But the rules in this contest - appear to be a bit rough
For I can't use a knife - as I am not yet old enough

Found an old black felt pen - to draw all of the features

And make for my "punkie" - the scariest of creatures

What old black ink that was left - as I really did try
There is a cute nose and a smile - but only one scary eye.....

--C. G. Mack

Beaufort is one of the neighboring communities threatened by the molten sulfur manufacturing facility proposed by PotashCorp. (a Canadian corporation) at the Port of Morehead City.

Mr. Carroll co-authored with Marci Carroll the book  Beaufort-By-The-Sea: Journey Back in Time, the Illustrated Heritage Guide to Beaufort, N.C.

A letter to NC State Environment & Natural Resources urging denial of the PCS Phosphate application for a use permit.

The Thief Is In our House

Since the local yokels broke the public trust by handing the key to our sun-blessed seacoast to an out-of-town outfit that:

• Pays no taxes.

• Offers no jobs.

• Plots secretly to destroy environment.

• Seeks to spew cancer-causing chemicals at the gateway to the southern Outer Banks.

We need your help, now.

At this late hour, long after a confidential deal was done behind closed doors, we discovered the Coastal Area Management Act is the last law standing between life and death for small towns on North Carolina’s historic, touristic seacoast.

That coast, only 500 miles west of Bermuda with estuaries of crab, shrimp and scallop and offshore river running with ahi, mahi and ono, will be the first victim.

This coast depends on tourism and draws more visitors than any other destination in North Carolina.

They come to Cape Lookout National Seashore; they kayak to Rachel Carson Nature Reserve; they visit Fort Macon, where the beach and Civil War garrison are the state’s prime attraction. They learn of the Atlantic Ocean at the aquarium. And come face to face with nature on the boardwalk in 300-year-old Beaufort village.

They do not, will not, come here to see smokestacks pumping sulfur into the crystal blue Carolina sky. They may not come when they hear of this trespass. Perception always trumps reality.

The ugly word here is sulfur, synonymous with phosphate and an off-shore outfit identified and known as the spoiler of air, water and land, here and in Canada.

Now, the thief is in our house.

We hold our nose at the stink, and our elected officials’ mendacity and we, united now, oppose this  blatant intrusion on the last remaining raw seacoast, the wild horses and sea turtles, and other endangered species which now are us.

After we throw out of office the blundering fools who approved the noxious enterprise and find out who’s behind the repeal of the state law intended to save our coast, we need to insure this terroristic Canadian attack on people and nature here never happens again.

Most of all, right now, we need you at the State Department of Environment & Natural Resources to stop this folly now by denying the PCS Phosphate application for a use permit.

Otherwise, this coast is lost.

Sincerely,

Rick Carroll

I stand here and wait. What I'm waiting for, I cannot say.

Others may ask and are confused about why I do nothing but stand here and wait.

I sometimes respond, "Standing and waiting is all you see, but really I do many things. I live and breathe, and eat and drink.  So far, we are the same. I also grow throughout my life.

You see,  we are still the same.

I rely on the warmth of the sun and I bleed when I am cut. Birds fly by.  They perch on my arm and say,  "You do not move as we eat your fruit. You make no sound.  You do not complain when we make you our home."

But that's where you are wrong, my dear little friends. Do you not see my hair rustling in the wind?  Do you not hear the rustling in the breeze?  Do my arms not stretch out to greet the sun?  I am kind to the animals that make me their home, and I am rough for you to cling on.

I taste good to the animals that I feed.

I am kind because I am wise.  I do not ask questions because I know enough to survive.

I know my place in this world.

As you rely on me to feed your young or make a home for your families to rest, I rely on you for my food.  When you pass away you become part of the earth the same earth that is my food.

We are a team who rely on each other.  I breathe out the air you breathe in. I feed you the food that your ancestors have provided me.

Hand in hand, we live in peace.

So don't ask me why I stand here and wait.

Why do you eat or drink? Why do you die and become my food ?  Why do you run from predators? The answer is that life is life and without me you cannot survive.

I stand here and wait for the same reason you are here: we are the cycle of life.

--Daniel Hay

Daniel Hay was educated in London and Madrid. Today, he is an advanced
math and computer science student at The Northfield-Mt Herman School in
MA where he also edits films and documentaries for the school and others. He has performed in classical piano and in theater productions. At age nine, Daniel had a speaking role in the international film, "Vanity Fair."

The above essay was a class submission at his current school in 2009.

by Marcia Hay

The secret village of El Olivar, Spain

When you drive about an hour northeast of Madrid, Spain, and then through olive groves and farming fields, there is what appears to be the quaint farming village of El Olivar. However, if approached from the south, the village appears as a typical hill town perched atop quite a steep hill. From there, one can see for many miles over the old countryside.

The houses mostly are 200 or more years old, constructed from local stones with walls two feet thick. Many have high stone walls surrounding front and back court yards while some are interconnected like row houses.

Originally, this was--and still is-- a village of shepherds and olive growers.

There is one church by the small town square that was built in the late 1400's.  A recent newcomer climbed up the bell tower and tested the ancient bell.  Upon descending, the entire town was assembled to hear the emergency news - from that established signal.  A bit embarrassing !

There are no shops in El Olivar but there is a "bar" where some basic groceries are available. That old family created a restaurant within the "bar" where wonderful local dishes are served. Recently, another of the old families has started a second "bar" also serving local dishes.

A few Madrileños and even some vacationing English families like the peace and hideaway atmosphere that El Olivar can provide.  This is a secret village known to a very few outsiders.

And now you know.

--Marcia Hay

Thanks to contributor Marcia Hay for her sweet portrayal of this secret hill town.  Ms. Hay is an American who has lived in Spain for more than thirty years.  Married to a Spaniard, she divides her time between the USA, London and Madrid--and El Olivar.  Her family now owns several of the ancient houses there.  She loves this village "where the road ends and children can play safely in the streets and town square."

This earth of majesty, this other Eden, demi-paradise, this precious blue stone set in a silver sea, this little world, this blessed plot, this earth, this dear green earth, this home.

....we pause now to consider miracles.

--paraphrase, Richard the Second, William Shakespeare

Blue Jay is taking his time over breakfast this morning. I have been through with mine for awhile, but he is still gobbling up pieces of sunflower heart from the porch railing.

He looks around leisurely and picks up a few more grains and then gazes out at the world again. He is still doing this. He must have eaten a whole teaspoonful this chilly morning.

I don’t know why I dwell so much on the problems of this world when I have everything I could possibly want right here in my cozy nest. My children love me, I have good health, good neighbors, any food I want, an iMac, and  plenty of heat and light and water, with lovely pine trees to look at  across the way, a beach to walk upon, and on a clear winter day,  bright sunshine pouring in to keep me warm with solar heat.

But, I really do know why I dwell so often on the agony in the rest of the world:  I can’t help it. It is my world, too. This precious blue stone set in a silver sea. This earth, this dear green earth. This blessed speck of the universe. This miracle.

The phone rings, I move across the living room.

Jay Jay is still at breakfast. Bless him.

--Elizabeth Skulstad, Beaufort, NC