Getting Creative: Birth of a Blog

(Continued from Retirement: Finally, Time to Get Creative)

Featured Photo: “Autumn Sunrise, Mountain Retreat” Montreat, North Carolina—2022

We had been talking about the trip for over a year, and by “we,” I mean myself, my brother, and my two sisters. Drawn closer by our parents’ passing, we started getting together to visit and catch up regularly—once or twice a year. Each of these gatherings came to be known affectionately as a “SibSab,” meaning “Sibling Sabbatical”—a retreat for the four of us to reconnect. We started this joyful family tradition in 2003, often creating a SibSab souvenir photo to commemorate our time together, always arranged from oldest to youngest. Here we are in 2011, when we had returned to Natchitoches, Louisiana, where my brother and I were born.

Being somewhat spread out geographically, our SibSabs usually required travel, often taking us to interesting, new destinations. But the trip we were planning was to a familiar place: Montreat, North Carolina. When we were growing up, the four of us took a week-long vacation there with our parents nearly every summer. I took this family photo (also shared in my very first post) at the Montreat campground over 50 years ago with my Polaroid One-Step camera. For us, returning to Montreat always felt like coming home.

Despite our diligent preparation, this SibSab would turn out differently—the year was 2020. In March, COVID was declared a global pandemic. All vestiges of “normal life” disappeared for quite some time. Travel—when it happened at all—became more complicated: destinations started requiring reservations and timed entry, many places shut down for a while, or forever; airlines—if they actually flew—required masks and testing (once COVID tests became available); road trips brought previously unthinkable risks; good hygiene and common sense called for frequent and prolonged handwashing, supplemented by hand sanitizer; we all struggled to understand what “social distancing” meant; and the first vaccine would not be available until December.

Our SibSab was scheduled for October 2020. The four of us kept in regular contact, optimistic that we could still make it happen, but vacillating between joyful anticipation and stark practicality. In the end, SibSab 2020 did not happen. Not long before we were supposed to gather in Montreat—with COVID concerns overriding their desire for us to get together—my sisters reluctantly decided to stay home; they did not want to risk the 12-hour drive to Montreat from their home in northwest Arkansas.

My brother and I had to quickly decide whether we should still get together; would the 2020 trip to Montreat turn instead into a “BroGo”? This term—coined for those times when just my brother and I took a trip—is a not-so-precise truncation of “Brothers Going Places Together.” Our first BroGo was in 2013, and they have continued regularly ever since; we usually see interesting sights and taste good beer, and always have a great visit. My first big trip after retirement was our BroGo 2018 to Portland, Oregon, shown in this photo, typical of our travels together.

In the Spring of 2020, he and I had already planned another BroGo to Key West, Florida, but that trip never happened either. Just before we were to travel, they closed parts of Key West to slow the spread of Coronavirus.

So, in September 2020, we cautiously weighed COVID concerns, but Montreat was calling—a chance to recoup our lost BroGo. We decided to take the risk; our wish to see each other in person was too strong. Just a month before the trip to Montreat, we booked the vacation rental house we had been eyeing—even though it was too large for four, and way too large for two…

…and finalized our travel plans. I drove from Philadelphia, and my brother from Memphis to get to Montreat, doing our best to avoid Coronavirus along the way. Our rescheduled BroGo 2020 was a success: we had a wonderful time and returned home without COVID. And something else happened while we were together in Montreat: the “pleasant surprise” mentioned at the end of my previous post.

I believe it was the first night after we both arrived; my brother and I were discussing all the expected topics: COVID, family, travel, COVID, music, books, beer…and COVID. Our conversation eventually turned to life in retirement (he retired about a year before I did) and life in general. At some point, he told me about a homily he recently heard at church—something like a parable that touched him deeply: A man, recently departed from life, was standing before his Maker, anticipating the question that would determine where he spent eternity. He was trying to recall things he had done—acts of kindness—so he could answer, “I have indeed led a good life.” But the man was surprised when the question was asked, “Did you enjoy your life? Because that is the greatest gift I could give.”

At this point, my brother got quiet, closed his eyes, and turned his head away for a moment; the lesson was very poignant and powerful for him…and for me too. After that evening, we tried to focus on truly enjoying our lives. The next day, we started doing all the fun things we usually do while in Montreat. We strolled around Lake Susan…

…enjoying the fall colors on display.

We viewed the dam from the porch of the old bookstore in Moore Center…

…then got a closer look from below, at ground level…

…before we turned the other direction, to go “rock-hopping” in the stream below the dam.

We hiked the trail leading to Lookout Mountain…

…to take in the beauty from the summit…

…and furnish proof of our achievement.

And we did the other things we typically do on a BroGo: sampling beer…

…from a few different breweries…

…in nearby Asheville…

…and Black Mountain.

But all through the day, my mind kept returning to my brother’s parable; I kept asking myself whether I was enjoying my life in retirement. It was the following day when we had “the conversation” that would re-energize my interest in sharing my photographs—inspiration from my brother to add an unexpected and joyful dimension to my creative pursuit: writing this blog.

We were walking together toward the campground on the quiet road that runs beside the little mountain stream that eventually feeds into Lake Susan.

I was relating some of the lessons I had learned so far about being retired, including what I had prioritized to try and make the time meaningful. He listened, contemplating what I said, and described some of his own learnings. Then he said, “You should write a blog.” It was not the first time he had proposed this, and I responded as I had before, dismissing the suggestion without much thought: “What would I write about? Who would read it? Who would care?” It seemed like a waste of time to me.

I don’t know whether it was being together in our beloved Montreat, or recalling my brother’s gentle reminder about enjoying life, but I paused and reconsidered, then said, “Let’s talk about that idea some more.” We discussed the possibility during that walk and returned to the topic—off and on—for the rest of the day. We chatted about it over our delicious dinner of steak and baked potatoes—one of my brother’s specialties. At the end of the day, I can’t say I was converted to the idea of starting my own blog; that transformation would happen overnight.

The human mind is a wonderful thing. With it, we can create beautiful art and sublime music, we can solve complex problems, and we can contemplate an opportunity to choose another direction. And during these times of creativity, problem-solving, or contemplation, the mind continues to work through the possibilities, even after we have consciously stopped—sometimes even while we are asleep.

I think that explains why I felt differently about the blog when we picked up our conversation the next morning. My brother and I were drinking our first cup of coffee, when I looked at him and exclaimed, “I know what my blog can be about, and I think it will be fun. I’ll share my photos and write a story about them—a picture AND a thousand words!”

My brother smiled and asked me to tell him more. We had fun exploring the possibilities for this new creative outlet: curating my photographs and telling the tales that went along with them; writing about my experiences, especially from my travels. Not only was I excited about it, but I had also come up with the name for my blog site. I even started jotting down ideas for blog posts already forming in my head. Yes, this was going to be fun, indeed!

We enjoyed the next few days of our BroGo, but eventually, we hugged and said our good-byes, happy for the time we spent together. As I drove out through the Montreat gate—like so many times since we were young—I stopped to take one last picture. Leaving Montreat this time, the gate seemed to signify a new opening for me to start getting creative.

But to wrap this all up, I need to add a postscript. I’m happy to report that the following year—and the year after that—my brother, my two sisters, and I would have the SibSab in Montreat that we missed in 2020. We even rented the same house where my brother and I stayed for our BroGo; it was still too large, even for all four of us!

It was during our 2022 SibSab: we were sitting on the porch of our house one afternoon, looking at Montreat’s beautiful mountains in October.

The Featured Photo, “Autumn Sunrise, Mountain Retreat,” was taken the next morning; we had gone out onto the porch again—despite the chilly weather—to watch the dawn of a new day over those same mountains. For the Featured Photo, I zoomed in to frame the view, just as the sun began to appear from behind the mountains; the pink, purple, and orange colors were still emerging. Looking at it now, I’m reminded of the sunset described in my previous post about retiring, where I wrote, “…after the sunset, the sun also rises, over things great and small.”

If you’ll excuse my metaphors: the setting sun symbolized my retirement; the Montreat sunrise marked the dawn of “a new day for my creative pursuit.” The birth of my blog was indeed the “pleasant surprise” from that Montreat BroGo back in 2020. Still, despite my enthusiasm to get started, it would take another two and a half years before my first post would see the light of day.

(To be continued…)