I Love You, Pineola!

Pineola, I love you for the Bassetts who first gave life to you and renewed

it from generation to generation: for Stephen Elisha who framed you in his

heart and formed you in the field from tall Georgia pines.

Pineola, I love you for your hall so wide and long, with your inner depths

for memories and your outer doors for welcomes.

Pineola, I love you for your ceilings, built high for coolness in your

ante-bellum summers, but well lighted with crystal chandeliers to call all

eyes upwards in recent years.

Pineola, I love you for your closets, both the high and the low, seasoned

with your scent of cedar and your mysteries of voices from ages ago.

Pineola, I love you for your porches that,

breathing honeysuckle's sweetness,

not only opened out to your birds, your flowers, your peaches, and your

pines, but also to the lovely neighbors of Fort Valley and to the larger

community of the world.

Pineola, I love you for your children, among America's sturdy stock. You

protected them to play in the softness of your cotton and to grow with your

fields of grain. I love you for one of your girls who has meant more than

life to me.

Pineola, I love you for Paul and Delise Knight, not only for having brought

you back to life again, but also, with Simone, for having brought us back to

you, simply to tell you: "Pineola, we love you!"

Stabio, I Love You!


Russell B. Hilliard, Sr.


I love your narrow, cobblestone streets where Ticino feet have trod
for centuries to your little shops, where horses and carts have carried
loads of ripe grapes to be crushed, and where cars and trucks have edged
their way through your quaintness into modern life.

I love your "Bon Giorno," spoken forth in the warm, zestful Italian of
the Ticino, your wildflowers with their coat of many colors to welcome
your budding spring, and the briskness of your walk that beckons joy to
come along beside you for a sunny day.

I love your quiet bells that speak forth the hours of the day and
whisper the hours of the night, your double puffs that hold in close the
body warmth, keeping out the winter's cold breath, and your Swiss
soldier who stands guard over centuries of peace from your chapel hill.

I love your patios that grow plants that soar upwards towards the peak
of "Monte Generoso," that reach forth from their openings with inviting
scents, and that send out sounds that life can still be lived and sensed
to the fullest.

I love your Lake Lugano where the blue of heaven is mirrored back from
the earth, where the fingers of the snowy Alps reach down for watery
warmth, and where even on your bleakest day the ducks are happy at play.

I love your Italian "IPER Mart," with your sea of fresh fruits and
vegetables in a rainbow of colors, with your interminable breads and
cheeses extended with inviting arms in an aroma of delight, and your
ocean of Mediterranean fish, meats, and pizzas only to be exceeded by
your fifty check-out "signorinas."

I love your fireplace where red-hot embers give warmth and inspiration
for prayers together, where your "ravioli," "tortellini," hot-crusty
bread, and pizza, bring strength abundantly to boys of all ages, and
where  your "Gasoza Codoni" springs forth from your cellar to quench the
thirst of travelers from every land.

Stabio, I love you!  And I hope to see you again.


[Stabio is a village on the Swiss/Italian border. My son, Russell, Jr., and his
family own an old house in this ancient town. This border town elevates one to the heights of happiness that I have tried to describe, and even beyond!]