QUERY, first draft, first page, new manuscript, Coffee on The Canna mire

 

COFFEE ON THE CANNA MIRE

Essays, Quotes, & Anecdotes

 By S. T. Casebeer

June 4, 2023

INVITATION

 

Much like the proverbial box of assorted chocolates, Coffee on The Canna Mire is a sampler of my vast and varied literary confections, and you’re right; you never know what you’ll get. But, if you enjoy this book, you’ll love the others. The canna mire is my happy place; its where I go to escape the talons of time, enhance my perspective, widen my horizons, contemplate the cosmos, and ponder incomprehensible possibilities. For me, it’s a little like Brer Rabbit’s briar patch. There’s no other place where I’m entirely lucid and comfortable. 

Littlethicket is my name for several acres of old growth pines which shade, shelter, and encircle a small, woodland pond that nestles peacefully into our wooded sanctuary in the Missouri Ozarks. The little watering hole was bladed out back in the 1940s as a resource for wildlife and livestock which make their home on or around our 120-acre homestead which shares its woodland border with an eight-thousand-acre wildlife management area. My family acquired the property in 1978.

Through the years the little pond has achieved what among its kind would be considered an advanced age, as the ebb and flow of seasons and cycles has deposited within its shaded shores rich deposits of decaying leaves and silt to a depth of several feet, thus reducing the water’s depth to about neck deep on a good-sized Whitetail.

Outside of our annual hay crops, our property is no longer home to farming activity and the grazing of livestock, but local fauna graces the quiet solitude of the sparkling resource with frequent visits from their homes in the deep woods. Deer, turkey, black bear, raccoon, bobcats, skunks, great blue heron, and an occasional mountain lion scatter their padded prints along its muddy banks. Bull frogs join in a chorus of booming voices, announcing their romantic intentions, snapping turtles lurk in the shallows, awaiting the arrival of an unwary snack, and Northern water snakes slither and undulate over the sheltering root wads and among the shaded nooks. 

Some years ago, I began dredging channels through the accumulation of thick, gooey mire and using the mud to create miniature islands and peninsulas. These I have naturalized and landscaped with the addition of rocks, stumps, logs, and numerous varieties of flowering shrubs and wildflowers. What was once a barren and unsightly mudflat in now home to luxurious water garden which provides home to a rich landscape of lilacs, clematis, coneflowers, weigelia, berry vines, and a multitude of vibrant lilies.  Whenever possible, I begin my day with some quiet time. Daybreak is extravagantly peaceful at Littlethicket. The solitude is a balm for my soul. The first rays of dawn are freshened and filtered by the evergreens. Mists rise from the pond’s mirrorlike surface, and the air is heavy with the fragrances of pine boughs, wildflowers, and the enchanting breath of the deep, dark woods. Mornings are my favorite time of day, and I frequently take my coffee on the canna mire.

Having achieved an age at which I have now met my obligations to the trials and tribulations of the work force, except for a healthy regimen of spousal assignments and the time-honored duties of a compliant mate, my time is much my own. Having tried my hand at all variety of hobbies and found most to be bottomless pits of unrewarding expenditures, I’ve found that creative writing can be a source of endless diversion and considerable gratification, and furthermore, words are cheap.

Thus, bolstered by my singular sagacity and unique perspective, I’ve set out to address the ebb and flow of societal distress and dysfunction by singlehandedly salving the world’s myriad ills. Good luck, right! My quiet time on the canna mire frequently provides opportunity for musing over the events of the day and penning my personal judgments and candid opinions. You’re welcome to join me. Here, for your edification, are several years’ worth of literary cacophonies which spontaneously ensued while taking my coffee on the canna mire.  SC