friend, Kathy, joined me and we had great fun. Of course, I was up until 1 in the morning to await the results.

So, my button stays, my views are stronger and let's all just wait and see what happens next!

Lou Ann

Lou Ann Homan-Saylor lives in Angola, Indiana which is nestled in the hills of Northern Indiana and spends her summers on the wind swept island of Ocracoke. You can find her gardening or writing late into the night under the light of her frayed scarlet lamp. She is a storyteller, a teacher, a writer, an actress and a collector of front porch stories.

April Freeze?

Last night driving home (I was gong to ride my bike, but it was tooo cold!) from Matthew's kindergarten program, I noticed folks out in their gardens placing sheets and newspapers on their spring flowers and early gardens.

Because I am a seasoned gardener, I know what needs covering and what doesn't...I also know that I wouldn't dare plant tomatoes or peppers until the middle of May.

And, yes, we had a heavy frost last night. The ground has a pale sheen of ivory mist this morning...Winter cannot let go this year!

Lou Ann

This week's article, first posted in the H/R

This was published last week in the H/R on my spring dinner theatre production. Enjoy!

I open up the back door of my ‘Backstage’ at Hamilton. I stand back in the early morning light to take a good look at my classroom. It isn’t much. I moved into it at the beginning of the school year with, what I call, deep despair. It is a beige tin trailer. Beige. It is dented from years of playground balls and frisbies and, probably, a few young hefty children bumping into it as they go for a fly ball or tag. The steps crumbled this winter and were replaced. Both sets were replaced on the same day in February which left me for a short time with no entrance or exit. It was a day of pondering, or reckoning…as the old folks would say. Step inside with me. The lights are harsh, the carpet is old and something was once spilled on the center of it. The heaters rattle so I have to turn them off when talking. In the heart of winter, the wind whistles up through the tin making us feel like Laura from Little House on the Prairie during the long blizzard.

The children do not see any of that. I go inside and create our work space. I plug in the many twinkle lights. Push the play button for the music and look at my classroom, my workshop, my studio. In this space of time and dust, the products are children.

My after school arts classes have produced a show, a performance, an original play that will showcase today eight times! I think back on these past four months working with each group. The writers were first, all fourth grade. We began our work as the Writer’s Strike ended. I did my best to explain it to them. They understood and did their work seriously….without asking for a raise. When the script was ready, they did their cast call as if they were Broadway directors. They invited each student in to try out and show off their skills. They wrote a Western so they were also looking for a Howdy Partner in a great western dialect. Choosing the cast was difficult for them, but the show was finally posted and we went into rehearsals. The script writers would often show up to check out their work and give advice as well as design programs and costumes.

The Backstage is ready and class after class crowds into this space. The audience must help solve this Gold Rush mystery. The character names are as colorful as their personalities. Gizard. Sally Jo. Ruby Mae, Dixie Lee. John Padre. Lex. Daniel Doom. Billy Bob. They take their places in the freezing tradition of French Tableau. I start the music…a great selection of honky tonk Saloon music and we begin.

I smile and laugh as if I have not seen this production for, oh, a hundred times? They are delightful and this group of actors all in the 4th, 5th, and 6th grade are engaged and intent on their character. Six steps and a door I am always saying…be your character! And today they are. They end with a square dance and a flourish.

At three in the afternoon tables and decorations are set up for the country Western dinner that accompanies our show. We are now a dinner theatre, tickets…$2.00. The shows are a sell out at that. My principal, Kimberly, and a loving group of mothers work tirelessly filling plates with barbeque and baked beans. The script writers become the waiters and servers and we, the actors and actresses wait in the green room. I tell them how in real green rooms, the actors take naps or do puzzles or yoga. These children would rather run around and holler.

It is the eighth show…they are stunning, and I am proud. We eat. We tear down. We bid farewell. It is dark as I pack up my guitar, unplug the lights, pick up the last of the playbills scattered on the old carpet floor. With the bright lights on and all the kids gone, it is just a trailer, an old tin trailer. I notice a few new spots on the floor, but it doesn’t really matter. I load my car with cans of beans, our table decorations, and return them to Hamilton Super Value. It is nice to live in small towns where you can borrow thirty cans of beans!

I meander home over the country roads and make my turn around the mound, and I am home.