"For me it’s shadows. Every day I walk across

the dam, I watch for my shadow marching

below me, down the hill, and some days,

when the wind is still, even across the water

and up the hill at the other end of the earthen

dam that creates Jordan Lake. In the painting

there is one small human figure surrounded

by rushing water, darkly threatening clouds,

with only a small window of blue that could

be sky but is probably water. That little

shadow is very persistent as she trudges

along. Even in a wind, she doesn’t hesitate,

pulls her hood up to protect her neck and

ears. A step at a time a great distance can

prove possible. But, oh for the courage

to believe in that shadow. I like to think

that when I’m gone, and even if storm clouds

dominate, and water boils and foams, and

wind is cruel and relentless, that my shadow–

all that is left of me and whatever words

on paper survive my death–will keep on

walking with firm steps, seeing more than

I can see now, accepting storms, even

lightning, but refusing to be dismissed,

ignored, or turned aside–something eternal

or stubborn, or so part of the nature of

things that it simply won’t let go."

- From Judy Hogan's original poem book "Shadows"

"How to tell it? I have a new friend

in the midst of my aging, when new

friends are rare. She’s a bird-watcher.

I’m a people-watcher. What I learn,

I scarcely know until I put it in my

books. Some mistrust other people

first and foremost. I attend to them

with my mind open. She talked to

my dog, and Wag listened. Wag is

tolerant now of other people but

skeptical, too. It takes time for her

to trust, but the bird-watcher turned

out to be a dog-whisperer and spoke

Wag’s language, baffling to me. Mind

over matter maybe. Wag would stop,

hesitate, and then touch her nose to

the outstretched hand. Me she pulled

in, too, to tell of the sixteen eagle

nests around our Jordan Lake. I

asked how they would have fared

during our hurricane. She said they

have favorite places to hunker down

during storms, but we had four days

of wind and rain, so she’s checking

on them. She watches for them to

fly by, way up there and catches

them in her camera the way she

caught Wag and me as we walked

toward her, both smiling, she says,"

- From Judy Hogan's original poetry book "Shadows"

"Erik Erikson said Ghandi found his

true identity when he was fifty. I

was seventy, still healthy, writing

and publishing books, teaching writers,

a small farmer with a flock of White

Rock hens, and a leader in my

community. At eighty, I take that

diversity of tasks for granted. I don’t

debate. It is a balancing act, and

my balance ability is distressed

by my age. Still, I rake and dig.

I hold onto tree branches and my

chain-link fence. I’ve said I’m

both Penelope and Odysseus. I

did have my once-in-a-lifetime

love–across the ocean, despite

the language barrier, and our

different lifestyles. We fought,

but we held on. He became one

of Homer’s shades, reduced to

shadows in the Underworld, but

still alive, still speaking and

foretelling the planet’s future if

we don’t attend to the signs. I’ll

be a shade, too, before too many

years have passed. Some of that

is beyond my control, and some

is up to me. The doctors urged

a cane four years ago, but I said

no. “I can’t farm with a cane.”

They said medicine, but I was

wary of the side-effects, the

medicine worse than the complaint.

My body heals while I sleep.

It puts me to sleep a lot. But my

aches and pains go away. I tell

them I have good telemeres.

They listen. The symptoms which

puzzled them have disappeared.

Eighty isn’t so bad if you accept

that your pace will be slower…

No, I’m not a shade yet, and life

still pulls surprises out of my

lucky grab bag. I can’t complain."

- From Judy Hogan's original poem book "Shadows"

"I was afraid my heart would rebel

and keep me from leading a workshop

on writing poetry. My friend had said

to rest more. I had things to do,

but I did stop to rest. Then six people

came to learn what I knew about

poetry. “What is a poem?” I asked.

They suggested it was condensed

words, that it was like a stream running

through the soul. I told them the

fourth grader’s understanding: “A poet

is someone who writes poetry, someone

who loves all living things.” I told

them about Homer’s Muse, about

the Old Testament prophets who

cried: “The Word of the Lord came

to me.” About how words could seem

to take off, and the deeper mind to

throw up words we weren’t expecting.

I mentioned Jacques Maritain’s hexis–

a gift we have in our unconscious

that we need to take care of and

listen to. If the poem starts in the

grocery store, make more room

in your life for the Muse. Then I

asked them to write a simple poem,

and they all did, even the librarian.

To my surprise, they all read their

new poems. They trusted me and

each other enough on very short

acquaintance. My heart behaved and

was quieted. Another unexpected gift."

- From Judy Hogan's original poem book "Shadows"

"Some see the world as a dangerous place.

I don’t. One says, “You see it as a safe place.”

I say, “No, but I see it differently. I know

there are dangers, but I’m focused on trying

to be in tune with the grain of the universe,

with the way it’s made. I follow my deep

intuition, even when it doesn’t make sense.

It makes me accident-unlikely. I may have

accidents, but usually they’re not as bad as

they could have been. So, yes, I had that flat

tire on Thursday, but it happened in my

front yard. I drove it across the road and

turned. When it was still bad, I pulled over

and stopped to look. I had a very flat right

front tire. Or I have car trouble as I pull into

a service station. I work toward peace

with my neighbors and fight for all of us

for cleaner air and water. They respect me

and protect me. I’ve never been harmed

by my neighbors, and I’ve often been

helped. You don’t need to worry about them

harming me.” I have a very different

orientation to the world. There are dangers

and evil people. If people are determined

to be my enemy, I stay away from them.

In the meantime, I try to have friendly

relations with everyone, if it’s possible. I’m

outspoken, and some people hate what I say

and can’t forgive me. One day I might be

harmed, but this way to live suits me."

- From Judy Hogan's original poetry book "Shadows"

"Resting is hard for me. I have so much

I want to do before Shadows take me

from this life. Maybe

I don’t need to be so inactive. Can

I let go fear, slow myself down but

not stop, not let fear put its claws

into my soul, my trust that, if I pay

attention, all will be well."

- From Judy Hogan's original poetry book, "Shadows"

"Beginnings are hardest. In the morning

I sit up slowly, inch my way closer

to a place to hold on, rise carefully,

balance before I walk. I make sure I don’t

go too long without eating and sleep early.

As the day waxes, my confidence returns.

I remember what I need to, see to the hens,

make notes in my diary, in which I tell

the whole story. Sometimes I start to fall,

but I catch myself. At the dam I walk

steadily, don’t fear falling. Back at

home I’m warmer, shed layers, resume

morning tasks and rituals, with enough

energy for the day. By myself I see the

years of faithful work to leave my legacy

of stories and insights alive behind me.

Among others I see their discomfort.

They don’t look at me. They forget

my place in the line-up of poets. I make

them nervous. Why? Maybe because

I look into Death’s face and am not

afraid. How does one find that

particular courage? It arrives in time

to be useful in the last years, but I

realize I’ve practiced going my own way

most of my life, since age twenty-one,

to nearly eighty-one. Not dismissing

urgencies that would keep me whole

and safe, not denying love when it

defied logic. Those who hated me? I

stayed away, and generally, they did, too.

I sometimes lose things or forget them,

but I’ve never forgotten to safeguard

my soul and keep it whole, no matter

what my circumstances are."

- From Judy Hogan's original poetry book "Shadows"

"Proust thought Time destroyed us,

those hidden memories our only

salvation. For me, Time allows

fulfillment, to come into my own,

to learn, to heal, and even to be

recognized and valued. There were

people who hated me, but they

didn’t stop me. My own body

slowed me down, reminded me

I had done well and to think of those

I love. I persuaded my friends

and my doctor to trust my way

of life, my faith in myself; to let

me continue my independent way.

My son and I learned to live

together. We lost some crops,

but harvested bushels of tomatoes.

I made spaghetti sauce and soup.

Now there are grapes to make

Muscadine jelly, pears to make

preserves. I do my work as a

writer, editor, teacher. I celebrate

Jaki, whom I first published

forty-five years ago. I will

teach poetry and story writing.

Like the moon’s slow, steady

increase of its light, I resume

my own life of work and love."

- From Judy Hogan's original poetry book "Shadows"

"I slowed down, did easy work, nothing

strenuous. The hurricane left us to mop

up and dry out. Sun came back, the better

to see the devastation. Here, where we

escaped the worst, life was almost normal

despite rivers that flowed upstream, the

milk we couldn’t buy, the flooded roads

we couldn’t pass. I wanted more work.

I made a list I’m crossing off. Something

in me wants serious work, to tell some

story more than poetry tells or my

diary. A new book then about aging

and adapting. There is more to tell

than I have admitted so far. At eighty-one,

how many women tell what it’s like,

to lose the capabilities we always assumed,

to have gates closed, but the mind still

open, still able to articulate paradox

and justice, when everything in the human

being or in the state works easily and

smoothly together, each part doing its

own work? Mine has been to write, tell

my mind’s story. I’ve written many books,

but there is still more to tell. I will."

- From Judy Hogan's original poetry book "Shadows"

"How do I describe my faithfulness to my

deepest knowledge, to what I see but

can’t easily reveal in words. I tried not

to be good as a child is good. I rebelled

against old formulas, trite words. I loved

Thoreau’s wisdom: “If I see someone

coming to do me good, I run for my life.”

I rejected that impulse to “do good.” Yet I

have always worked against evil when

I saw it blazing up in corporations, in

those fearful of rocking the boat, or who

were terrified to be seen as bad, as trouble-

makers. So I’ve been castigated, dismissed,

written off. It hasn’t been so bad. Some

tender hearts have loved me, and even

tough-spirited strangers have helped me

out. I have a few fans of my books. I

don’t need acclaim, but I do need to feel

loved and acknowledged by those I love

and trust, those who can see with clear

eyes who I am, what I care about. I’ve

been told many times that what I want

is impossible, will never happen. They

say life isn’t like that. You don’t get what

you wish for. In short, the power of evil

is too great. I don’t give up, however,

and then people love me. Things begin

to change. What my skeptics have

forgotten is the power of transformation

and what love can do when it’s unleashed,

when we see clearly, when other people’s

minds open like a book that wants to be

read. I can’t make that happen. I can’t

stop it. I can, however, give it my

gratitude and let it go to work."

- From Judy Hogan's original poetry book "Shadows"

"Milosz helped me see, at age

eighty-one, that our worship of science

and technology, our allowing a dictator

to be elected president, is killing us off.

The big electricity corporation has brought

us a present we couldn’t refuse of seven

million tons of poison. They say they’ll stop

now. They’ve done enough damage. Instead,

they’ll burn the coal ash again and kill us

faster. No one stops them. People are

getting sick. They don’t want to fight

any more. They forget: when we fight, we

love each other. We can live with our

differences. Black, white, and Hispanic;

church-goers and non-church-goers.

Andrew says, “You’ve won a victory.

Have a victory party.” Rhonda says,

“You’re defying the doctors. I predict

you’ll have a stroke.” She’s angry at her

body’s weakness, and at me, for trusting

myself and challenging doctors, our techno-

masters in a sickening world. The human

body knows how to heal itself. Instead, they

give us pills and then more pills, and the

body then is truly sick, won’t fight any more.

Milosz lived under the Nazis, under Stalin.

He fought and he survived. I, too, am

fighting, and I, too, am surviving. Love

can conquer. Give it a try."

- From Judy Hogan's original poetry book "Shadows"

"Even love has its misunderstandings.

Sometimes my son and I knock heads.

We’ve learned to let go when arguments

go nowhere. Everyone has her own world

view, her own life story, fears, and dread.

Agony is human, but so is joy. We watch

the exultant eagles join the circling vultures.

For one, it’s work-related, for another, it’s

ecstatic. When our hopes and desires

merge, worry disappears. When pain

returns, we are constrained to work free.

I write my troubles down, the better to let

them go. When they reappear, I’m

prepared. We all learn as fast as we can,

which means some more slowly than others.

A lot depends on our heritage and even

more on work we’ve already done to cope

when people hated us, when our loved ones

turned their faces away. The late years

lead to a homecoming or some call it a

home-going. We have some say-so. For

me, there are many rewards in this last

stage, which Erik Erikson called “Ego

integrity versus despair.” We find rewards

for our self-defense, our ability to listen

and give a helping hand. People we

scarcely knew turn up to help us. A young

woman wants to study me for clues to

living a benign life as a freedom-fighter.

Another woman in her middle years is

drawn to my relaxed humor. Most terrible

things draw our tears, but some that can

wrench us later make us laugh. My

doctor, as I eluded the medicines and

survived, calls me Trouble, but she’s

smiling. Another older woman says we’re

both eccentric, but a good eccentric. My

son is learning to protect garden spiders,

cherish poetry, and love my homemade bread.

I still walk without a cane, urged upon me five

years ago. Some work I’ve let go. I rest more,

but I do all I can do–gratefully. Look around:

I have students and friends. I’m cherished by

those I want to cherish me. I’m alive and writing

down what my last years are like. Already I

inherit that persistence I fore-see in my shadow

after I’m gone. She’ll be okay."

- From Judy Hogan's original poetry book "Shadows"

On Oct. 9, 2018, Lora Bradley helps Dr. Andrew Ross walk across his apartment in downtown Chapel Hill, NC. Dr. Ross was diagnosed with ALS in April 2017, and in August 2018 he decided that his ALS was bad enough that he needed around-the-clock care. Andrew now receives care mostly from Lora, employed by HomeWatch Caregivers, and due to the debilitating nature of ALS and the amount of time they spend together, Bradley and Dr. Ross have a very intimate relationship.

“We are like mother and son,” Ross says. “She takes care of me while I slowly lose control of my body.”

Dr. Ross keeps this ALS band on his wheelchair as a reminder to just take his life day-by-day. The average life expectancy for people living with ALS is three to five years, but Dr. Ross’s is especially aggressive and progressing more quickly.

“With ALS, every day is a new challenge for us, and we have to come up with innovative ways to solve whatever is coming next based on how Andrew’s body is working,” Bradley says. “He keeps me on my toes!”

Bradley often transports Ross in a big body sling when he is not strong enough to walk. He uses the sling in order to use the restroom and be lifted into his bed at night.

“ALS doesn’t stress me out,” Dr. Ross says. “The fact that I’m dying doesn’t stress me out. I can’t think about that because it seems too far out. All I know right now is that I’m waking up tomorrow and doing something, and I take each day as it comes. But I do feel like I’m living someone else’s life.”

Irene Zhu, a UNC Chapel Hill senior planning on going to school to be a physician’s assistant, walks with Dr. Ross through the floors of his apartment complex on the evening of Oct. 25.  On every floor of the apartment, the walls are filled with original art donated by residents of the building, forming a sort of gallery. Before being diagnosed with ALS, Dr. Ross was a photography professor at Radford University in Virginia, and still thoroughly appreciates art.

Most weeks, Dr. Ross receives new technology to cope with his ALS, which is why Rebecca West dropped by the apartment with a new breathing machine. Lora Bradley sasses Dr. Ross while West jokes about death.

“There are so many people going in and out of my house all the time, and I have so many caretakers. Not all of my caretakers are as great as Lora is either. I’ve had to fire some of them. Because of this, I never know where things are in my own house. So I don’t feel like this is my home anymore. I’m just living here.”

Bradley helps Dr. Ross shower every other day.

“My privacy is the thing I miss the most,” Ross says. “My whole life in all of its forms is wide open for the whole world to see. That’s what the disease has made me give up.”

Andrew Ross talks to his mother, Mary, about her recent visit with Andrew’s father on Andrew’s behalf to Radford University. Andrew felt too sick that day so didn’t go. Mary Ross shows Andrew a past photo they all took at the university together, and Dr. Ross tells his mother about the people she spent time with this time around. Mary Ross has Alzheimer’s and doesn’t remember the people she met, so Dr. Ross is very patient with her.

Mary Ross does her best to entertain her son by rubbing his feet during his monthly ALS check-up at the Duke ALS Center in on Nov. 8. She can’t do a lot for him, but still dotes on him a lot.

Mary Ross and her husband John look on concerned as a doctor attempts to figure out why Dr. Ross has been coughing so uncontrollably in the last week. Dr. Ross doesn’t believe that his lungs are getting weaker or that his ALS is the reason he is coughing, but the doctors say that it is.

Dr. Ross goes to bed at the end of the day with oxygen to help him breathe more easily and comfortably.

“At night is when I feel most helpless,” Andrew Ross says. “I don’t have the ability to move, and I don’t have my phone or computer with me, which helps me communicate. People also can’t hear me with this mask on, and my caretaker is in the other room at night. So there are a lot of things that could happen at night, but I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.”

On the evening of Sunday, Nov. 4, Anita Earls sits in the pews of Union Baptist Church in Durham, N.C among fellow N.C. democratic candidates. The Durham Committee on the Affairs of Black People invited democratic candidates they endorsed to each speak on their platforms for one minute. Anita Earls has been a civil rights attorney mostly in North Carolina for the last 30 years. She founded the Southern Coalition for Social Justice 11 years ago, and is now running to be the hundredth justice of the North Carolina Supreme Court.

“After my brother was murdered and the killer never prosecuted, I personally experienced what it means to not get your day in court,” Earls said. “If we are going to protect families and make communities safer, we need equal justice under law. People’s lives are impacted every day by the decisions that the Supreme Court makes. After 2016 in particular, I felt that the federal courts may no longer be a sympathetic avenue for civil rights claims. And state constitutions are rich and robust sources for protection of our rights. Our state Supreme Court can make a lot of decisions about things that impact their lives daily.”

A pile of abandoned voting day materials advocating for Anita Earls lays abandoned on a table at the North Carolina Democratic Party headquarters in Raleigh on election night Nov. 8.

“I became an attorney because I grew up in a mixed race family,” Earls says. “My father was black and my mom was white. When they met and fell in love in Missouri it was illegal to get married. As I was growing up, the Supreme Court decided a case that said those covenants cannot be enforced. So I overtime saw the law as a way that could be used to break down barriers. And I saw the role that lawyers could play in that. Crossing that racial divide was essential to our survival as a family, essential to my survival. And I think equally now, coming together to bridge that divide and fix our democracy is essential to our survival.”

On election day, Nov. 6, Earls sits alone in front of a food table before her “war room” party at a hotel in downtown Raleigh. The rest of her campaign staff are taking up the rest of the chairs in the suite doing work.

“I’m really nervous. I have no clue what I’m supposed to be doing right now. I have no idea how this works,” Earls says. “Am I supposed to call my opponent if I win? What is that timing like? Do I wait for her to call me? How long? What if she wins? I’m really in the dark here. I’m really not a politician.”

Anita Earls, Brenda Richardson, and Caroline Spencer, Anita’s campaign manager, laugh at a photo on Richardson’s phone of a nearby polling place in Durham. A sign at the location says, “They don’t want us to vote for Anita Earls.”

Anita Earls nervously watches the results from other state races come in on the television on election night, waiting for her own race to be called.

After Justice Barbara Jackson, Earls’ leading opponent called her and conceded, Earls, Caroline Spencer, and José Morales scream in celebration in their hotel “war room” in Raleigh, N.C.

“This is a moment I will never forget,” says Caroline Spencer, Earls’ campaign manager.

At the North Carolina Democratic Party headquarters in Raleigh, Earls is met with a vivacious crowd of supporters after her victory is announced as the 100th justice of the North Carolina Supreme Court.

Anita Earls takes the stage at the North Carolina Democratic Party headquarters as her supporters cheer below. Juju Holton and Caroline Spencer, who both worked on the campaign, shed tears and celebrate behind her.

“We have a president who believes that he can by executive order erase the 14th amendment to the U.S. constitution,” Earls says in her speech. “We have misguided misguided partisans in our state who believe they should impeach justices that don’t rule in their favor. I promise to resist partisan attacks on the judicial branch, which must remain independent and impartial in order for our democracy to succeed and thrive. Thank you for believing in the possibility that a civil rights attorney can run a state-wide campaign and win the trust of voters. Thank you for believing that you can make a difference because you have. And now, let’s move forward without fear or favor.”

Even after midnight on election night, Anita Earls doesn’t relax, despite her victory. She continues researching how undeclared races are being counted while she drinks champagne.

“In the words of Nelson Mandela, ‘After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb,’” Earls says.