Joey Ledford, Author at LikeTheDew.com

Joey Ledford is a veteran journalist, who for more than 20 years was a writer and editor for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. He also served as a writer and editor for United Press International for eight years.
Number of posts: 2
Email address: email
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Posts by Joey Ledford:

When home isn’t home anymore

by Joey Ledford | 8, Add your Comment | Jul 16, 2010

The great philosopher Mick Jagger sang it best: “What a drag it is getting old.”

One of the worst parts of the affliction the Stones’ song recalls is that not only are you putting on years, but the people you begat are getting that way as well. Or at least they are getting old enough that they don’t need the nest anymore.

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The amazing lightning bugs of Elkmont, Tenn.

by Joey Ledford | 5, Add your Comment | Jun 8, 2009

ELKMONT, Tenn. — One spectator likened it to Aunt Melba’s Christmas lights. Another described the trek through the darkness to see the show as a Halloween for adults without candy and the annoying trips up steps to knock on doors. “Woo,” said a third. “This is SOOO cool.” This magnificent display of nature is known as Elkmont’s synchronized lightning bugs. Photinus carolinus, one of 14 species of fireflies that inhabit the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, pick a two-week window each June to do their thing. Accounts differ when people are asked to describe this eerie explosion of fluorescence. From watching individual fireflies among thousands, it appeared to me that they light six consecutive times within about six seconds. Then darkness prevails for a like period before the cycle begins anew. Some felt the glow swept through the woods in a right to left wave. The phenomena appears to be […]

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Photo Journeys

Traffic Jams HIGHWAY 501 SC: April. Somewhere near Aynor. Having wrapped up a photo shoot in old Ocean Drive, we drive homeward through wind-driven coastal plain silt. Though dust devils obscure 501, a shimmering red and green mirage breaks through. But it’s no mirage. It’s remembrance. Winds subside, sands drop, and Dean’s Produce emerges next to a cornfield mown to beard-like stubble. Dean’s stand of glinting tin and yellow pine glows with honey, but the incandescent red and green jams gleam like St. Elmo’s fire. REMEMBRANCE: Oh say do you remember when grandmothers sealed jams and jellies with paraffin wax in sterilized jars? And where com Read on →

Shining a Light on Hidden Predators

During the 2015-2016 Regular Session of the General Assembly, our Georgia elected-officials are expected to vote on HB 17 – “the Hidden Predator Act.” “A BILL to be entitled an Act to amend Chapter 3 of Title 9 and Article 2 of Chapter 5 of Title 49 of the Official Code of Georgia Annotated, relating to limitations of actions and child abuse and deprivation records, respectively, so as to extend the statute of limitations for actions for childhood sexual abuse; to provide for a short title; to provide for limitations of liability for certain legal entities; to change provisions relating to tolling of limit Read on →

The Mission for March is the Marsh

Our Georgia Legislature is piddling with a piece of legislation (SB 101) they're promoting as an effort to protect the coastal marshes from pollution and predatory humans. But, what this passel of pee words means to suggest is "Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's raining." Oh, one could be charitable and accept the promoters just don't know what the word "buffer" means. Why else would they announce up front their purpose "to provide for a buffer against coastal marshlands in which certain land-disturbing activities are prohibited"? It makes sense, if it's just another example of man ranting against Read on →

Do Nothin' Till You Hear From Me

“I was wearing an orange bathrobe. She was leaning over me in a white men’s T-shirt and tiny white panties, shaking me by the shoulder. Her slender body seemed fragile, secure, childlike, with no sign of last night’s Italian excesses. Outside was not yet dawn.” As I wind down Haruki Murakami’s novel Hard-Boiled Wonderland And The End Of The World, I am deliberately slowing down my pace to savor the language and to listen to its tempo. The music is playing in the words. A friend recently told me that her son had read over eighty books in the past year. This number is Read on →

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