“Just Ducky,” 8″x10″ Gouache, By Donna Lyons © 2024

“Rollin’ along”

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2023

I’ve been around for millions of years just rolling along, from Lake Itasca, Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico. I’ve been part of settling this country and its western expansion. I’m a special place full of stories that excite the imagination.

Even from earlier territorial wars, treaties, fur trading, forts, and commerce, I’ve not seen it all. I know there’s more to come.

In my upper part, they’ve built locks and dams to control my water’s flow up and down the river. I used to change my course, just a little bit. That didn’t last too long!

Of course, periodically I change my depth enough to make navigating sandbars a challenge. I know, it’s not good to get stuck on them, but I can’t help how much sediment builds up or water comes each year. I can’t really apologize for my waters’ natural force.

Sometimes, I flow very fast and high and even cause flooding. Other times, I run slow and a little shallow. That makes navigating my waters “interesting” for all those different boat captains.

If I weren’t already big enough as the ole Mississippi River, others have joined my upper, middle and lower parts. There are so many names I can’t remember all of them. I do know the Ohio, Arkansas, and Missouri Rivers have joined along in making me so special. There are more complicated stories about the Red and Atachafala Rivers leaving me behind.  I’m trying not to take that personally.

Towns have grown beside my banks. Years ago, steamboats were the big attraction as they floated town to town using my water to move them along. What a beautiful sight it was in those days. “Steamboats a comin’!” I remember hearing. Villagers would come running to see those beautiful paddlewheel boats and passengers.

Even today when these river boats dock, villagers come to meet the passengers. Locals guide visitors around their towns sharing stories about their unique place in history

Huge barges have continued to make their way up and down my waters. They’re not nearly as beautiful as those steamboats or other river vessels. Some of those barges are so big, they have to kinda split themselves to get through some of my locks. That feels weird having part of the barge in the lock before it’s moved on out and then joined by the rest.

I like how travelers enjoy all the recreation my water can provide. I’ve watched those small boats out early in the morning with fishermen hoping to lure something for a meal. Fish and waterfowl are plentiful in and around me. So too are wild game in some areas.  You can see how I became popular for settlements with the surrounding abundance. Like all good things, that changes too.

I’ve made history as different industries formed near my banks. From lumber to buttons, flour mills and more, my place in commerce is well established. Some industries spoiled me decades ago with refuse from their plants. Many are now trying to clean me up a bit. I know I’ve been part of a few political battles during my lifetime. Maybe I still am.

Of course, I’ve had my share of fame, by being immortalized in scholarly works, novels, movies, songs, and musicals. I bet some can’t think of me without a song popping into their minds or remembering Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer stories.

Regardless of what they think, or even call me, I’m Mighty, Muddy, Majestic, the Great River. I’d say Beautiful too, and, as the song goes, “I just keeps rollin’ along!”

September 2025

“Capitol Reef Arroyo, ” 4″ x 7,”. Watercolor, By Donna Lyons © 2013

The roads mistakenly traveled

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2023

My husband and I have apparently begun the habit of traveling on roads which, in hindsight, we should have missed. These shouldn’t-have-taken roads, have provided the fodder for funny stories and lots of laughter…later.

Our first mistakenly traveled road, occurred in Georgia when we left the Whistle Stop Café (think “Fried Green Tomatoes”).  I thought I could find my way out of the various roads in search of I-85. Turning left, those trees didn’t look right. I made a U Turn, headed the opposite direction where, once again, those trees didn’t look right nor had we planned on visiting an area plantation.

Eventually, I wound my way back and stopped in front of the Whistle Stop Café. My snoozing husband, woke up, asked if I needed the restroom. No, I’m trying to find my way out of this friggin’ area. Following the provided directions, we found I-85! We received a Garmin that Christmas.

Our next “mistaken” road happened in California. With son Adam at the wheel, we headed over a crazy, curvy mountain pass in the wine country. Once safely on the other side, vineyard staff commented, “Even the locals don’t take that road!”

Not to be outdone by either of these states, we had our own Colorado adventure. With directions loaded into our Waze app, we headed west on I-70 for a 10^th Mountain Division Memorial Day Celebration in the High Country. We entered Tennessee Pass into Waze, were told to turn onto East Tennessee Pass Road, and, so we did. Bouncing over deep ruts, scraping shrub bushes on either side, periodic dips full of water on this rough road, Waze announced we’d reach our destination! Really?!

Recalculate! We made a U Turn, traveled 13 miles back to find the correct destination – Camp Hale, home of the 10^th Mountain Division.

Specifics can make a difference! What mistakenly traveled road is your favorite?

July 2025

“Platte River Symphony,” 9″ x 6,” Gouache, Copyright © 2016 by Donna Lyons

“Creating Life’s Score”

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2023

Several months ago, I read beautiful comments written by a woman about her late musician husband. She wrote eloquently about his work as a symphony.

It started me thinking. I wondered how our own lives would be remembered musically or otherwise.

If we created our own symphony, or at least our life’s score what would it contain. We all play a part in creating such a score. Would we carry the melody? Would we add the harmony? Would ours be lyrical? Hauntingly beautiful? Bombastic?  The answer is probably, all of the above depending on our life’s circumstances or experiences.

Then again, what about tempo. Would ours be fast or slow? What about the volume? Might we blend the tempo with volume?

Perhaps our lives have varied the fast tempo with loud “notes.” Or, most likely, there have been slow, soft, melodic, reflective times. Alternating tempo and sound may reflect certain aspects of our lives both the most wonderful and cherished along with the sad, plaintive times.

On occasion, we might have been creating the more discordant portions of our life’s score. Blending and intermingling with the “notes” of others could well have broadened our own symphony.

Most likely, our life’s score will involve interacting with others. Much as musical scores involve the interplay of parts, so too does our life. Unless ours is a solo version only, mixing, matching, and blending with others creates that life score.

Compositions from our childhood may vary from those in our different adult years. A recurring theme may yet emerge in this score.

How will our life’s score be played and enjoyed by others? Will we smile at those last notes? Will we be pleased?

June 2025

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“Prediction,” 11″x9″ watercolor, Donna Lyons ©2013

“Nature”

By Marty Coffin Evans ©2017

The birds chirped, the dogs raced around the yard and all seemed fine that sunny Sunday morning. Or, was it?

“The dogs are chasing the birds in the back yard,” my husband said. Chasing amounted to them running back and forth beside the fence, looking up all the while. Their racing action was not unlike what they did when squirrels happened along the fence or up in the trees.

While we didn’t know it at the time, this turned out to be different. Later in the morning, I noticed Simon had something in his mouth, although just what, was not clear. My bribery attempts were futile. Eventually, I corralled him enough to remove the item from his mouth – part of a dead baby bird. Oh no, I thought, as I carefully wrapped up its remains.

Back outside Simon went only to resume his search under the big, sprawling Bird’s Nest Spruce near the fence. Adding to his anxious quest, a pair of birds were calling and flying overhead going from side to side above the shrub. They flitted, occasionally diving closer, as they continued their quest to find their fallen young.

Looking up high in the neighbor’s tree, we spotted a large nest. Apparently one of their young had fallen from the nest presumably landing near or under the shrub.

Simon soon appeared from under the sprawling shrub again with something in his mouth.  Fortunately, this time he dropped it. We carefully retrieved this baby bird which too was dead.

It seemed like for an hour or so the parents called or sang a repeated plaintiff song apparently hoping to find their fallen chicks. At some point they must have decided all was lost. Their song seemed to repeat itself with its trills and notes.

When did these little chicks fall from the nest?  Did the squirrels cause this mishap? How many little birds remained in need of their parents’ care? We’ll never know.

With sadness for this little family, we said we were sorry. Yes, it’s nature and yet, it dimmed the joy of that sunny Sunday morning.

Some comfort came from the verse in Matthew (10:29), “Not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.” We hope so.

May 2025