A Storm is Coming-Are You Prepared?

By Debra DuPree Williams @DDuPreeWilliams

With the arrival of hurricane Florence fast approaching, we see people hurrying here and there for needed supplies. Grocery store shelves are already empty in many areas. Water is in short supply in the coastal regions of both North and South Carolina. I hear that even some interior areas are running short. And forget about finding a loaf of bread.

Getting Out of Harm's Way 
Freeways have been made one-way in both North and South Carolina as people flee the areas most likely to be hit the hardest by this massive storm. Indeed, one friend who lives in my area posted on Facebook last night that she was stuck in very slow traffic. But she went on to say how fortunate she is that she isn’t among those fleeing. Where we live, we should be safe.

It's Apple Season--Have You Picked the Best One?

by Debra DuPree Williams @DDuPreeWilliams

This past weekend brought with it not only Labor Day weekend, but the seventy-second annual apple festival here in the mountains of Western North Carolina. This is a lovely time of year. The local orchards are packed with people eager to pick their own apples. I can see why. The trees are literally bowing down beneath the weight of the crop this year.

The varieties are many and there is something for everyone’s taste. There are the familiar red or golden delicious, Gala, which is an early variety. There are apples from Jonagold to Mutsu. That was one with which I had absolutely no familiarity. But it is very good.At any of the orchards, they have samples so you may taste prior to heading into the orchards, basket in hand.

Stepping Out of Your Comfort Zone

by Debra DuPree Williams @DDuPreeWilliams

Last week I and several of my writer friends attended the North Georgia Christian Writers Conference sponsored by Word Weavers International. Under the direction of Eva Marie Everson and Mark Hancock, it was a great conference and my eighth one. Wow! I have no idea how it became that many. The wonderful thing is—I have learned something new at every single conference I’ve attended.

My first conference was back in 2014, the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference. If you’ve read my blog, you will know that it was absolutely a God-incidence that I even wound up there. At that time, I was so naïve and green, I had no clue what I was doing or if I could even call myself a writer. I took a couple of picture books and some silly poems with me. Silly in that they really were silly in content, intentionally. I timidly showed those poems to Michelle Medlock Adams, noted children’s author, and Sally Apokedak, who now has her own literary agency. Am I a writer? That’s all I wanted to know.

The Day the Music Died

by Debra DuPree Williams @DDuPreeWilliams

If you are of a certain age, you will likely remember this song sung by Don McLean in 1971. Its actual title was American Pie. It refers to the day that rock musicians Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J.P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson were killed in a plane crash. After the song came out, that day was referred to as the day the music died.

My husband recently shared an article with me written by Jon Henschen. It appeared in Intellectual Takeout, an online app to which my husband subscribes. The title of the article is The Tragic Decline of Music Literacy (and Quality).

Heartbreaking

If you’ve known me for a while or you’ve been following my blog, you know that I have a couple of degrees in music. One of our sons has his Masters degree in instrumental conducting. Three of our four sons play bassoon, our eldest plays drums and guitar, and they all have beautiful voices. For me, reading this article was heartbreaking.

Native American Heritage-Have You Made This Discovery?

by Debra DuPree Williams @DDuPreeWilliams

This weekend will mark the thirtieth annual PowWow of the Nansemond Tribal Association in Suffolk, Virginia. I had planned to attend, but at the last minute, I am not able to do so. It isn’t just the fact that this is the thirtieth event that is of significance, but this year, the Tribe has just been federally recognized. 

It is amazing that it took so many years for this to happen. The Nansemond Tribe has been around for centuries. They were/are, indeed, a part of the Powhatan Nation. I know you recognize that name. Powhatan was the father of Pocahontas. Fast forward a few years to 1618, and my own seven-times-great grandmother was born, a member of the Nansemond Tribe. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nansemond

Waiting Isn't Easy

by Debra DuPree Williams @DDuPreeWilliams

I don’t know about you, but I don’t wait well. I really hate to admit that, but it’s true. I can’t stand to wait in line for much of anything. I love the activities at Disney, but I hate the lines. Going out to dinner anywhere in Florida is a nightmare, but forget Friday or Saturday nights. The lines are impossible. I’d rather eat at home than to wait forty-five minutes for a table in even the best restaurants in town.

Yes, I know that doesn’t speak well of me. But it’s a part of who I am.

Patient Child

When I was a child, my mother told me that I was one of the most patient people she knew. I’d spend hours at a menial task, such as untangling a knot in a favorite necklace. Things such as that still don’t bother me too much. It’s the lines I can’t tolerate.

A Legacy of Love

by Debra DuPree Williams @DDuPreeWilliams

                                                                                                                                                                                                               

My Wedding Day, August 1973, 45 Years Ago

My Daddy, Bob DuPree, was an avid gardener. Gardening was one of his many hobbies, but was the one he loved most and the one he was able to do up to the day he died. He passed away five years ago, leaving a legacy of hard work, patience, compassion, love, but most of all, what it means to be a doer of the Word.

Papa, as I always call him, was a simple man. He didn’t require a lot to be happy. When my sister and I were wee ones, Papa’s sport was hunting. One day he came home with his prizes, a squirrel or two, maybe a bird as well. When my sister and I cried over the poor little animals,he put away his hunting rifle and never went hunting again. He was willing to sacrifice a sport he truly loved for the sake of the hearts of his two girls.