Wooded Paradise

When the hills of Brown county beckon you to the pie in the sky on a plate,

Come to the jewel in the crown of the Hoosier state.

There to be explored and adored from Bean Blossom to Gnaw Bone

And … If you fall in love you’re not alone.

Lookin’ for the arts or Indian lore?

Trek through the village go for a stroll,

For surely Brown County is a picnic for your soul.

Travel through a historic covered bridge

Survey meandering vines growing on a ridge.

Take a morning hike in the misty fog to a place that’s clear

There you just might see a bobcat or white-tail deer.

Discover a quaint ivy-covered cabin nestled in a secret hollow

A ribbon of smoke

An evening star lead to a trail to follow.

Sound the alarm call for a Hoosier conglomeration

Let every spirit know there is an emerald city

A magical exploration.

Come be a part of the hills and hollows, the brooks and forests, the crafts, the food, the people, the rugged countryside — Oh my!

When it’s time to leave this wooded paradise and your heart is beating in sync with a mountain dulcimer or Native American flute

Keep your map handy and your most adventurous boots.

These hills of brown are now your new roots.

— Judith Barrett Nulf, Delphi

Looking Back

Remember the day when terror struck?

When the enemy invaded our U.S.A.?

Or has it faded from our memories —

The tragedy that shook our world that day.

The loss of loved ones still lingers there

In the lives of those left behind

Those heartaches will never go away —

Nor the mem’ries of hundreds never found.

Remember how we watched with awe

We could hardly believe it was true —

Our America attacked before our very eyes

All within clear view.

Oh, the cries and screams of terror

As loved ones fell to the ground

Standing helpless we watched through tears

Thick clouds of smoke and death all around

Does it grieve our hearts for those who suffered?

Are we still on our knees today?

It could happen again if we forget —

And ignore our reason to pray.

We must never lose hope of His protection

With the freedoms as they used to be

If we stay faithful we’ll service through prayer,

A nation under God — on our knees.

— Goldie Gartin, Nashville

A Tribute to Nashville

Down in them southern hills

Trickling down from Yankeeland

Like water through a seive

Down in them southern hills of Indiana

S’where I hope to live.

You see these streets hold a promise

of enchantment that fulfills

On fluttered wings of seagulls.

These forested hills and hollows

Caress you whilst you make yourself

At home on every trail and follow.

When the evening star makes her light

Appear to give a weary soul some rest.

Up-and-early risers catch the

Morning’s bluish haze

Awakens to have another day be blessed.

This the place the gypsy spirit feels the most home

It’s in this wooded paradise alone.

As easily as a leaf to find

Romantic vagabond moments stay forever in my mind.

— Judi Nulf, Delphi

An Abbey Day

Stone walls encircle the Abbey grounds

and hold us in, not by force

but by our own agreeable sure-will

I sit, barely moving, making notes

An elderly woman is reading;

her cane beside her chair


This is the treasured place for silence;

listening only to a touch of still-voiced breeze

Circling clouds contemplate their next move;

dispatched on a journey they can not predict

Tree leaves cup upward;

toward the clouds of Puritan-white

The mind of each tree settles on its purpose;

standing rigid, anticipating the summer shower

Whenever the clouds find their fluid voice:


— Normajean MacLeod, Brown County

Written on retreat at the Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemane

Brown County residents or former residents can submit original poems to be published in Poets’ Corner by emailing them to newsroom@bcdemocrat.com or mailing to P.O. Box 277, Nashville, IN 47448.

Include your name and town of residence.