Yellow Flecks of Stubborness

Oh, abundant pollen - it is thee I do loathe.
Your yellow flecks of stubbornness,
aggravate my nose.
Is it any wonder, that in the mornings I do rise,
With a cough, a sneeze, a raspy voice,
and tears within my eyes.

You adhere to our cars, to signs, to decks.
With your transparent coat of yellow,
the world you bedeck.
The rain can splatter, sputter and spit,
but you return time and again,
Along with my sneezing fits.

Oh, abundant pollen - I long for thy good-bye.
I abhor how you linger among us,
despite our frustrated sighs.
Your dusty presence isn't needed, nor your color coating ways.
Farewell feckless fiend of nature,
Farewell allergy medicine induced haze.

Pollen visible on the Elk River after the April 11, 2013 storm.

Photo taken from my friend Annette Barnes' home in western Limestone County.

Everything Be Awright

If Doc Oliver truly knew my birth name, I never heard him use it. I was always "Miss Decatur Daily." It didn't matter if I was covering his beloved Ardmore Police Memorial ceremony or if I was standing at a crime scene. "Come here Miss Decatur Daily," he would say in his Tennessee twang and then point at a photographer. "Take our picture together."

Doc with his wife Doris and me in May. The last photo I had made with him.

Doc earned his nickname when he was a high schooler and helped a fellow student who sustained a sports injury. He spent more than 40 years in law enforcement and was a former sheriff in Giles County, Tenn., and served as police chief of Ardmore for 32 years. He retired in 2009 and battled health issues until his death earlier today.

Doc was one of Limestone County's great characters you couldn't help but love. I guess he had to be. His Police Department was located in the basement of a former Baptist church, and he was chief in a town that is in two states and four counties. As he often said, he had to keep 13 politicians happy, including two mayors, which could be tougher than battling crime.

Those who knew Doc knew his Doc-isms. He was forever asking folks, "Y'all doin' awright-n-everything?" and saying, "Everything be awright" at the end of his conversations. His conversations could last longer than tent revival sermons. I remember one cold Sunday night that Sheriff Mike Blakely called me during church services about a murder in Ardmore. I waited outside for hours for a photo and information, even huddling once for warmth in the coroner's car until Blakely made me move the coroner's car out of the driveway.

Doc got worried about me getting cold and sent me to the Police Dept. and swore he would speak to me as soon as they questioned their suspects.

By 1 a.m., I was about to fall asleep in the department lobby. I finally heard Doc and the sheriff bringing the suspects out and got my perp walk photo. Before I could ask Doc any questions about the murder, however, he started telling me stories about pranks the sheriff had played on him during his career. This lasted nearly an hour, but I knew if I wanted the exclusive I needed to laugh and listen, and as tired as I was, I couldn't help but laugh at the antics he and the sheriff used to pull.

I shot this photo of Sheriff Blakely and Doc Oliver at a crime scene

Doc was a natural at talking to the public and his prisoners. I interviewed him once for a story about his department being in a church, and he stressed that he never forced his inmates to repent, but he did offer them a chance to attend worship services and get their lives right with God. He would take them to be baptized if that was their wish.

When youngsters in town would act up, he said he would get them up early on Saturday mornings to do community service, such as stirring pots of stew for a chicken stew fundraiser. He was a community chief and relied on common sense to handle issues in his town.

This personable policeman will be greatly missed. The emptiness left at Fried Green Tomatoes where he often dined will be felt. The silence left now that his storytelling days have ended will be painful. The void left in the community he served more than three decades will be unfilled. But we will find comfort in remembering his mantra that will echo through Ardmore for years to come, "Everything Be Awright."

Brick By Brick

A year ago today, seven tornadoes formed in Limestone County, including an EF5. Their angry winds swirled, gathering what lay in their path, turning keepsakes and homes into debris.

Four died here: a pair of grandparents who huddled over their grandchildren, saving them; a granddaughter visiting her grandmother; and a daughter driving home from work.

Hundreds rebuilt here, some on the same lot and others in new locations.

More tornadoes have hit since the deadly April 2011 outbreak. More keepsakes and more homes were scattered for miles, but thankfully, no lives were lost.

Today, a pile of bricks stood strong by a cornfield east of Athens. These bricks were tossed away by tornadoes and gathered by those who once lived within their walls.

In the near future, these mismatched bricks will again become a foundation, this time, for the Limestone County Tornado Victims Memorial. Once again these bricks will offer support, but this time, it will be emotional support for those who have lost loved ones to tornadoes since 1900. The memorial will include the names of those we have lost, ensuring we do not forget.

Most importantly, these bricks will prove that in Limestone County, we unite to help our neighbors. We unite and continue on with life. The heartache of what we've lost remains with us, but together we endure.

We rebuild. Brick by brick.

Attack of the Cobbler

As the seconds ticked by, the aroma grew stronger.
Cherries. Blueberries. Raspberries. The smell of warm fruit mingled with sweet syrup and baking dough.
In anticipation I opened the microwave door. Steam billowed, carrying with it that delectable scent of cobbler.
I pulled the saucer toward me. The saucer being my microwavable safe plate upon which the silently sinister cobble sat.
As the saucer cleared the microwave, the cobbler saw its chance to attack. Its slick microwavable container slid from the saucer and launched for my right leg.
I was taken by surprise. Gooey goodness latched onto my upper thigh and knee and oozed a burning trail along my leg. I heard the saucer clatter to the floor and saw purplish syrup splatter the kitchen as I danced in pain, swiping the steaming cobbler with my hand, thus leaving defensive wounds on my digits.
I stripped my lounge dress over my head and sped to the bathroom. I vaulted like an Olympian into the bathtub and turned on a cold shower and washed the cunning cobbler from my body.
I returned to the crime scene to find my kitchen floor looking as if a mafia hit had taken place - purple and red  streaks simulated pools of congealed blood. I felt compelled to draw a chalk outline around the saucer, but angry splotches started appearing on my leg, searing my nerve endings in pain. I hobbled to my couch with after sun aloe and a wet, cold towel.
As I lay in agony, I could still smell the infernal cobbler.
Who knew it was such a fiendish fruit pie.

We Can Replace It

I heard the sirens wail outside of City Hall on Friday morning, and before my heart could kick start and beat again, I heard Deputy Fire Chief Bryan Thornton on the radio with Station No. 2,

 "You say a tornado is on the ground?"

Another spring like day. Another tornado for Limestone County.

Last year, I was a reporter covering seven twisters that hit the county on April 27.

On Friday, I was the spokesperson for Athens, gathering information and sending it to the media as quickly as possible. Reports came in of gas leaks, damaged homes and minor injuries in Canebrake. Then I heard East Limestone had been hit yet again, an area where some residents had just rebuilt from the 2011 tornado outbreak.

I didn't get to spend time talking to victims until Saturday morning, when Amy Golden with Athens Utilities and I walked the hardest hit area of Nick Davis Road. The phrase, "We can replace it," seemed to be each residents' personal pep talk. One elderly woman missed being home because she was getting her nails done, so her car survived but her roof had a gaping hole.

"These are things we can replace," she said, pointing at piles of debris holding items that once graced her home.

 Another young lady missed being home because she had a hair appointment. She and her sorority sisters were laughing as they swept glass and sheet rock.

"They're keeping my spirits lifted. I just did some redecorating, but I can replace it," she said, as someone tossed damaged items from her home into a garbage bag.

None of the destruction looked like the horror I saw on April 27 until we walked up to the Baldwin family's lot. All three family homes were demolished. As Paulette Baldwin tearfully told us all her family members were unharmed, someone placed a toy John Deere tractor spattered with mud in her hand.

"All of this we can replace. We can't replace each other," she said.

At one point, her husband Joe grabbed her hand and squeezed as if to give her some of his strength. I had to turn my head as emotions that still linger from the April 27 devastation collided with new emotions Friday's twister hurled my way.

As I walked back to my car, the buzzing of chain saws helped quiet the sorrow pervading my thoughts. I once again saw a community that stands together, rebuilds together, remains firm together.

"We can replace it. We can overcome once again."

Another reason to be Lovin' it in Limestone.

The Baldwin family's lot

Looking Forward to Supper

Barbara and Bobby Harbin are starting a new journey in the same spot where they have lived for 50 years. The couple lost their home on Banford Road in the April 27, 2011, tornado outbreak.

I remember riding down Banford Road two days after the twisters. The heat was blistering as Gary Cosby and I rode in the back of a volunteer fire department pickup through the destruction zone. I was still working as a reporter then. At the end of Banford Road, we saw a lone woman sitting on an Igloo cooler. To her left, vehicles were piled as high as the crumbling remains of a home. She must of been a neighbor to the Harbins. No home on that road was unscathed.

Nearly 9 months later, the community gathered for a groundbreaking for the Harbins new home that is being built through Habitat for Humanity and United Way. Students from Notre Dame were in town to help get the home started. Other new homes have been built in the area, but the landscape still looks scarred by Mother Nature.


United Way Director Kaye McFarlan said "hands in pockets and hands on the ground" are giving the Harbins their new home. The couple fought tears as Kaye talked of them having their first supper in their new house. How easy it is for us to take for granted those simple things, like supper at our dining room table, the view of the backyard from a kitchen window or crayon scribbles left behind on walls by young hands.

Those at the groundbreaking took time to be thankful for the simple things, thankful for a caring community and thankful to be Lovin' in it Limestone.

A Daughter's Christmas Story

Even from Momma's bedside at a hospital room in Nashville, I am discovering more reasons to be Lovin' it in Limestone.

Since friends, church family, co-workers and strangers in Limestone County have heard about Momma's ordeal from being declared brain dead to breathing on her own, prayers, calls, Facebook messages, money, Christmas carols, Christmas cards, food and kind acts have traveled Interstate 65 by vehicle or by phone.


Two words like "thank you" seem so inadequate to express what this support has meant to us. The next best thing is to share with you how your prayers and support have given us a Christmas surprise.

On Dec. 3, Momma called me and her sister because she was short of breath and had a pain in her chest and lower side. She had been short of breath for a few days but her doctor thought it was a reaction to a new fluid pill she was taking to treat swelling in her legs.


We now know blood clots traveled from her legs to her lungs, and during an episode with acid reflux, she exerted pressure on a now weakened heart and tore her aorta.


Aunt Jim (short for Jimalee - what a great Southern name) and I took Momma to Crockett Hospital in Lawrenceburg, Tenn., where she stayed all day and part of the night. She was diagnosed with at least one blood clot in her lung. Momma was sent to a room and began giving me orders like a reality TV chef.

"Check the cat's food and water." "Turn down my central unit so I'm not paying to heat a house I'm not even at." "Bring me my make-up. Y'all drug me up here with no make-up and my hair not combed and looking like a tramp."


Aunt Jim stayed with her while I drove to St. Joseph to adhere to her "requests." I was on my way back when my cousin, Aunt Jim's daughter Patty, called to tell me, "You better get back here quick."


A blood clot went to Momma's heart. The jolt caused her heart to stop beating, not once, but five times. Unbeknown to us, the medical staff revived her each time with paddles and CPR for an hour-and-a-half. While Elizabeth Brewer, who was a second mom to me throughout high school, held me in her grasp, I was told Momma was stable and on a ventilator, but likely would have no brain function. I demanded they fly her to St. Thomas Hospital in Nashville.


Hilton, who is due to have a baby girl any day, drove me at 2 in the morning to Nashville, hitting speed bumps in the hospital driveway so fast I thought she was going to knock her baby out. "If she goes into labor on the trip, we'll just deliver it and name it," Patty said.


Hilton, Justin, Misty, Josh, Aunt Jim, Patty, and cousins Doy, Rita and Matt sat with me in a family conference room at the hospital while we waited for the doctor at St. Thomas to tell us her prognosis.


Dr. Casey said she was stable and a team of doctors was evaluating her. It was after everyone had left and I had gotten a couple hours of sleep that Dr. Casey and a nurse named Terese found me. They suggested I call the family in to say goodbyes. There was no evidence of any brain function. The ventilator was doing all her breathing.


Through tears,  I started calling family and friends. Misty and Josh returned, and family came in to see her one last time. Momma's name was placed on prayer lists throughout the country that Sunday morning, thanks to my Facebook followers and those of you in Limestone County.


Around lunchtime, I noticed Momma kept moving her head, as if irritated by the ventilator. The nurse assured me that was a natural gag reflex. She kept twitching her feet, and the nurse assured me the body was hyper sensitive, even when there was no brain function.


Misty and I had doubts. While Terese was checking Momma's vitals, she jerked her head again. I touched her forehead.


"Momma, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" I asked.


She blinked! The nurse told me to try again.


"Momma. It's me. Open your eyes for me," I implored.


She briefly did! She couldn't squeeze my hand, but she pushed her feet against Misty's hands. The team of doctors returned, re-evaluated this tough Pollock gal, and changed her status to "cautiously better."


It wasn't until  a few days later that Misty asked me whether I realized that Momma opened her eyes and pushed her feet about the time churches were getting out for morning service.


"Think of all the prayer lists she was on," Misty said. "That doesn't sound like a coincidence to me."


Since in a week and two days time she is breathing on her own and able to briefly stand and whisper to me, I don't think it's a coincidence either.

Momma, me and Daddy back in the day