Box 3, Folder 17, Document 32

Box 3, Folder 17, Document 32

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THE OTHER DAY I went to
Six Flags Over Georgia to
see 85 littic Head Start «
dren from the Bows
nursery launched on a dag's
outing, provided by readers
who sent in contributions of
green stamps and some
money. I came away from my












first glimpse of this vast
amusement park totally



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By CELESTINE SIBLEY

charmed with its beauty and
variety.

“T's not a bit like Mooney’s
Lake used to be,” I marvelled
to photographer Bill Wilson,

_ thinking of the days when I

took my children there for a
big outing.
a ae #

A DAY OR SO before two
friends, Carolyn Becknell
Mann and Leah Logan, spoke
cosily in my presence of new

Celestine Sibley’s column
appears in The Aflanifa Con-
stitution.
places to eat in our town.
They asked Ine how I liked the
Lion’s Head and The Abbey
and I said, “Huh? What's
that?”

“You have to gel out and
see more,” Carolyn told me
firmly. ‘We're going to take
you in hand,”

And I made a resolution to
get oul more and see more
and went straight home,
flushed with righteousness
born of new resolve, changed
to my jeans and straw hat
and went blackberrying.

He Tit i

IN SPITE of what I say, I
really enioy the quiet country
pleasures. Blackberries are
Teaching their peak around
Sweet Apple settlement now
and it would be terrible to be
kiting off to Seven Flags or
Some enticing new restaurant
eating all manner of gorgeous
food when the blackberries
are hanging'there on the vine
geiling over-ripe.

Some people can pass up
blackberries, I realize. There
are those who are afraid of
snakes and those who hate
briars and even more who are
turned back by chiggers.

But I know of no pleasanter
way to pass the hours of the
sun's setting and twilight’s
settling in than in a certain
pasture down on Little River
picking berries.

The hay has been Freshly
cut and the random strands



Pe Gat OM & wee

the mowers left have turned
to gold. The summer stin has
dried them and in the drying
brought out that sweet July
fragrance that’s like none
other. In the oak trees on the
hills the July flies saw away
and down on the river bank
frogs start their late evening
symphony, punciuating it with
an occasional soft, cooling
“plop” into the water.

A mockingbird sings from
the beautiful big poplar in the
center of the pasture and car-
dinals make gentle night-com-
ing-on murmurings in the al-
ders by the stream.

IT’S EASY to reach the lit
ile berries and there are
plenty of them but the big
ones, the long blue black ones
that look as fat and tempting
as little sausages, hang way
baci. in the briars.

I always pause ™before
reaching for one of them and
then, following the example of
my neighbor Doc, T stamp on
the ground, rustle the bushes
and sing lustily,

“You can’t see snakes when
it’s this thick,” says Doc,
plunking a handful ef berries
into his bucket with a tuneful
sound. “I like to think the
snakes can’t see me either.”

ig aE

IT’S THE PROPER attitude
for a dedicated black-berrver
and it makes for a musical
outing. At one end of, the pas-
ture Doc heists a tune about
faithless lovers. At my end I
sing my favorite, “I Don’t eS
Want to Walk Without You, ort A
Baby,” meaning just the op- Lit gf
posite if any snakes are lis-
tening and in between I hear
a mumbled curse from some-
body who was briar scratched
and random slaps at mosqui-
tos and horse flies,

* % Da

IT’S NOT Six Flags, nor yet
going oul to dinner. Bul it re-
sults in fine cobbler and a few
glasses §f the prettiest jelly
you ever say.