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From Gavin's pen and Nicole's cameraDreamweaver Cast a spell of freedomUpon my dreaming soul.With wings of hope,Come lif...
08/21/2023

From Gavin's pen and Nicole's camera

Dreamweaver

Cast a spell of freedom
Upon my dreaming soul.

With wings of hope,
Come lift me higher.

I yearn to soar
Among my dreams.

I am ready for
The Dreamweaver.

Dreams are the foundations of the pathway to your destiny.
Follow your dreams and walk that path and fear not, the destination.

From Gavin's Pen and Debbie Wivell's Camera. The Meeting Place. Sonny and Samuel had been neighbors for near on fifty ye...
08/18/2023

From Gavin's Pen and Debbie Wivell's Camera.

The Meeting Place.

Sonny and Samuel had been neighbors for near on fifty years. They were good friends. Each had been born on the farms they lived on.
For more than thirty years, they had met at the fence that separated their properties every morning to chat and drink their coffee.
They talked about numerous topics, such as the weather, politics, the cost of living, and most importantly, fishing and hunting. Both men loved to fish and hunt.
About six years ago, Samuel failed to turn in at the fence one morning. Sonny finished his coffee and went back to his house. He got in his truck and drove to Samuel's house.
Sam's wife, Mary, greeted him at the door with tears flowing.
"Sam passed away during the night Sonny, he's gone."
"Oh no. I am so sorry, Mary." He replied as he hugged her.
Three weeks after the funeral, Samuel's ashes were buried at the fence where he and Sonny had spent so much time. Sonny still went to the fence every morning for coffee and to chat with his friend.
Two years ago, Sonny also passed away and in accordance with his last wishes, his ashes were buried at the fence.
I'd like to think the two men are still meeting at the fence for coffee and to chat about the topics they had always talked about, and if you listen to the wind you might just hear them.
That old meeting place will live on into eternity.

A piece of history uncovered during the renovation of this store. I hope they salvage this sign. The store is on 7th St ...
08/01/2023

A piece of history uncovered during the renovation of this store. I hope they salvage this sign. The store is on 7th St near where it changes to Monroe Rd in Charlotte, NC.

From Gavin's Pen I Saw The Smile.He said, "I'll saddle upthis horse of mine.I'll ride that trailup to the cabinjust belo...
06/14/2023

From Gavin's Pen

I Saw The Smile.

He said, "I'll saddle up
this horse of mine.
I'll ride that trail
up to the cabin
just below the bushline."

I said, "I'll join you
on this ride.
When we get there
we can fish for supper
after we climb this mountainside."

"I guess we can
go ahead and do that,"
he said as he swung
into the saddle
and adjusted his hat.

We rode slowly on up.
That trail seemed so long.
All along the way
he could be heard humming
some old country song.

We arrived early
in the afternoon,
fed and watered the horses
then we caught a couple of trout.
Dinner tonight... under the moon.

He said, "Build us a fire
while I clean these fish."
I said, "I sure will
and I'll put some spuds
in the embers if you wish."

That evening we ate
a mighty fine meal.
As the coffee brewed
we watched the moon rise.
Can't explain how it made me feel.

An elk let out a bugle
from across the lake.
An owl asked his question
from the woods near by.
We were lucky to partake.

He said, "I believe I'll
Move in up here
and stay all summer long.
It's where I want to be.
It's a place I hold dear."

I replied, "you might as well,
you love this place."
He said," That, I do my boy."
In the glow of the fire,
I saw the smile on his face.

Original poetry by Gavin Candish.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera Yesterday Give me a sun soaked front porch on a mountain cabin and let my mind wander. Back ...
04/22/2022

From Gavin's Pen and Camera

Yesterday

Give me a sun soaked front porch on a mountain cabin and let my mind wander. Back to a simpler time. A time where time itself didn't matter. A place where we found ourselves immersed in family values that did matter.
Often, we find ourselves wishing we could go back to that time. I know I do.
I dream of "yesterday." That place where we, as children can remember how Grandma's cooking was always the best. Fried chicken, roasted potatoes and corn on the cob. Cornbread still warm from the oven and a watermelon, still warm from the sun and sweeter than candy, for dessert. As the sun went down, hot chocolate drinks and fresh made cookies would be how she filled our lives with love.
All the while, Grandpa would sit in his rocker whittling up some toys while filling our minds with the wonder of his stories. He would have us all mesmerized as he recalled how a ten pound trout fought against his line. How after a twenty minute tussle, he would land that evening's supper.
He would tell us of how he met Grandma and fell head over heels in love with her.
He would have us hanging on every word as he recalled "yesterday."
Sometimes, he would start playing his harmonica and we would all sing along. On some of those long summer evenings, we would fall asleep on that porch, full bellies, happy minds and surrounded with a love that never wavered. A love that we would carry for the rest of our lives.
Yep, give me "yesterday" all over again. I would cherish every moment and hang on every memory.
I just hope Grandma and Grandpa are smiling down on us as they Heavenly hold hands, like they always did.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera Patience My Dad and I spent countless hours fishing. Rivers, lakes and ocean coastlines, bot...
04/22/2022

From Gavin's Pen and Camera

Patience

My Dad and I spent countless hours fishing. Rivers, lakes and ocean coastlines, both sandy and rocky coastlines. I loved every single moment. He taught me so much as we fished.
One day, early on, I asked him about what it takes to be a good fisherman.
He replied with one word.
"Patience."
After a pause, he went on.
"Son, some days you can bait your hook and cast your line and, bang. You catch one. No sooner than you bait your hook and cast, bang, another. Those days are a blessing, son. Now, on other days you can do the same but you could write a novel between bites."
So true were those words but my love of fishing has never wavered.
I learned to be patient during those quieter days of fishing. I would listen to the waves, the seagulls, the wind in the trees and my Dad as he cussed when a fish got off.
"Patience, Dad." I'd say, smiling.
"Yeah, I know." He'd reply.
I don't think I could have written a novel between bites but poetry and short stories, yes and there were many composed on those slow days at a beach or a stunning stretch of wilderness riverbank. Sometimes, I would draw... not that well. I would sketch birds, fish, fishing flies, the trees and whatever else took my eye. It was a good way to tame my patience..
Dad would say, "Son, you're getting pretty good at the patience thing. Better than me."
I'd reply, "I learned it from you."
He'd smile and his patience would kick in.
Yeah, we spent a lot of treasured time fishing together. Oh, how I wish we still could. Dad took the high trail three years ago. I miss him a lot. Fortunately, I have my wonderful memories of our times together and he gave me my greatest virtue... "patience."

From Gavin's Pen and Camera. Back Country. On a quiet back country road in New Zealand, I come across an old woolshed. I...
05/09/2021

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.

Back Country.

On a quiet back country road in New Zealand, I come across an old woolshed. It is small, maybe just two stands. A stand refers to the number of shearing machines in the shed.
In days gone by, the sheep would have been clipped using hand shears. Back breaking work. Those who chose to work at this were some of the hardest workers you would ever find. You wouldn't hear any complaints though.
At least once and oftentimes, twice a year, the sheep would be mustered and brought to the woolshed. They would be shorn and checked out for health issues and then returned to the pasture.
The muster is usually performed from horseback. Each shepherd would have a couple of dogs to help with the muster. I would often watch the process. I was envious of these men, riding their horses and getting to see some of the most stunning countryside you could ever lay your eyes on.
Yep... the work was hard and the days, long and demanding. When the work was done, a few beers would be had. Stories shared beside a fire from musters gone by would fill your mind with wonder. Food would be prepared and cooked and sometimes, a dance held to celebrate the the end of the work.
The New Zealand woolsheds are icon upon the landscape just as the American barns. The work carried out within can never be automated. Sure, improvements can and will be made like shearing machines taking over from the hand clippers, but the work will always require the human factor.
The woolshed will forever be a favorite of mine. They are a big part of life in New Zealand and our heritage.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera. From the "In my mind's eye," series. Jacob's Homecoming. A sequel to, "Jacob's Letter."I pu...
04/11/2021

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.
From the "In my mind's eye," series.

Jacob's Homecoming.

A sequel to, "Jacob's Letter."

I pulled up near a small cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains, that had been long ago abandoned. As I stood there looking at it, I can't help thinking that it has a story to tell.
In my mind's eye, I hear whistling. I look around and see a young man walking toward the cabin. The door of the cabin bursts open.
"Oh, Jacob, you're home!" Says a woman as she runs toward the young man.
"Yes, Momma... forever." He replied.
Thank God son. I have prayed for this every day since I got your letter. I was thinking the worst. I thought you might never come home." She said as she stood back to look at Jacob.
"It was horrible Momma. I ain't never picking up a gun again... never ever." He replied.
"That, I can understand son."
They hugged again.
"Where did you get that fishing pole son?" She asked.
Well, I have been working my way home for three weeks now Momma. I left Appomattox Courthouse and just started a walking. I had to do some work for folks along the way so I could eat. At one of those places, a kindly old gent give it to me so I could catch fish and eat them on the way home." He answered.
"Oh, Jacob. I am just so glad you're home. Come on, let's go in and I will fix some food for you. You must be tired and hungry." She said.
I sure am hungry and I could sleep for a week."
I smiled as they walked into the cabin.
"Welcome home Jacob." I said as I walked back to my car.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.Jacob's Letter.Dear MommaI woke up this morning and the birds, they was a singing. The fie...
04/09/2021

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.

Jacob's Letter.

Dear Momma
I woke up this morning and the birds, they was a singing. The fields here at Gettysburg, they was quiet as the Blue Ridge Mountains when the sun goes down. For a moment, I thought I was home Momma... home with you.
I wasn't though. I was here on these bloody fields. Yesterday there was a full blown war going on. It was so terrible. Men was dying all around and the smoke was thick as the mist in the mountain valleys. The wounded was a crying and calling for help. It was more than any man should have to see.
I sobbed myself to sleep and hoped it was all a dream. No Momma, it were no dream. It was a nightmare.
I pray to God I am still alive when you get this letter Momma. I hope he hears my prayers.
With God's grace I hope to be home soon so I can feel the Blue Ridge under my feet and the sun warm on my face, the birds a singing like they is right now in this town of Gettysburg.
This war is such an uncivilized war Momma. Cruel and very uncivilized indeed.
I must go now Momma. Give my love to Dad and my sisters please.

Love, Jacob.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera. Welcome Home.Sunday morning front porch high upon a ridge of blue... oh, the peace that sur...
02/28/2021

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.

Welcome Home.

Sunday morning front porch high upon a ridge of blue... oh, the peace that surrounds me.
A thousand voices singing, "How great thou art," rising from the mist filled valleys below as congregations give thanks.
A place that from my front porch, I see where God has used his paint brush on every leaf, on every blade of grass and upon every bloom of the wild flowers.
A place where folks are welcoming and quick with a smile, a place where the wild animals roam, where rivers run deep and cool and trout fill the pools at the foot of cascading waterfalls.
Where birds come to sing from high in the trees and the skies while upon the wing.
Where from a Sunday evening front porch, I whisper to God, "how great thou art," and where Mother Nature whispers "welcome home," back to me.

From Gavin's Pen and Lisa Raphael's Camera. Old Henry's Typewriter. As I wandered down a quiet village road, I came to a...
01/24/2021

From Gavin's Pen and Lisa Raphael's Camera.

Old Henry's Typewriter.

As I wandered down a quiet village road, I came to an old barn with a lean to attached. Unassuming and beginning to show signs of age, I took my camera and began taking some photos. I noticed broken windows and missing weather boards. Some would say it was an eyesore but not me... not at all. While time had taken a toll on the old building, I saw only the beauty that time alone had turned the old lean to into a work of art.
As I stood there taking photos, an elderly gent walked up to me.
"Good day to you." He said.
"Hello." I replied.
"I see you like Old Henry's shack." He said.
"I do. It is intriguing." I answered.
"Old Henry, he was a writer. He would spend hours here writing stories and some times, poetry too. On those long summer evenings if you walked past, you would often hear the click clack of his old Typewriter."
"Amazing." I replied.
The old man laughed and said, "You know, Old Henry was not very fast at that typing caper. No sir. He was very slow. Once he told me that his slow typing gave him time to savor each word. Let me tell you, there was a lot of savoring."
"Well, sometimes a story or a poem is a savored work of art." I replied.
"You must be a writer too." He suggested.
"Well, I try." I answered.
"Nice, well I must be off. Goodbye." Said the old man.
"Bye."
I took some more photos and I swear, as I walked away, I heard the click clack of Old Henry's Typewriter.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera Yes Indeed, Son.As silent as a sentinel, the old gate post stood there. Had done so for sixt...
08/15/2020

From Gavin's Pen and Camera
Yes Indeed, Son.

As silent as a sentinel, the old gate post stood there. Had done so for sixty years. After all those years of swinging the gate, the time had come where it was no longer needed. The fence had become overgrown by the hedge and the gate was long gone. The workmanship that had created this working wonder was a dying craft. Hand hewn and the hardware, forged in fire, you'd never see anything better.
"Whatcha gonna do with that old gate post Paw Paw?" Asked Ryan.
"Well my boy, we are gonna cut it off at ground level. We'll take it over to the workshop, hose it off and clean it up some." He replied.
"Why Paw Paw?"
"Because it is a fine piece of wood. You'd be hard pressed to find a nicer piece." Said Paw Paw.
"Then what?"
The old man smiled and patted Ryan on his head. "We are gonna turn that hinge pin downside up. We're gonna take it in the house and we're gonna mount it just inside the front door."
"Really... why Paw Paw?"
"Well, son. It's where I'm gonna hang my hat."
"Oh, that's a good idea Paw Paw. Can we put another hook about half way up?"
"Sure we can Ryan... but why?"
"Because that's where I wanna hang my hat?" He replied.
Paw Paw smiled. "Well son, I guess we need to take a ride to town and buy you that hat."
Ryan smiled wide and hugged his Paw Paw. "Can I get one just like yours?"
"Yes indeed son." Said the old man as he patted the boy's head.

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Matthews, NC
28105

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