Carol Jean Powers Sims

Carol Jean Powers Sims, formerly of Warren, Ohio, died at her home on Friday, May 10, 2019 on BearDog Mountain, in northeast Tennessee. That’s me and I wrote this. No sterile abstract follows-giving dry statistics and miute particulars-instead, a collection of fortunate and blessed experiences, without any of the missteps.
Hawk Sims, my heart and husband, and Mercy May, my dear rescued companion, remain on our Mountain. Those who have gone before: my parents, Ralph and Eloise Powers; brother, Leonard Powers; dear friend, Mary Ann Cross; and Don Maniatis, former husband. Today’s family and friends: sister, JM Hagan; Kathy and Jerry, Rick, Nancy, Linda, VJ, Abby and Felix, Mr. Farmerman, April, Amy, David, and many others in many states.
With Irish fortitude, hard work, and perseverance, I’ve become an avid photographer, published writer, certified master gardener, sharpshooter (yes), environmentalist, and intrepid life adventurer. Loved it all! Like Monet, “I must have flowers, always and always” so my yard, vegetable garden, and fine tattoo are filled with them. Of course the wild critters, cursed and cute, dine on them nightly. Bon appetit!
My career began as Clerk and ended as Executive Assistant to the Director. (I’d rather been fishing.) Being a member of the American Red Cross Disaster Team was incredibly rewarding, serving in OH, AL, MS, and PR. Quite surprised to be welcomed into MENSA in my forties, I was inspired to earn a degree at Kent State University.
My perpetually struggling Cleveland Browns, The Ohio State Buckeyes, Hawk’s Auburn Tigers, salty Margueritas, stacks of good books, and walking through a silent wood are the best!
Thumper, my bright red ATV, carries me all over the mountain. We ride in wind, rain, and summer sun, stopping often to thank God for the privilege. Wondering about the photo? It’s recent (okay, five years) but untouched, like me. Can’t say the same for the hair.
Like Sam McGee I want to be warm, so I’ll be cremated without a dreary funeral. Heck, I’ll be soaring with the ETSU eagles for about BearDog Mountain’s tall pines, and the mountain winds will carry my spirit to places loved most.
Years’ ago, while keeping vigil beside my dying Mom, the haunting spiritual “Swing Low Sweet Chariot” kept me company throughout a long night. I prayed that chariot would swing real low, and carry her right on up to Heaven. If you’re looking for a memorial for me, maybe you could sing that Spiritual-or perhaps plant masses of blue Morning Glories come Spring.
In 1863 my young cousin, Lamont, died during a bitter cold Ohio winter. His old-fashioned obituary closes with this quaint sentiment, “He has drifted over into the Summerland.” My plans are to cross the “Rainbow Bridge” then drift over into the Summerland.
Oh, one last thing-quoting Muir, “The mountains are calling and I must go.”