We are always creating and cultivating, even if we are unaware. What do you believe you are busiest creating? What are you truly cultivating?
As a Southern journalist and writer, Dianne Poston Owens has learned something about nature and humans. In her essays she often explores people and the things they create. Always busy cultivating, people are at their best when they are cultivating what matters. But what matters? As an observer and recorder of people, places, and things, Owens wants to assure others that significance is found in the trivial, and the mundane matters. Cultivating, Homespun Essays from Beech Tree Lane, is a collection of short essays and poems intended for inspiration, encouragement and insight. Owens poses questions and offers photographs that allow readers to reflect and pause before heading full speed into the world around them. Through her essays Owens explores what we say, do and choose, and how that impacts what we cultivate each day.
Dianne Poston Owens is a former newspaper reporter, columnist and editor, serving rural communities in South Carolina for more than 30 years. Though she wandered from her roots, she now lives in the same neck of the woods that her family has lived and died on for more than 250 years.
Know you are loved. Were loved. Will be loved. That's what I want you to know. That's why I write. To give people hope ... the world doesn't want you to be happy, joyous or downright content. You have to do this for yourself. Determine to do it. Especially at this time of the year. Holidays, "holy" days if you will, galore. But most of us are "holy," in that we have holes. Bruises where folks have stepped on us, scars where we have survived and holes where the wind whistles through because we miss the ones, and the things, that made us whole. So, with this in mind, this holiday season do one thing just for you. Purpose to read a book (my favorite) that lifts you up. Resolve to do something for someone else because you can. And above all, understand that you function just fine with holes, like a wheel, or a doughnut. After all, we are whole with our holes.
Grandma is with me every Christmas, even though she hasn’t been here for more than thirty-five years. When people die they leave holes. Holes in your heart, holes in how you spend your day, holes in your soul. Just holes.