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  • We Are Nashville – Harold’s Flood

    When I was a kid growing up I thought my dad could read minds and see into the future. He always just seemed to know things. Unfortunately even he did not see the Nashville Flood coming. I first heard about the heavy rains from my Nashville Friends on Facebook. I called my sister and she assured me that she and my mom were okay. However, she did express some concern about Dad’s house. You see, it sits just off the Cumberland River.

    A Flooded House

    Bad news came a few days later. The 100 year flood came 50 years early. Reports where that the river crested at 52 feet. That put my Dad’s house approx seven feet under water. He was out of town when all of this was going down. I am thankful for that. I am most thankful that he was safe. Not everyone was so fortunate. When we talked, a few days before he came home, he expressed how much he had been touched by how many folks had called to make sure he was okay.

    Before Cleanup Began

    That was just the beginning. Folks from all over Nashville came out to help my Dad get the house ready for rebuilding. All I’ll say here is that a picture is most definitely worth a thousand words. Each.

    Calling All Heroes

    Calling All Heroes

    Calling All Heroes

    Calling All Heroes

    Calling All Heroes

    The House Gutted

    The House Gutted

    These are pictures provided to me courtesy of Larry Yarborough. Larry thought it was important to share these and I am very grateful that he did. That’s just the kind of man Larry is; great friend, runner, hiker, “retired” (but rumor has it still volunteers a full week as Chaplain for all the YMCA’s of Middle Tennessee), all around fantastic human being, and as it turns out pretty great photographer.

    Calling All Heroes

    Once again, thanks to Larry for the photos and to all of you who volunteered, those of you who stepped up and helped out your neighbors during their tragic time of need, in this case my Dad, a big ol’ from the bottom of my heart thank you. I know thanks and reward did not factor into your decision, but I wish your reward none the less comes back to you a hundred fold.

    (http://www.flickr.com/photos/owenwbrown/sets/72157623936940427/)

  • Hot Sauce!

    Hot sauce. It is one of those things most folks are not on the fence about. When I was a kid I can recall my dad eating hot peppers that had been canned in vinegar. He ate them on his mashed potatoes and told me that everyone in the Brown Family liked hot stuff. I recall an uncle who ate jalapenos right out of the jar, and when he was done, he’d drink the juice.

    When I was a kid I tried to “out hot sauce it” with a Texan. We were on a school trip and the group stopped at a taco place for lunch. His challenge was simple. Nobody liked hot sauce like Texans. After a few tacos, with three packages of the local fire each, I felt like I had stood my ground. Half an hour later back on the bus I felt much differently. Thus is my relationship with hot sauce.

  • Compost Piles

    I have written before about growing up in a small town. My house sat on 25 acres about 25 miles south of Nashville. It was a great place to grown up. As a kid I sometimes wished I lived in a subdivision so I could be closer to all my buddies. However, looking back I had the opportunity to experience things kids growing up in the suburbs did not. Feeding cows. Raising chickens. Riding horses.

    These pictures were taken during a visit home, many years after I’d moved away. I believe they were taken around 2001. They are some of the only ones I have of two very prolific compost piles in our great big backyard. Pictured, my dad, sister and Suzy the dog are feeding and examining the piles. I believe those are tomato plants growing in the bigger pile.

    It’s interesting looking back on the who’s and why’s in regards to influences in behavior in the present but you might not be surprised to know that I still compost. It may not be anywhere near as big, but even though I now live in the suburbs, I still have a compost pile.

    As summer begins to bloom in the desert I wonder if my compost pile will ever be so pretty. One thing is for certain. It will certainly never be this big or have grubs so fat and green.

  • Cold Turkey – A Quitter’s Tale

    I smoked my first cigarette in junior high. One of my buddies at school gave them to me. Three of them in a plastic cassette tape case. Menthol for reasons I do not recall. Kids at school smoked in the bathroom during the breaks between classes and I was very curious to find out why anybody would spend their break in a toilet stall.

    My first attempts didn’t give me any insight. Turns out I didn’t inhale. I figured out the trick on the third try. That first drag gave me a buzz that knocked me off my feet. I guess that day I became a smoker. While I only smoked occasionally thru school, and this casual habit only tapered off to hardly ever after college, it was still lurking.

    I moved to Los Angeles, California in July 2001. It was around this time that my infrequent habit, like the drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet, suddenly became more like a busted water pipe (no pun intended). I’d like to blame the hours sitting in Los Angeles traffic, the endless abyss, consumed, with nothing to do but smoke, but it only contributed. This stupid behavior continued for the next few years. Then one morning I awoke, sat up in bed, and simply decided that yesterday was the last day I’d ever smoke. Just like that.

    I look back on that and think the key to my going cold turkey was not making today the last day but yesterday the last day. Fast forward five years and I haven’t had a cigarette since the day before that day; no tabacco of any kind. No pills. No patches. Not even a lousy cigar.

    I wrote the first draft of this at the end of last year. I was reflecting on the new year approaching and the fact that 2009 had seen both friends and family  die from years of smoking. I promise not to be any more heavy handed that that. However, with a new year come new resolutions. Some are to quit smoking. I hope that my quitter’s tale inspires you. Remember, any yesterday can be your last.

  • Pole Vault Fresco

    Pole Vault

    This is a test of the Flickr feature that allows one to “Blog This” photo. I took this yesterday afternoon at the local track meet. This shot stood out for me because the pole vault poles where so colorful. It sort of reminded me of a picture I saw once of surfers standing at the edge of the beach. I decided to add some filter so as not to post any real person’s actual picture. I do not want anyone’s parents after me after all! Enjoy.