Anna Karenina … A Tale for the Times

April 2024

After a winter of reading, I am finally wrapping up the last few pages of my worn and torn copy of Anna Karenina.  Tolstoy had this uncanny ability to climb into the minds of his characters and so was able to reveal truths and ideas about life.  There are certain things about the human condition that are timeless, and that is why I so appreciate his writings.  

The story takes place in Russia in a time long past, and yet it is a story that resonates as much today as it did in the late 1800’s.  Anna is in a loveless marriage that was arranged for her at a young age.   She accepts this until one day, by chance, she meets a charming man.  They fall desperately in love with each other, but she must sacrifice everything including her child and her home to be with him. Because divorce was not a possibility at the time, she must live with the shame of being a compromised woman and a failure as a mother.  She is scorned by her acquaintances and her friends, if you want to call them that.  She feels constrained by her circumstances while her lover is able to continue living his life and doing his duties with society’s approval.  This doesn’t sit well with her, and that becomes a sticking point for the two of them.  She wants to rebel against this unfairness but does not have the means to do so.  Eventually, her societal struggle pales in comparison to her internal struggles and demons.

Yes, this was back in 19^th century Russia, when most women had very little rights no matter what country they lived in.  It’s hard to imagine that just a century ago women got the right to vote here in America.   For most of humanity and for most cultures upon the earth, women have had to accept their place as beings with less rights than men.  However, through so much hard work by so many, society began to evolve and learned to accept the idea that a woman’s strength can flourish outside the confines of home and hearth. 

We’ve come so far … or so it had seemed until recently.  Now, it seems that a woman’s ability to determine her own life is being chipped away bit by bit.  My little granddaughter turned two this month.  As I write this piece, she is intently watching my keystrokes (and occasionally adding a letter or two with her little fingers).  I wonder what the future will bring for her?  Will she have all the choices that her grandmother had?  Will there still be a world of possibilities at her fingertips?  Or, will she grow up in a world where her dreams are destined to be just that … dreams.

As the Crow Flies

April, 2024

During a recent on-line yoga class, the teacher asked us to lay silently on our mats and listen to our inner voices.  I find it hard to not be distracted at times like this.  My inner voice can be a very busy voice at times.  I’m not sure I want to hear it telling me that the laundry needs to be put in the dryer or that the electric bill is due or the front flower bed needs to be raked. For a few seconds, I can put all of this away; but then, it creeps back in. 

At times like this, I prefer to listen to the quiet sounds around me.  And this morning, the house was very silent except for the creaking of the heating pipes as the water moved through its system.  Like so many mornings lately, it has been cold, and so I feel thankful for that reassuring clinking sound that means heat is on its way.  Somewhere, I am sure there is an inner voice speaking truths, but it is hard to hear it through the layers of life and duty that surround it.

Outside, the rain is tapping with a steady drip, drip, drip that sounds almost like the tapping of a soft drum.  In the distance, the cawing of a crow signals as it sails on by.  There are a lot of negative associations with the crow family. Some people think of them as harbingers of death.  And who cannot think of that famous Raven memorialized by Poe…. Never more.  But on this rainy spring morning, as I was lying on my mat listening to the crows, I was thinking about the saying “As the Crow Flies.” It turns out that there are a lot of different theories about the origin of the phrase.  Over a century ago, Dickens used the term “straight as the crow flies” in his novel Oliver Twist so maybe his astute readers passed on the phrase.  Maybe…  Another theory is that back in the Viking days, a crow would be released from the crow’s nest in hopes that it would direct the sailors towards land. However, zoologist Luis Villazon points out that crows don’t necessarily fly in straight lines.  So, there’s that too.

Who knows where the term came from, and does it really matter?   All I do know is that I am thankful for the sound of crows outside my bedroom window.  It is Mother Nature’s way of letting us know that she is never very far away no matter where we are.  The wisdom of the crows tells us that we don’t always have to fly in the straight line that is expected.  We are free to make our own unique pattern upon the earth, if we will only listen.

For the Ya-Yas and Ya-Mas

Make New Friends, but Keep the Old ~ April, 2024

There is an old song I remember from my years as a Girl Scout that says:  Make new friends, but keep the old.  One is silver, and the other, gold.  Oddly, after so many years, I still remember the words and the tune. There is nothing like old friendships that endure the test of time and create a place where we feel cared for and understood.  That sense of belonging is intangible and yet so important. 

I feel blessed to belong to a group of daughters and mothers that we call the Yayas and Yamas.  The name originated from that book and movie about the Ya-Ya sisterhood and the importance of long-time friendships; but over the years, it has come to mean so much more. It is more than birthday celebrations, vacations in the mountains together or long lazy brunches.  It means that we’ve got each other’s back as we go through so many of life’s hurdles.  

How we met and why we remain friends is a story that needs to be put down for our own history books.  Briefly, many years ago, a group of women from many different parts of the state of Massachusetts met on the shores of the Westport River.  We landed there by chance circumstances or maybe perhaps by divine intervention. We formed a bond together around our love of food and gardening and children and not necessarily in that order. Those children are now all grown to adults.  And the babies that they went on to have …well some of them have grown up too.  Some of us have stayed close to the home turf while others have moved to different parts of the country.  We’ve lost a mother along the way, and that loss is irreplaceable, but we have also gained some new members too.

If you have a long-standing friendship, cherish that.  If you have lost touch with a kindred spirit that you once shared your soul with, rekindle that relationship if it feels right. Friendships are more than the happy times that bind us.  True friendships endure the illness and death that knocks on all of our doors.  We are not always perfect.  We have fought bitter battles together and cried bitter tears alone.  We can feel alienated at times, but we keep reaching out.  We may not always agree with each other, but at the core is a friendship which cannot be denied.  We were put together for a purpose, and that purpose my friends, is an on-going one.

In Like a Lion and Out Like One Too

 

March 29, 2024

There are still a couple of days in March to turn this around, but today’s forecast doesn’t look too promising. Wasn’t today supposed to be sunny? Ah well… The winds have been blowing for days, tossing broken branches here and there on the streets and along the wooded paths.  The story of these last remaining days of March has been rain, cold winds, rain, gray skies and more rain which translates into flooded streams and rivers, flooded streets and gardens…and cellars! 

Still, in the back yard, the rhubarb crowns are showing signs of new life.  Considering the bounty of juicy stalks it will deliver all summer, I imagine its silent prayer of thankfulness for this spring rain soaking the earth.   It will need these deep reserves for the season to come. Nature must always be prepared for the next spell of drought, and who knows when that will be.  

It’s time to shovel on the yearly dose of composted chicken manure.  As soon as the weather turns, the rhubarb will grow fast and furious. It will be at its perfect ripeness when the strawberries come along in June.  Ahh, June… your name sounds to me like a dream.

 

March Morning on Hiram Hill – the view from the porch

In the far distance, beyond the Burnt Meadow Mountains, the mighty White Mountains are showing off their splendid snowy peaks.  They are glistening and sparkling above the voluminous clouds of fog lying below.  They say that the fog eats snow, and that must be true for it seems the patches of snow on the ground are melting before our very eyes.  Soon, the morning fog will lift, leaving the panorama of mountains in full view.   Even if you are many miles away, the Whites still manage to dominate the distant horizon, and one’s eyes can’t get enough of them.  

Many people travel from across the world to climb their rocky slopes and take in their breathtaking beauty.  Over the years, many have lost their lives on these weathered rocks, and sadly this year is no exception.   It’s a hard piece of reality that a sunny March day can turn stormy and brutally cold in a flash.  An innocuous sprinkling of flakes on a light breeze can turn to wind whipped snow and bitter cold in a matter of minutes. It seems one can never be too prepared.   The fattening buds on the trees tell us that the sap of spring is on the rise, though here on Hiram Hill, we get the feeling that winter is not done with us yet.

Where Did the Winter Go?

March 19, 2024

It seems wherever you go, you might hear people saying the same thing.  “Where did the Winter go?”  We remember the snow and sleet and frosty mornings… sort of. My heating bill tells me that it really did happen, and it was as cold as any, I guess.  But, winter is in the rearview window now, and oddly I feel a kind of regret.

The snow shoes lie idly in the shed.  If they weren’t aluminum, they might be rusting away from lack of use.  The snow shovels are lolling about somewhere.  The snowblower has long been tucked away after its brief appearance for a light duty job.  The calendar says that spring is coming our way, but we can feel in the warmth of the sun that it is already here.  There may be another snow storm somewhere in our near future, but it will melt away as quickly as you can say April snow.

I’m not the biggest fan of winter, but there are some parts of it that I do cherish.  There’s nothing more comforting than sitting by the fireplace on a cold, windy night with a favorite book.  And there is something healing and energizing about walking in the forest on a brisk and sunny winter day.  It cleanses our lungs and our minds, and lets us know that we are awake and alive and thankful to be so.

There is a lot to be said about tropical breezes, and soon we will be welcoming them our way.  We will put the weary thoughts and the tools of winter to rest for a spell.  We will celebrate the warmth and renewal of the beautiful spring season, and we will rejoice in the summer’s heat.  And if any of this proves too much, we can take Mark Twain’s wise advice about New England: “If you don’t like the weather, just wait a few minutes.”  Yes, we are blessed to have all of these seasons, even the ones we call “Mud”!

March Winds

March is exhaling its last wintery gasp

Sending trees swaying and the leaves rustling

scattering across the barren ground seeking refuge

in the hedges and along the garden paths.

The sun is warm upon the face

and the buds on the trees look beyond promising,

but March is exhaling its last wintery gasp.

Taking advice from that wise man,

For it will not go gently into that dark night

Spring Is Here for a Day – February 27, 2024

The day dawned with the freshest hint of spring in the air and the birds singing in celebration. The daffodil shoots are popping up wherever the sun gives its greatest warmth.  A few seem to be thinking about the possibility of blooming in a burst of yellow hopefulness, though we know from our experience that winter is not done with us yet. They probably know this too.  Still, the longer hours of daylight can’t help but cheer the soul. 

And yet, there hangs a veil of melancholy over us.   Perhaps it is just weariness from the many cold days we have had lately. Winters are tough on so many people, especially here in New England where they are longer and colder than most. And this year, the leap year means an extra day of that.  The season starts when the cold winds of November set in, and the sky begins to display its favored shades of grey.  It continues through the waves of cold rain and even colder sleet and snow.  A few of us may be able to escape for warmer climes, but most have learned to grin and bear it.  And yes, even to embrace it for all that it is. A brisk walk in the winter forest is invigorating in a way that it can never be in the summer’s heat.  And, the way that the snow glistens when the sun comes out after a storm is, for a few moments, pure perfection on earth. But now, as winter nears its end, the snowbanks have turned to blackened slush and the sodden ground makes it hard to walk the forest paths we love.  The bird song says spring, but the trails say mud season, and that will be with us for some time.  Tomorrow will bring cold rains and temperatures that will dip below freezing.  Keep smiling, keep singing, keep writing, and keep praying for an extra dose of patience.  Spring is coming!

Life is a River

February 6, 2024

“Life is a River …. Only in the most literal sense are we born on the day we leave our mother’s womb.  In the larger, truer sense, we are born of the past – connected to its fluidity, both genetically and experientially.” Wally Lamb – I Know This Much Is True

We understand we are connected to our past, but how much does that past influence our everyday experiences?  I read the above quote on the same day that I found a list of my great-grandmother’s relatives on the FamilySearch website.  Why I was searching that day, I am not really sure except I was feeling curious about her history.  In our family legends, my mother’s grandmother Symphorose Cote was a force to be reckoned with.  She died before I got to know her, but her stories live on about how she helped raise my mom.  So, when I think of strong women in my family history, she always comes to mind.  She was born in 1881 in Fall River, Massachusetts and married my great-grandfather Joseph Beauchesne at age nineteen.  They went on to have at least fifteen children.   So many of those children went on to work in the factories along the Quequechan River. My grandfather Albert was the second born child, and so begins the family history that I am familiar with.  

When we speak of family heritage, most of us think of our grandparents and great-grandparents, but what about the scores of generations that came before them?  What hidden secrets and private turmoil lies buried beneath the layers of dust left by man?  What marvelous energy and creativity also lies buried deep within the cells of our bones?  Is our psyche something we can tap into like the oil that has been dormant for so many eons beneath our earth?  When we dig into our consciousness for insight, which voice from the past will answer?   When we pray for guidance, which distant relative will beseech on our behalf? 

I wish I had a magic lens to peer back into my past to the wilds of Canada or the Coast of France, to the isle of Ireland and so much beyond.   From what distant lands did those ancestors travel from in order to settle in those places?  Were they city dwellers or villagers? What did they look like?  Would I recognize myself in their eyes or in the lines of their faces?  So much of this, I will never know.  Much of it has been lost forever to the ravages of time.  And as we know, time waits for no one.  It marches on and leaves us all behind to gather the bits of the past as best we can.  We learn from stories told and paper remnants and yes, from the internet too.   The only thing I am sure of is that we will all one day become our future’s past.  What will we leave behind for those intrepid searchers of a history?  Will it be the jobs we worked at and the money we made or will it be something more? It is never too late to start working on that legacy. 

February 2, 2024

Groundhog Day Dawns Gray

It seems fitting that the term Groundhog Day has become synonymous with the idea of a series of unwelcome events happening over and over.  I guess we can thank Bill Murray for that. 

For the past ten days, the skies have been cloudy and gray with only a few brief glimmers of sun making their way down to earth.  With all this, it was a little surprising to learn that Punxsutawney Phil predicted that spring would come early this year.  What is not so surprising is that he did not see his shadow on this gray and gloomy day.   Add some chilly temperatures, and we have a recipe for a depressing spell of winter.  We are in the midst of what is called mid-winter, but it helps to believe that the worst is behind us.  We can appreciate those hopeful glimmers of daylight as we arise and those few more minutes of evening light on our drive home. The sun will be back shining in its glory any day now.  It never fails us, for as it has been told, “As sure as the sun rises . . .”  Although the clouds dominate the sky today and more drizzle is on the way, we know that springtime is growing closer.  “Hope springs eternal in the human breast,” Alexander Pope once wrote.   Yes, Hope is what gets us through a long New England winter.  Let’s celebrate the strength and will power that we have.  Let’s marvel at our ability to smile though the pain.  And let’s hope our dear groundhog of 2024 is right this year!

January 12, 2024

The Emerald Path

Much of this January has been a tumultuous one with back-to-back storms of wind and snow followed by rain and floods.  And we are bracing for more.   The streams and rivers are bursting at the seams, and it looks doubtful that they can hold another drop.  The only consolation is that the temperatures have been warm for this time of year; but it is January after all. Who knows what Mother Nature has up her sleeve. So, when the sun makes a dramatic appearance during a brief intermission, we have to stand up and cheer. 

The forest path is calling.  It may not be the ornate and renowned path that Dorothy took to Emerald City, but rather a hidden gem in the Freetown Forest.  It feels invigorating to walk with the crunching leaves underfoot and the healing sun touching warmly on the face.  The evergreens tower over head in their green majesty and the hollies look more vibrant than ever.  The moss along the walking path shows off its glistening emerald green cloak.  It is spongy and velvety to the touch. It is earthy and alive on this winter day.  It is in love with this strange mix of weather known as Winter; and so, I guess, should we.   

January 7, 2024

How Do I Pray Anyways These Days?

How often do we hear the words “I’ll say a prayer for you.” Over the years, my mom has suffered numerous health setbacks, and I have often been the recipient of well-wishers who say they will pray for us.  I envy their eager convictions.  I wish that I could perform a prayer with the same ease – a johnny on the spot prayer.  When I do pray, I end up feeling it is a feeble attempt to send a message to God.  I am not sure if it is even enough to deserve recognition.  

When I was young and growing up in the Catholic Church, I never felt this way.  I knew how to pray correctly.  There was a building to pray in and a bench to kneel down on to perform the rite.  There was a prayer book and often a priest to lead the prayer.  When I was home at night, I knelt by my bed and recited my memorized prayers. There was very little individual thought that went into it, and yet when I was done praying, I felt assured that I had indeed prayed.  Now, as I am older and no longer attend a formal church, I have a harder time forming a prayer.  And yet, at this stage of life, I would like to become better at praying from my heart.  I want to be authentic in my words. I want to do more than send off a message to the universe.  How do I begin a more prayerful life? I want a more spiritual life, but not necessarily a more religious one.  Is there a difference?

What does it mean to be religious?  According to Merriam-Webster, to be religious is to it is show faithful devotion to an acknowledged ultimate reality or deity.  The Cambridge version says the word religious refers to a person “believing strongly in the existence of a god or gods” which seems a much clearer definition.  Neither says anything about the devotion to a particular dogma or belief.  A religious person can be anyone who believes in God.  According to a survey conducted in 2017 by the Pew Research Center, only about 10% of Americans don’t believe in any kind of higher power or spiritual force.  The good news is that most Americans believe in a higher power, and most choose to call that higher power God. 

I was wondering if my favorite poet, Mary Oliver, had anything to say about God.  Ironically, the very first poem in her book Devotions speaks of her curiosity:

“I Wake Close to Morning”

Why do people keep asking to see

                God’s identity papers

When the darkness opening into morning

                Is more than enough?

Certainly, any god might turn away in disgust.

Think of Sheba approaching

                The kingdom of Solomon.

Do you think she had to ask,

                “Is this the place?”

Oliver says that the evening’s darkness that gives way to the morning light should be proof enough that God is here with us.  Despite the many wrongs we do to the earth and to each other every day, the sun continues to rise and bestow its heat and energy and light on us.  It is a gift.  It is always there, whether we can see it through the clouds or not.   Like God’s presence. Thank you, Mary Oliver, once again.

December 30, 2023 

I’m Counting on January

I threw the Christmas lists out this morning.  There were still a few unchecked things to be done, but there’s no sense keeping track of what I meant to buy and what I meant to do and so I tossed the list with some regret.   I’m counting on January to help me find the soul that seems to have been buried with all the doings of the December Rush.   January days can be cold and dark, but they can also be a time of rebirth as the daylight slowly comes back into our lives.  The garden is at rest and so the chores are less.  The lawnmowers and leaf blowers have finally silenced themselves for this spell, and may they rest in peace. Soon there will be snowplows plying the roads when winter decides to really come calling, as it always does.  But for today, the neighborhood is quiet except for the call of winter birds and the rustle of wind through the tall pines.

Mary Oliver, my favorite poet, once wrote: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”   In her poem “A Summer’s Day,” she was reflecting on a single grasshopper but also about so much more.  Her poems have a way of asking the reader to think about life from a different perspective.  

That’s what I am hoping for as we approach the dark days of winter.  A chance to look at life from a different perspective, as one of hope and renewal instead of dread.  Maybe we can use this time to tackle the piles of stuff that are cluttering our lives.  Less stuff gives more room for energy, and there’s something therapeutic about a trip to Goodwill or Savers…as long as we leave with a much smaller bundle than we came in with. Then, there is our artistic side that is begging to be noticed.  We all are blessed with creative genes, and they can be expressed in so many different ways. Time to take out the craft box, be it filled with needles and yarn or cloth and thread.  Maybe it has pens and inks and paper to draw on or to write.  Take out the stack of cookbooks or garden books to plan ahead or to just dream. Dust off the musical instrument.  Tackle that challenging novel. Sing your favorite songs out loud and out of tune if you must.  Write a letter just because. Practice yoga. Say a prayer. January.  Thirty-one days. So much to do and so little time.

December 28, 2023

Last of December Rush

The Christmas rush is merry
Houses and trees adorned with lights
the holly and the berries
And other earthly delights

The Christmas rush is glitter
With heaps of gifts piled under the tree
And little footsteps that patter and pitter
And the joy at what they can see

For others it is so much different
A time of quiet sadness and burdening struggle
With heaps of bills to pay and then the rent
And so many other pressing things to juggle

But as the year winds down to days
It’s worth a minute to stop and be aware
Of the blessings shining down in glorious rays
If we only take the time to notice and to care

December 15, 2023

The Winter Garden

A spring bouquet of daffodils.  Can you picture it?   A glass vase filled with a lovely yellow bunch of daffodils paired with sprigs of golden forsythia is surely one of the first great spring pleasures.  Those early days of April are brimming with the promise of good things to come. Soon, the tulips, iris, and peonies will each have their day or their week in the sun.  They all pass much too quickly, but we know we can rely on the arrival of the summer heat lovers.  The coneflowers, foxgloves, bee balm and so many more wonders are the staples of the flower arrangements that will adorn our lives over the summer months. September brings on the dahlias in their most perfect and colorful glory. Then, as the frosty days of October set in, we reluctantly put the garden to bed and plan for the next growing season. 

But, what if the fall season brought in a whole new crop of plants for our enjoyment?  What if we could extend those arrangements over the course of the whole year? That is what I have been thinking about as I glean the yard for ingredients for a winter arrangement.  Hollies seem to thrive in the understory of the great Freetown pines providing a green backdrop to the landscape, but I wish I had planted more shrubs for winter enjoyment.  I do wonder at this, but I am happy for the few that I have.  I didn’t realize when I planted the blue spruce some years ago that I would be trimming them for greenery.  So too with the Azalea, Japonica, Leucothoe, and Japanese Yew.  I always wait till the first week in December to do the trimming as their cuttings make great additions to Christmas arrangements.

The shovels and garden tools have been put away as the ground is too frosty for digging, but these dark days of autumn’s end are the perfect time to plan garden. As I walk the landscape, I make a mental note about what I can plant to add to the winter interest.  I am thankful for the little foresight that I did have in planting some Winterberry bushes.  The problem is that they are very slow growing so I would not recommend planting them from twigs as I did a few years ago.  As I grow older, the seasons seem to come and go so much more quickly than they once did.  There is an old saying that the best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago, and the second-best time is today.   If we cannot dig, we can at least plan the gardens of our imagination.

December, 2023

Remember Covid 19?

Someday, when we have some time to settle down and think about things, maybe sometime after the whirlwind of 2024 passes through, we will stop to marvel at what we had to do to get through that thing called Covid19.  Not the Covid that we have today, but the scary one. The killer one. The one that, impossibly, has taken residence in the back of my mind as a vague and distant memory.  But then again, it has been almost four years since it came to town.  I often wonder how our country survived those long days of lockdown.  Think of what nurses and doctors and other health care professionals endured during those Covid spikes.  These heroes still have not received the recognition they deserve. Something like a Congressional Medal of Honor or a year of paid leave on a tropical island seems fitting.

 I was teaching during those dark days.  A teaching day during Covid was nothing compared to a trauma center, but it did have its moments. Imagine your first day of school on a September morning looking out at a sea of masked new faces.  How would I ever learn my students’ names or recognize their faces or their voices? Sadly, the answer is that I wouldn’t for quite some time.  Too long in fact.  I remember the endless wiping down of desks and pens and other surfaces that a human hand or a breath could touch.  Nothing was safe.  My computer screen is permanently marred by the sanitizing sprays I subjected it to during those days of masked teaching because we feared a covid germ could land anywhere within six feet or possibly beyond.  

But we got through that year and the next and the next as Covid continued to mutate into a myriad of variations too hard to name or keep up with.  Thankfully, the disease took the turn towards a less deadly form. It could have been much different. For most of us now, it is just a nuisance to be avoided or to get through like a cold or the flu.  We hope it continues in this trend.  I’m not sure we have the patience to go through that kind of devastation again, but I guess in March of 2020, we thought the same. When all is said, we did endure as best we could; and in the process, we learned that we are much more resilient than we give ourselves credit for. 

December 2, 2023

Paying Homage

The sunsets come much too early as we march on towards the Winter Solstice.  There is more darkness than daylight these days, and so we come to appreciate the precious hours of sun that we do have.  It seems that we are in a race against time as our outdoor activities are often cut short by the pending darkness that looms over the afternoon.  Still, as the day goes down to dusk, we can’t help but notice that there is something dramatic about the sunset this time of year.  There are scientific reasons for this, but all we need to know is that the evening clouds rolling in on the cold air provide the perfect backdrop for the sun’s descent. 

As we watch the last of the sun’s rays break through the clouds and cast its glow on the land below, we feel that we are in the presence of greatness.  There is something about a sunset that calls people from all walks of life to stop and pay a silent homage to this spectacle that God has provided for us.  One could be by the river side, the mountain side, or the road side; it does not matter. When the sun, on its regular schedule around this earth, decides that it has had enough of the day, we feel compelled to gather and to bear witness. There are no words needed and none that could describe the moment even if we tried. Silence is the preferred language. We too might feel that we have had enough of the day’s weariness, but still, we understand that we must give the day its due homage.

 When I think of sunsets, the memory of Taps come to mind.  I can still hear the gentle sound of the bugle wafting through the canvas tent at Camp Wind-in-the-Pines when I was a Girl Scout.  No day should come to an end without a note of recognition for the gifts that it has brought.  As the dusk and darkness descend upon the land, take this moment to reflect.  The day is done, gone the sun, from the hills, from the lake, from the skies. . . All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.

November, 2023

Welcoming Winter in Our Own Way

About this time of year, a collective groan can be heard across the northern lands.  It happens when the days turn from what can be called an invigorating Fall chill to what is commonly known as downright freezing.  The groan sounds something like…… brrrrr and is accompanied by something that sounds like I…hate…winter.  Hate is such a strong word, but there are lots of reasons to hate winters in New England.  Who likes the shortened hours of daylight when so many drive to work in the dark and return home to much of the same.  And who is ready to welcome the arrival of single digit temperatures that freeze the tips of fingers and toes and nose when scraping frost from the windshield. 

I want to be cheerful about the whole winter thing.  I really do.  I want to be more like those Nordic types who celebrate winter in their Hygge style. It has been said that the Scandinavians are some of the happiest people in the world, and the cold and dark days of winter only seem to make them happier.  What can we learn from this northern culture that has been dealing with the cold for so many centuries?  Hygge (pronounced hoo-guh) is an old Norwegian term derived from “hugga” which means to comfort.  Some things still translate so well. The ingredients they use to create this style are ones that are readily available like glowing candles, warm wool socks, soft flannel, and a good book.  

To my eye, it seems to be about developing an appreciation for the simple things in the life around us like a walk in the cold before sunset with layers of clothes that provide protection from winter’s blast. It means a return to the warmth of shelter for a hot beverage of choice followed by a home cooked meal made from simple ingredients.  This can be a solo event or one shared with family and friends by the hearthside or by candlelight.  It is not about accumulating more things to add to our happiness but rather developing an appreciation for the things that we do have.  It is about creating a life that allows the time for awareness.  If our dream homes are not within our grasp just yet, we can create small spaces of refuge from the busy world.  We can put a plant by a window where it can absorb the morning sunshine and add some greenery to the room. Add a spot to put the cup of coffee, and a comfy place to read and reflect.  We can create spaces where we can rest and meditate on the blessings in our lives and nurture a mindfulness so needed in today’s hectic world.  Take some time to give your life the nurturance and respect it deserves.

Hygge details gleaned from The New Yorker, ”The Year of Hygge, The Danish Obsession with Getting Cozy” by Anna Altman

November 17, 2023

Putting the Garden to Bed

The afternoon sun bends much too early toward dusk these days, and the nights have been dipping into the twenties leaving a thick coating of frost in its wake.  Mid-November seems too early for winter’s chill, but there is no doubt that it is knocking on our doorstep.  Not much we can do but let it in. As I walk around the garden, I see the last few marigolds have finally succumbed to the deep frosts.  Like their more tender fellows before them, they are now black skeletons of their former selves.  There is little hope that a warming spell will revive them.

The garden has officially gone dormant for the season, and I am sorry that I did not find time to plant some late greens for salads.  I make a mental note to start some kale seedlings in late summer next year, so I can tuck them into an empty bed.  Maybe a plastic covering will help extend the season. It would be nice to have a fresh garden salad in December.  Why didn’t I think of this sooner?  I’m feeling a little lazy and neglectful about this. The gardener’s life is filled with as much regret as hope.  But regrets will soon die while hope springs eternal for the garden next year.  As I walk through the bared down landscape, I see some bushes that need pruning and perennials that should be moved to a sunnier spot.  At this point, next year’s garden is only the garden of dreams, but it is a beautiful dream to be having on such a chill November day.  The landscape is like a palate of opportunities, and that is exciting.

For now, the business is about putting the garden to rest. The dahlias and cannas are ready for storage in the cool, dark basement, the flowerpots have been scrubbed and set aside to dry in the afternoon sun, and the garden tools have made their way back to the shed for safekeeping.   There is still time to plant a few more daffodils by the roadside and a few more tulips by the doorstep before the ground officially freezes. Hopefully, the deer’s prying eyes will not spot them by the brick back steps, but I doubt it.

November 9, 2023 Turning Off the Noise

There is so much hustle and bustle in the world today, and it is hard to turn it off sometimes.  It seems that one must make a deliberate commitment to tune off the radio and the television and the internet to gain some peace.  And so, I am making a commitment to read more books.  Whether they are fiction or non-fiction, it doesn’t matter as long as they make me pause and think about certain aspects of life that need thinking upon.  The authors have spent a lot of time distilling their thoughts down to meaningful prose for their readers.  Sometimes, it is just a line or two that makes us stop and think, and that is all that is needed.  Reading more means spending less time in front of the television which seems to have a magnetic draw upon me.  It has a draw that has been more profound since those events on a January day some years ago.  I was upstairs in my office room on a hybrid teaching day.  There was a break in studies so I made my way down the stairs to grab a bite to eat.  My husband had the television on, and that is when I witnessed the most unexplainable of events.  Could those really be people propelling themselves up the Capitol walls?  What is with the smoke and angry looking crowds?  Is this some sort of mob riot?  I was confused then, and I still am.  That is why I am glued to the news.  I keep hoping that I will awake to the news that the country has returned to some sort of normality, and that the news of the day will be about how peaceful the Earth is.  News that somehow overnight, the bombs have stopped dropping overseas, our kids are free to go to school without fears of gun shots, and the country has come together to live in understanding of our differences.  I’m hopeful for news of the celebrations of life and affirmations about the beauty of what it means to be blessed with the experience of being alive. That is why the television is shut off this morning. I haven’t watched the weather report, but the patter of raindrops falling from the gutter tell me it has been raining for a while and the grey skies tell me it will rain for a while more.  I haven’t watched the news, but my gut tells me it is much of the same. A rewind of yesterday’s news and the day before, and so I am writing. There is not much a body can do but pray. These words are my prayer today.

October 28, 2023

The Ginkgo

The Ginkgo is in its full glory this last weekend in October.  I planted it in our backyard about a decade ago, and it is finally starting to live up to its majestic reputation.  It was a gift from a friend on Nantucket who owned a garden design business.  When I saw the Ginkgo in her landscaping area, it brought back memories of a nature treasure hunt that I went on at a Girl Scout camp many years before.  One of the things we had to gather was a Ginkgo leaf.  I had never heard of such a tree, but I do remember the wonderment as I looked up upon this great and majestic tree and plucked off one of its leaves.  My generous friend must have sensed my awe and handed the potted plant over to me as a gift.  I carried the baby seedling home on the steamship tucked between my legs for safety as the ferry rocked perilously back and forth.  It survived that journey home with nary a scratch, a minor feat for such a plant that has been able to survive for so many millenniums. 

According to Kew Gardens, the tree can live over 3,000 years. They have one there that was planted at the garden’s inception in 1762, and it is still thriving.  Scientists who study the plant say that it was around before the dinosaurs. Somehow, it was able to survive the extinction that inflicted so many other species.  Considering this, it is worthwhile to study what gives this plant such longevity.  As the climate crisis unfolds, it might be helpful to research its survival qualities and how it has it been able to adapt to so many changes over the ages. Sadly, the Ginkgo has recently been listed as an endangered species by the Kew researchers and others.

 I’m not a scientist, but I am a gardener and a lover of plant life. The Ginkgo leaf is considered a symbol of hope, strength and resilience, traits so important for us today. The world we share is composed of a myriad of puzzle pieces that all fit together in inexplicable ways.  My little tree is just one small piece, but sometimes all a gardener can do to help our Earth is to tend our small plot of ground with the love and care it deserves.

A Fateful Day – Wednesday, October 25, 2023

Hiram, Maine  

The day dawned with a promise for the day.  The morning mist settled in and covered the valley below in what looked like a dreamy cloudlike lake.  In the distance, the peaks of the majestic Whites hovered above the morning fog. As the sun rose and the fog lifted, the day that God made looked to be a good one.  A sunny and warm fall day in Maine.  And it was.  Later, as the sun made it way down in the afternoon sky, the colors on the mountainside resembled a patchwork quilt of colors, with the yellows and golds of maple and poplar interspersed with green pines dotting the landscape.   God must have been kept very busy searching that celestial color palate, for that burnished gold tint on the leaves is a special touch reserved only for these last days of October. A special gift of beauty for mankind.

But in a town a few hills and valleys away, the plans that a man was making for that day were not so good. It involved a plot and a method that could only be cooked up in the most devious of minds. The basic ingredients were simple and ones commonly found.  A crowd of people gathering for a human event, and place large enough for the gathering, two things readily available in nearly every small town or big city in America, and in those places somewhere in between.  A place like Lewiston.  And the people there are common people, hard-working and good.  People who like to gather to celebrate what it means to be alive in today’s world. People enjoying a small reward after a day’s work done well.  Evening time. Time to close the school books and the computers.  Time to put down the various tools of the trade, whatever they may be, and head to town for a meal out with the family, a drink with a friend, a game of bowling with the league, or a corn-hole tournament.  American life at its finest.

Enter an angry man with a well-thought-out plan and a well-oiled gun bent on demolishing all that is good around him.   An ugly aspect of the American Dream, an ugly reminder of where we have gone wrong. We may never understand the workings of a disturbed mind or why the answer to tears of pain became bullets of destruction.  We are left here to wonder how we could have prevented this recurring nightmare, and how we can prevent the inevitable from happening again. For we know with too much surety that it will happen again.  Unless.

October 21, 2023  Autumn Reflection

Westport Writers Group ~ Friends Meeting House, Central Village, Westport, MA

Walking in the Freetown Forest yesterday, I was amazed at the magical combination of red, orange, yellow and green.  It was a cloudy day, as so many days this year have been, but that sometimes produces the best light to observe the nature around us. When the leaves turn to colors resembling a magical palate, we can say that Fall is officially here.  It has been a late Fall in coming, and for most of us that is a good thing because it gave us a chance to bask in the sun’s warming rays or work on our outdoor projects.  And who would argue with the chance to pick a fall bouquet of late bloomers.  The zinnias are now over 5 feet tall and still bursting with buds.  The dahlias that love a warmer clime are now blossoming at their loveliest.  Even the reluctant hydrangea in the shady corner by the chicken coop has given up a couple of bright blue blooms in its last-ditch effort at reproduction.

But Fall’s late arrival is also a source of concern, for the uncertain weather patterns seem to be a reflection of the topsy turvy world around us.  October 7^th dawned as the day of my birthday, but as the morning news unfolded, it would become known as the day that the tenuous peace in the world took a terrible turn for the worse.  We wonder when the fragile Earth that we all live upon can return to a state of relative calm, or if that is even possible.

There is so much chaos in our world today that it seems hard to find a sense of peace.  In yoga practice recently, I learned that if we want to bring peace to the outside world, we must first find peace within ourselves. It seemed so true at that quiet and reflective moment, but how do we find that inner peace as we move about in our often-confusing and busy world?  Is it possible that one sole person can help bring about a more peaceful world?  What can we do today to help effect that change?  Holocaust survivor and author Elie Wiesel once said “I write to understand as much as to be understood.”  How true are his words. I do know that writing can often help us make sense of the unexplainable.  It did for him and it can for us; and so, these are my words, meager but true.

October 14, 2023 ~ Freetown, MA

Thankful for This Place on Earth

I am feeling blessed on this October morning.  Those of us fortunate to live in New England know that the turning of the leaves from green to hues of gold and red is something glorious to behold.  The birds are busy chirping outside the room where I write in the early morning light. Maybe they are traveling birds telling their fellows that they want to stick around and enjoy this place tucked near the Atlantic coastline for just another fine day.  Maybe they are the local birds singing praises of this land they call home.

I am also feeling a little guilty this morning.  I didn’t wake up to the terrifying sound of bombs dropping on my hometown or on my home.  I didn’t hear the wailing sound of children crying for their parents either.  Like the birds, I am safely tucked in my nest far from the maddening destruction.  And yet, in today’s world of media reports, we all somehow feel close.  We try to sympathize in our most feeble of ways. We are thankful for our places of birth, a decision we had no choice over if we really think about it.   We were born to our place on earth and to our parents, whether it was by the hand of God or the twist of fate or perhaps some combination of both.  Nevertheless, we are so lucky to be living in this country called America.

For years, I taught my students about The Holocaust through Elie Wiesel’s memoir Night. Some might think the story is too graphic and too disturbing for teenagers to read.  And yet, I never had a student complain about the book.  I explained that if a young person like Elie could live through those horrors, then we should have the courage to read about the story he wrote for us. They understood that this was a story of a history that needed to be told and that needed to be heard.  Elie had the gift of looking back at his teenage self with honesty and self-reflection.  He lived through terrors that many of us cannot even fathom.  His is a tale of unspeakable loss, but it is also one of hope because despite his traumatic childhood, he journeyed on to become a father, educator, author, and Noble Peace Prize recipient.   

 It took Elie years to write his story because the brutality that he endured and the pain of losing so many loved ones was something he did not know if he could put into words.  And yet he found the courage, and his words have touched so many lives.   He wrote because he hoped that shining a light on the horrors he witnessed could somehow prevent them from happening again.  Sadly, the things he described are like many of the stories we are hearing on today’s news.  I taught my students that The Holocaust should always be spelled with capital letters because it was a one-time event.  There have been many holocausts over the years in many places, but none that measured up to that horrific one.  As things unfold in the Middle East, my hope is that this remains true.  Never again.

October 5, 2023

The Little Engine That Could

For most of my life, I thought that the hero of this story was a male engine. In all the times that I read this book to my children, and in all the times that this book was read to me by my children, I guess I glazed over the reference to the little blue engine as a she.  

 I do have to admit I am sometimes a distracted reader.  I guess this comes from a mother’s amazing ability to multi-task.  We could be reading a story book to our captive audience while simultaneously spinning details in our mind for our other role as event planner.  What will I make for supper tonight?  Are there enough clean clothes for tomorrow?  Did I put the milk back in the fridge?  All the while, that little blue engine is trying its best to pull its impossible load up that hill. 

It wasn’t until I was reading to my granddaughter that the weight of it all hit me.  I even texted my daughter “The Little Engine That Could is a girl!”  The story starts with a little red engine that breaks down while on an important mission.  Her destination is the other side of the mountain where the boys and girls are waiting for her cargo of wonderful things like stuffed animals and dolls and other good things like fresh milk and greens.  She even has some candy and lollipops for treats.  Important things for children anywhere and everywhere; and yet, the few trains that happen by on the tracks don’t seem to think so.  They are all run by male engines who are either too important or too tired to help. Just when things begin to seem impossible, the little blue Engine That Could comes chugging along and says that she thinks she can help Little Red.  

What message was Watty Piper trying to convey to the young girls of that generation, when women had only recently received the right to vote? A generation of young women were growing up in a new and remarkable time, when their voices and their actions could be lawfully recognized.  The book was written in 1930, but perhaps its message is as important today as it was then. It encourages “Ladies, even when things seem impossible, you got this!”  At the end, the Little Blue Engine’s chant changes from “I think I can” to “I thought I could.”  Climbing that mountain while helping others along the way is something she knew she could do all along.  She just needed the chance to prove it to herself.

Sept 25, 2023

Rain, Rain and More Rain

Day three of rain dawned under a bank of low hanging clouds.  Last week brought days of rain from tropical storm Lee followed by a few short-lived glorious days of sunshine. This week brings more grey skies from the remnants of Ophelia.  We are thankful to avoid a full-blown storm, but we still wonder how the drenched Southcoast soil can absorb one more drop of rain.  How can the garden thrive under this constant downpour of rain?  How can it muster the photosynthesis needed to survive these dreary sunless days?  I did manage to gather a bouquet of zinnias and dahlias amidst the raindrops.  The garden looked fabulous in its green and luscious state.  I think it is making a secret bargain with Mother Nature.  Yes, I will trade more of your tropical rain for the chance to stay alive and thrive in these last days of September.   I have found this summer that the garden loves the rain more than it does the drought.  I’ve dumped countless saucers of water from underneath the rosemary and lavender and basil pots. My Mediterranean beauties, don’t you love basking on a sandy sun filled slope?  My guess is that they can survive on clouds and rain for much longer than we might think possible.  They seem thankful for the chance to live for another day.  I guess they can sense, as we all can, that Fall is really here, and that October’s chill is just around the corner.  September’s garden … making the best of it.   A lesson for all of us. 

September 23, 2023  ~ Sacred Spaces

Joseph Campbell once wrote, “You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don’t know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don’t know who your friends are, you don’t know what you owe anybody, you don’t know what anybody owes to you. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation. At first you may find that nothing happens there. But if you have a sacred place and use it, something eventually will happen.” ~ The Power of Myth

What does it feel like to be totally immersed in one’s art, so much so that we forget where we are for a moment.  This is what Campbell describes so eloquently.  My wish is for everyone to have that experience of “moment.”  A time where one can be suspended in the space of just being. A place where the cell phone and our constant duties are not pinging at us at a mad rate.  A sense that the thoughts and feelings are yours to own without judgement.  A freedom to bring forth “what you are and what you might be.”  Now that the busyness of summer is passing and the whole of the Autumn season is before us, may there be many blessed hours in that sacred space that you call your own.

September 21, 2023

Two women

Two communities

Two different lives with one tragic commonality    

In my cabin home in Hiram, Maine, and in my hometown in Freetown, Massachusetts, two women’s lives were cut short this week by the unthinkable act of murder.  Two women severed from their busy lives as mothers, daughters, sisters and friends.  The mundane tasks of doing laundry and cooking abruptly put to a stop and along with it the joys of seeing the freshly washed laundry piled high and the pungent smell of fresh tomato sauce simmering in the pan.  We might not enjoy the prospect of a heap of dirty laundry piled on the cellar floor, but who would want to be deprived of the joys of delivering piles of clean clothes to our loved ones.  And we might not relish the idea of preparing yet another evening meal after a busy day of work, but who would want this duty, this human right, yanked away from us by the hand of an angry and unreasonable man.  A man perhaps jealous of his partner’s accomplishments.  A man angry perhaps with the lack of his own and bent on destructive revenge.  Why didn’t they leave, we wonder as we gaze at the beautiful picture of the deceased one.  So young and with so much life to live.  But stay they did and stay will many more.  I never lived through this severe type of abuse, but I did live with abuse and I did stay much longer than I should have.  I was 18 and so young back then. I buried the embarrassment deep inside for so long, I sometimes forget it ever happened.  Then a newspaper account like the one I read this week brings the haunting reality back to me of the beating, the bruises, and the lies to cover it up.  And I stayed because it was my fault for questioning circumstances that needed to be questioned.  But unfortunately, the manipulator is always much craftier than the victim.  It took a friend to wake me up and give me the courage to say ‘no more.’  I was able to walk away, but not everyone is so lucky.  I wonder if these women had also gotten the courage to say ‘no more.’  I wonder if those were the last words that they were able to speak.  I feel that I must speak for them now.    You were beautiful in your own special way.  You are still beautiful in your after life.  Your story mattered.  Your story still matters.  You will be remembered.  Rest in peace.

Rhubarb ~ September 9, 2023

Rhubarb means summer.  When I taste it, I am not focused on how tart it is or if it needs more sugar.  I want to taste its full tanginess – the kind that make the glands on the side of your tongue tingle.  It reminds me of childhood summers, picking a stalk and dunking it in sugar.  Imagine a mother giving her child a cup of sugar, but that was how much was needed to tame the tartness to a child’s liking.  It also kept us busy of a summer’s afternoon, finding just the right size stalk amongst the bees and the brambles, then peeling off strands of tough tendrils of fiber to get to the core, so crisp and yet tender. It seems with rhubarb that people either love it or they don’t.  I think it could have something to do with the stuff of memories and the feelings evoked. Rhubarb means long days of summer where we made up outdoor games to pass the time, making mazes out of long garden hoses and following the trail back “home.”  I know a thing or two about labyrinths like the one about Daedalus and his son Icarus or the ones I have followed, kindly laid out in various spots near and far for the passing traveler.  But the best perhaps was that garden hose variety which later in the day became a sprinkler to cool the sun weary.  We never wore sunscreen in those days, but we were wise enough to know that the heat of the noon hour was no time to have a ball game.  It was evenings, after the supper hour, that the neighborhood came together in the field at our house to play a game of kick the ball.  As the sun went down, dusk and the whine of mosquitos put an end to a summer’s day in Westport.  And now, after so many years, just the thought of rhubarb still sets my mouth tingling.

Fallow Fields ~ September 7, 2023

There is much to be said about a piece of land that has been left to nature and her mysterious workings. It can become a haven for insects and birds and other wildlife.  It can also become a place where weary man can rest his eyes and take in the beauty of a stretch of undisturbed landscape.  Henry David Thoreau wrote about this feeling best.  Before he built his cabin in Concord, he often imagined what it would like to homestead a piece of land.  As he surveyed the surrounding countryside on his travels about, one of his favorite activities was to imagine what it would be like to have an orchard, woodlot or pasture on a particular piece of land. He pondered how he could use it to his own advantage. He wrote in Walden that an afternoon of thought would suffice for this activity because he felt best to let it lie fallow.  Thus, he came up with one of his most famous lines, “for a man is rich in proportion to the number of things which he can afford to let alone.” chapter 2

He captured such an important feeling, and one that many can identify with when driving through the back roads of New England.  Some might look at open land and think of house lots and solar farms and the profits that can be made there.  Certainly, there is a need for both of those.  People need places to live and new energy sources for sure.  But this must be weighed against that other basic need which is letting nature thrive in its simplicity.  It too has needs and wants upon this earth, though it seems that is getting harder and harder for it to do.  When I see a field grown heavy with grasses, Queen’s Anne’s Lace and goldenrod, I have to stop and pause to give a prayer of thankfulness to the owners of such land.  They may not know of the many admiring passersby who pause to soak in the beauty, and they many never receive a letter of profuse appreciation, but they have done this earth and this passerby a favor beyond words.

September 4, 2023 Labor Day

This is in praise of Labor Day, or should we call it UnLabor Day?  It is a holiday that should be free from the demands of our working life, a day when one is free to explore the concept of free time.  I’ve been thinking about that term “free time” lately.  It seems that man is the only creature that requires free time. Is it even possible to have a moment of free time?  Even if we are sitting in our chair doing nothing and enjoying what appears to be free time, our minds are usually busy with the thoughts of the day. If we doze off, our bodies are busy regenerating cells while our dreams are working out details of life that we might not be aware of.

When we think about it, where on our earth do we find other creatures spending time that is free from all constraints. Every animal down to the tiniest insect is busy with its duty every single second.  Looking beyond earth, even the planets in our solar system don’t have a free moment as they are constantly keeping the alignment that make life possible here on earth.  

It seems that man is the only being that needs a day off from the regular work cycle.  Perhaps that is because of the separation of our work from our regular lives on the home front; and for many, the work life is more consuming of our intellect and our energy than our home duties.   This is something that became more apparent to me once I retired. Our jobs demand more and more of us until we reach the point of exhaustion. It is no wonder that we have a special day created by our work to give us a break from it. 

What can be done to remedy this?  Can our work spaces be made more enjoyable and more beautiful to the eye?  Could we design buildings that feature windows that let in natural sunlight and that open to circulate fresh air?  The importance of this became more understood during the pandemic when opening a window in a work place became more necessity than luxury. How about including different plantings that appeal to our senses and lift our spirits with their healing properties?  Every public space should include shaded areas to sit and converse while enjoying a coffee or informal lunch.  The use of natural materials should also be encouraged when possible.  If we source local materials and workers, we will be giving our communities a boost.  Could we employ local artistry such as paintings, photography, and other craftwork to add the creative touch that can make a stark building seem more homelike and welcoming? There is hope for our work/life balance if we create more welcoming work environments by taking the best ideas of the past and welcoming them into the future.

Saturday, September 2, 2023

Feeling Blessed

Feeling blessed to be alive on this splendid Saturday morning here in New England. I’m thankful that everyone who worked so hard all summer will get this glorious Labor Day weekend to relax and recoup.  After weeks of rain and mist and fog, the sun is dazzling its way up above the tall pines and casting some much-needed sunshine on the tomatoes, basil and eggplants.  I can sense their thankfulness too.  The dahlias, which were a favorite nibble of deer and other critters all summer, have risen up and are bursting with flower buds.  The dew is heavy on the lush green grass which has been saying thank you to the rains all summer. The day is promising to be a warm one.  Just perfect. A day like today can make the snows and cold winds of winter somehow seem all worthwhile. A Saturday September morning … Nothing compares…. Nothing compares…to you

Friday, September 1, 2023

Where Did the Summer Go?

The calendar says there are three more weeks of summer, but as Labor Day weekend approaches, we know that the lazy, hazy days of summer are just about over.  As I walked around the garden this morning, I had a feeling I should call it the Garden of Good Intentions.  There are still so many unfinished projects.  Perhaps that is also a fitting label for this passing of summer.  As the days grow shorter, there comes a certain realization that there are not enough hours in the day to live the life we wish.  Along with this comes a certain anxiety to get out and enjoy all things summer before the moments pass us.   One last barefoot walk on the beach as the dazzling sun goes down in hues of orange, one more time to dine outdoors under a canopy of summer foliage, one more lazy bask in the late afternoon sun. 

We look at the calendar days ahead and wonder when we can make some of this happen.  The clock ticks along to the beat of the insect hum.  Those busy insects are in full gear now singing a swan song in their raucous way. I swear I heard a cricket chirping under the kitchen cabinet while doing dishes last night.   Their songs signal that summer is coming to a close, and all of nature’s wildlife is responding in same.  The hummingbirds seem to be flying about at a record clip gathering those last bits of nectar, and the squirrels are prancing about on the tree branches waiting for the first acorns to fall. Early this morning, I was awoken by two roosters crowing in two-part harmony, one high and one low. They roost in different parts of the neighborhood, but they found each other in the dead of night.  Perhaps one was seeking confirmation from its fellow about the demise of summer.  Last night the temps dipped into the low fifties sending a chill through the open window.  Soon the windows will be shut, locking out the sounds of the night.  Those night noises can be annoying, for sure, but they are also an affirmation that nature and its sentinels are always standing guard.

August, 2023

Where Does Inspiration Come From?

Inspiration is something that we feel deep down inside of us. We cannot touch it, but we can feel its presence.  It is a miraculous combination of the body and mind with an agreement that the body will follow along with what the mind conceives.  The inspiration could be to create something be it a painting, a song, a garden plot, a writing piece or just about anything.   Sometimes inspiration springs upon us unexpectedly, and that is a blessing. We could be driving in the car and a certain sight or a song strikes a chord, giving a flash of inspiration.  We think, when we get the chance, we are going to do something with that.  But our lives are busy, and the inspiration once so clear becomes something more intangible as the moments move on.  That is the thing about inspiration. It is often fleeting, and so we must carve out pockets of time to let it grow.  It might just be a tiny seed of an idea, but who knows what marvels can be unleashed if we allow it to pull us along to unknown and uncharted places.

While pondering this one recent morning, I decided to poll a group of friends on their ideas about inspiration. While I was hoping for some clarification on the internal mechanics involved, I was surprised to see that many attributed their inspiration to sources outside of their own consciousness.   Many thought that inspiration comes from family members such as parents, spouses, and children while others credited their long-time friendships. 

There are many influencers in today’s society; but when it comes to true inspiration, it seems that the people in our own lives are the ones we want to follow most.  We know about their daily struggles and admire them for the strength and ability they have to rise above it all. As one person noted, our inspirers “come together for us in times of need and can help us rise when we feel we are sinking.”  This is something that reading an Instagram post cannot do.   As another noted, “an inspiring person can help create inspiration within oneself” especially if that person had hope in us.  That is why it is important to surround ourselves with people who believe in us.  People that we can show our vulnerabilities to and share our difficulties with. The community we create around us shares “our common bond of love and our history” and will make time for us despite their busy lives.  It is our own family and the family of friends that we create that can help “spread the seeds of growth and knowledge and help us in ways we are not aware of at the time.” 

Another area where people found inspiration is through tapping into the spiritual element of their lives whether it be through God or through nature. One person credited her mom’s faith in God and her generous spirit for inspiring her to be more like her, showing the incredible power of a good example. She also looked to passages in the Psalms that offer God’s strength in times of trouble. She found this helped to uplift her and help her overcome fears when things get tough.

Some noted that they found inspiration in witnessing nature and her cycles, whether it be the oceans, forests and swamps or in “animals and the way things grow and work together symbiotically.”    Others credited their gardens or the green oases they have created within their own homes.  Music and the arts were another source cited.   While talented artists and musicians can sometimes make us feel “like mere pebbles to the rocks that surround us,” we cannot give in to that internal negative drone that tells us we are not enough.  Rather, we should use others’ achievements to complement our own.  One friend found that photos and paintings of nature such as sun rises over water and certain colors of flowers can have “a profound visceral calming effect” on her, thus inspiring her to want to create something calming and beautiful for herself.

Sometimes, as one respondent said, “Inspiration comes from the most unexpected places:  from happiness and glee to the most intense pain.”   Living through difficult times like Covid, can bring us to a better appreciation of the joys of everyday life. One person found that she had become “more intentional about telling people I loved them.”  We all experience our down times.  When our will and our drive seem lacking, one suggested that a “change can bring inspiration, even a small shift in perspective.”  It could be as simple as “a change in scenery or using a different pen or paper.” The important thing to go outside your comfort zone.

So how can we channel that inspirational flow when the well spring is a mere trickle?  It is great if you have that sacred place where inspiration can flow easily, but that is not always possible.  An early morning fog settling on the land has a surrealness that calls to our imagination and begs to be captured with the camera lens or on paper. If it is not possible to jump into the car to track the perfect image around town, then perhaps the view outside our window might prove just as mystical if we open our minds to the possibility. It could be a walk around the neighborhood after a day’s work to see how others express their individuality and creativity.  Maybe it is the way a wind chime jingles in the evening breeze or a well-placed bird house that has become a haven for wildlife.   The important thing is to capture the moment and not let it pass. Do something creative for yourself, even if it is one small thing.  Don’t let perfection be the enemy of following through on inspiration, for this is where the seeds of procrastination lie.

August 24, 2023 A Summer’s Afternoon

It’s one of those glorious lay in the hammock and reflect kind of days. 

Henry James once said “Summer afternoon – summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.”

Well, it’s a summer afternoon, and I may venture to say that it is pressing on to be a late summer afternoon as the August days creep by in a mysteriously slow but steady way.  The afternoons are still hot and the clothes still dry quickly on the line, but the early evening and its cooling effect come on sooner as the days begin to shorten.  Less daylight hours seem to coincide with less hours of production for the garden, and I might add for the writer too.  Less hours of twilight mean less hours of evening watering and walking and weeding and other luxurious acts that require some measure of daylight. 

I’m about the pull in the laundry off the line.  Four hours of August sunshine is all that is needed, but still, there is a certain scent in the air as the mid-afternoon creeps on.  It cannot be described except as the scent of ripening summer.  Like the wild cherries on the trees and the raspberries on the bushes, so too has summer ripened.  The burdening heat of the last few weeks of high summer has passed, and a few thundershowers have lit up the night skies.  There is nothing like an evening rain to perk up the grass and plants, and this year we have been blessed with so much of that.  Showers for the garden and showers to fill the soul with the beautiful essence of summer. 

Summer afternoon …. Summer afternoon – still beautiful words to behold…and smell.

August 22, 2023

Happy Birthday Dad- you would be 100 today!

Here you are reading a newspaper at the dining room table in your working clothes after a long day’s work at the Montaup Electric Plant in Somerset. It was a long ride back to Westport. Maybe, if you were lucky, that’s a glass of Miller High Life by your side. It was just one beer and a little relaxation time while the kids were busy doing something else. Hopefully, it was not too much mischief. I can spy just a bit of farmer’s tan and so this picture must be late summer. I love and miss you more each day. I think you would be proud of the gardener I’ve become.

AI and ei ei o ~ August, 2023

I’m getting kind of afraid of AI.  I don’t know a lot about artificial intelligence, but I fear it knows a lot about me.  There have been many references to it lately in various news sources, and from the sound of it, it seems like a pretty dangerous thing to be dabbling in.  But we are humans and dabble we will.

 It is said that AI can bring enormous benefits to mankind in the fields of science and medicine, and the argument can be made that the benefits might well outweigh any drawbacks.  I’m thinking that the same arguments were made about nuclear power at one time.  Enormous gains in clean energy marked by the occasional thing that can go wrong. We can ask the good people of Chernobyl to attest to that.  A half-life is a long time to abandon one’s hometown. A lifetime is even longer. That damn drawback gets us every time.

 I’m not an expert on the subject of nuclear power or AI, but I’m willing to bet that like most shiny objects, while we march forward enthralled with the glitter of a new and remarkable discovery, the beast will be preying on us from behind.  And that is perhaps my biggest worry.  That this form of created intelligence, crafted by the smartest of engineers, will soon surpass the wisest of mankind. We will seem fools at the behest of this creature that is neither man nor animal.

All of this makes me want to celebrate what is purely human even more.  The sound of birdcall in the morning hours still can set our hearts aflutter and a walk through a garden can set our minds at rest. We live in a world filled with the splendor of God’s creations, and human kind is perhaps the most remarkable. Our imperfections and limitations are what make us unique.  Our wildly varied hearts and hands and minds and the world we have created around us should be celebrated over the robotic manipulations of technology.  Our very lives as we know them depend on it.

In Praise of Weeds ~ August 18, 2023

Emerson once wrote: “What is a weed?  A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.”

All summer, I have been nursing along a weed.  It is tucked away in my backyard by the garden fence, a holdover from last year’s bountiful crop of amaranth.  Last year, I let it run riot in my vegetable garden.  It was a rainless year and a struggle year for the garden, but the amaranth grew tall and proud, and I loved it for its tenacity to overcome the drought.    I did not plant it, so it must have come tucked away in the hay mulch or maybe it blew in on a breeze.  In any case, it found favorable ground and grew in bounty.   This spring, however, there were thousands of seedlings, and so I reluctantly weeded away most of them or there would be no room for vegetables in the vegetable patch.

As weeds often do, one holdout took root in a not so ideal place near the rhubarb.  It came up in a sunny spot where I planned to plant some dahlias or a tall growing canna, but the amaranth looked so promising, I decided to let it stay. I am thankful for that weeding moment when I gave it a pass, for it has brought so much pleasure just watching it grow.

Amaranth has been around for a long time, since the days of the Incas and Mayans. Because it mostly grows as a weed, its genetic integrity has been largely maintained. How it got to my garden in Freetown is a mystery, but a welcome one especially for the chickens when I toss them the seedheads brimming with nutrients. In this age when so much has been premanufactured for us, it is inspiring to see plant life thriving without man’s intervention.  It lives on rainwater and soil nutrients, but it gives so much more than it takes. My garden wouldn’t be complete without at least one sprawling amaranth lording over the landscape.  And so I ask, What is your favorite weed?

Homage to a Friend – Five Years Have Passed

Goatskin Gloves and Lots of Love

Jodi once told me that she felt like she was going to live a long life.  She seemed so confident that she would live well into her 80’s that I accepted it as truth. She and her friend Emily and I were going to buy a big estate somewhere in the country with a wing for each of us.  We would garden and cook together, and when we tired of our togetherness, we could retreat to our private quarters. What would our families think of such a plan?  Well, the details never got that far.  What I did know is that we would have a long life together to dream our dreams and have our adventures.   I never expected anything different, but that is not what life had planned. 

Jodi was such a dreamer of big plans, and sometimes she was so eager in her imaginings, that one could not help but believe that they could somehow come true.  That was one of her amazing qualities, but she was so much more. She was a force of nature, and a rock to lean on.  She was strength and beauty and always willing to help someone in need.   I remember one particularly difficult day.  It was a day that I felt down and defeated and alone to raise my four kids.  I had to be strong somehow, but I did not feel that way when I arrived at the Greenwood house with my youngest in tow.  The girls had already gone to school, and I had a long day of landscaping work ahead of me on that late spring day.  I knew my youngest would be loved and cared by this embracing mom who had nurtured so many children in her home over the years.

As I sat kind of shell shocked on the kitchen stool by the formica island, Jodi set to work making me a cup of coffee.  She always seemed to have coffee brewing in the small aluminum pot with the glass top.  The sound and the smell of that is something I’ll never forget. Did I have a lunch she asked?  Well, no. I’ll have to grab something to eat later. How about working gloves she quizzed?  Not good ones, no.  Within minutes, a paper bag lunch was made and a pair of new goatskin gloves were pressed into my hand. The smell of the leather was new and fragrant.  They slid onto my hands with a layer of lanolin and protection.  I wondered how she could part with them so readily.  Surely she needed the gloves for her own garden work, but she could see I needed them more. You can give them back when you’re done, she assured me. I never did get to return them.  I wore them that summer of digging and weeding until they wore holes.  The gloves are long gone, but the memory remains a symbol of the love and generosity of a true friend.

The Last of July

Before I woke up this morning, while I was in a semi-dreamlike state, I briefly thought it was June.  It was such a surreal happy moment, until I really awoke and realized it was not only July but the last day of it yet.  How did we get here so fast?  

The corn in my Three Sisters Garden that was knee high on the Fourth of July now towers overhead.  New England summers are so brief, we want to plan and pack in as much summer experience as we can between our daily work load and responsibilities.  Still, we also need to stop and be aware of the beauty that is all around us. 

Here in Freetown, the birds are calling in the Mimosa tree, thankful for the summer’s rain that refreshed the landscape this weekend. The insects are in high hum and the clothes on the line seem to dry in mere minutes.  Far in the distance, the ocean waves are calling their sweet song begging us to come and dance in the waves that splash upon the shore.  I can hear them singing from this distance even as I can imagine the cool foggy mist upon my skin.  

Summer, summer, summer.  It is still in full swing, but tomorrow begins the month of August, and that raises all kinds of signal bells.  That tolling sound is a reminder to take the time to give August its due for it will soon pass like the June and July before it.  Find some time to sit alone in the garden listening to the sounds of nature and the sound of your own soul.  Remember to inhale and exhale this very moment you are in.   Stop and be aware of the beauty that is all around. Walk the neighborhood if you are not able to walk the beach. Make that cobbler with fresh fruit flowing from the produce aisle if you can’t make it to a farm stand.  Buy some pizza dough to grill and top with fresh tomatoes and basil.  Savor these salient summer moments.  And finally, bless the earth for giving us so many wonderful gifts.

July 24, 2023 Smoke Signals

The air hangs heavy on this July day, and it seems the sun is begging to come out from behind the shadowy clouds.  It is probably just an overcast day and not a cause for alarm, but the wildfires in Canada and the smokey skies in much of the country has us all on alert.  The weirdly colored sunrises and sunsets have us strangely awed and yet troubled at the same time.

Sadly, it seems that it is not just the Americas that are being affected by fires.  This week we learned the Isle of Rhodes is on fire too.  Years ago, I had the privilege of visiting that island while chaperoning a school trip.  It is hard to describe the beauty of Greece, but it is something to witness if one is so lucky.  With ancient gnarled olive trees and toppled stones everywhere you step, it is steeped in a history that remains alive in so many ways. That is what thousands of visitors were trying to witness when the fires swept across the island sending them fleeing for their lives. 

I wrote last week about the floods in Vermont and New York.  This week the torrential rains hit Nova Scotia where several people lost their lives.  It is hard to follow the news about our changing climate as we struggle to imagine the damage that floods and fires are bringing to so many communities around the world.  Here, in most of New England, we feel very blessed that the rains did not flood as much as expected.  The corn that was knee high on the fourth of July is towering overhead and the blueberries are more bountiful than ever. Nature’s coat of greenery is particularly lush this year, and hopefully it will give us some protection from possible wildfires.  But who knows what August will bring. 

July 15, 2023 Flood Watch in Effect – again

Last year during the month of July, we were bemoaning the severe drought that wreaked havoc on much of New England.  I worried at times if the plants and the planet could continue to survive such scorching heat.  I often looked to the sky for any chance of a cloud that could produce a refreshing drop of moisture.  More than once I contemplated the idea of a rain dance.  During a time of drought, one begins to understand why Native Americans performed such a ceremony to bring on the rain.  They were no strangers to the power of Mother Nature.

 This year could not be more different.  The forecast is for rain, rain and more rain. When I look to the skies, it is with the wish that the morning rain clouds will pass by without much ado and that the afternoon rain showers never materialize as predicted.  The water holes in the Freetown Forest are filled to capacity and the streams are flowing like it is spring. We have had monumental amounts of rain here in New England stretching even up to the hills of Vermont where houses and bridges have been swept away and whole towns have been decimated. And so it has been for much of the East Coast. Unprecedented is a word we keep hearing along with the term thousand-year storm.  The idea of climate change is becoming more real for everyone whether it be in the form of floods, tornados, drought or warming ocean waters.  We humans are really powerless when it comes to the forces of nature.  Or are we?  I wonder what folks a hundred years from now will think of us? 

March Holds All the Fullness

I love early March because it holds all the promise of the spring ahead.  It is usually cold enough to remind one that it is still winter, but warmed enough by the sun’s rays to energize the spirit about the days ahead.  As the sunlight lengthens the days, the long dark days of winter recede into memory, stored in a kind of dormancy.  When we step outside and a warm breeze greets the cheeks instead of a frigid blast, we know spring is on the move.  Beneath the top layer of icy crust lies the soil waiting for just the right amount of heat and light to allow it to burst forth in new life. Soon the garden beds will be covered with chickweed, bursting with the vitamins and energy my poor tired chickens are craving.  I’ll be sure leave some flowers to seed next year’s crop. I did not originally plant the chickweed, but somehow it knew that I needed it.  That is the thing about gardening.  It sometimes gives us things we did not even know we needed.   No matter the mood or the trials my poor body and spirit have endured, when I open the garden gate, I feel welcomed like I am home.  Even after twenty years of toil on this patch of ground, I still feel that I have more work to do to contribute to the earth I walk on.  Being in the garden makes me feel connected somehow to the energy of the planet.  It’s a busy place for wildlife with birds nesting in the boxes placed on the fence posts, and hummingbirds hovering amidst the Scarlet Runner beans.  It’s a welcoming place for the bees to bumble about in the lavender and monarda for it is their home perhaps more than it is mine.

 I’ve had many other gardens in my life.  One of the first was in the backyard of a trailer outside of Houston, Texas.  With two little girls in tow, I set out to dig my first patch of garden.  I was expecting the earthy soil of the New England that I was so familiar with.  What I got was a load of clay so heavy, I could hardly lift a shovelful.  It seemed more of a potter’s clay than a gardener’s loam, so much so that my experiment in forming a small bowl and baking it in the outdoor firepit was more successful that I hoped for.  Between the toddlers and the tornado that dropped snowballs, and the many life struggles, that garden never got off the ground.  I don’t remember harvesting anything of value from that small plot of Texas clay except maybe for a greater appreciation for the marvels of nature that brought together all the necessary ingredients for the remarkable clime that is purely New England and this land that is a gift to man.

February 4, 2023 Distracted by Snowflakes

Kid are Kids. They always have been and they always will be.  But it seems that it is harder to be a kid these days.  When children are young, we want to shield them from the traumas of the world as much as we are able.  But now, with the proliferation of social media and with the world seemingly falling apart at our feet, it is harder and harder to safeguard the innocence that should be every child’s right.  We’ve heard stories of first graders with restraining orders, and now we have witnessed what happened when a 6 year old brought a gun to school.   All of this leaves us to wonder where we have failed as a society.  I don’t know about every child in America, I only know about the many children I have encountered over the many years of teaching.  From what I have seen, most kids have witnessed a lot by the time they grace the halls of high school.

It can be easy for a kid to wander down the wrong path, and our current obsession with social media has not helped any.  The internet has produced a world at their fingertips. There is so much knowledge to be gained, and we know that some of it can be a good thing.  In a discussion about women’s rights, we wondered how many women had the privilege of attending college in the 1950’s.  A couple of taps on the google search engine, and a student reveals it was 1.2%.  I didn’t ask for the search, but we have our answer.   Now we can ponder how it must have felt to be a woman who wanted to go to college, but didn’t have the opportunities we have today.  Let’s talk about that.  Yes, we can learn so much from that google search engine, but the strange world of the internet can also bring so much turmoil.  Recently, a student talked about how she had to go off Instagram because she was stressing too much when she lost some of her followers.  Kids are so much more knowledgeable about worldly things than their parents ever were, and there are now so many more distractions vying for their attention.  A teacher may be waving the best lesson ever in the front of the classroom, but is it ever as good as the latest media post with all of its hype and glitter and drama? 

And yet, when the snowflakes begin to fall, all eyes still turn in wonder towards the window to watch the fat fluffy flakes flutter to the ground.  Maybe there will be an early dismissal or maybe a late night call cancelling school the next day.  Or maybe it is just the pure magic that a falling snowflake can bring.  We are all distracted for a moment by snowflakes. Some things are still the same, and I thank God for that.

January 25, 2023 – Breath Work Is Not as Easy as It Sounds

I took my first on-line breath-work class tonight.  I felt that I needed something rewarding after starting a 10-week stint as a long-term sub.  It’s only mid-week, and I’m already exhausted so the idea of a relaxing class where the only focus is on your breathing sounded enticing.   Practicing breath work can be harder than it might seem.  First, one must find a comfortable seating position.  Cross legged on the yoga mat seemed like a good idea and so began the practice of concentrating on my breathing which sounded easy, but sounds are deceiving.   The first practice calls for four long breaths in and seven out.  The trick is to take in enough air in the four inhales so you won’t find yourself gasping for breath by the seventh exhale. 

After a few false starts, I was moving in a perfect rhythm until my leg started cramping. Good thing we got to move on to nostril breathing.  The trick here is to place two fingers on your brow just above your nose.  I’m right and left challenged when it comes to verbal directions, and come to find out I’m second and third finger challenged also.  It would all be so easy if I could first remember where my second and third fingers are.  I’m not sure if I count from the pinkie or thumb and there’s no internet searching allowed.  A quick look at the instructor gives me my fingers in place, but then comes the hard part … breathing.  With fingers on the temple and right nostril blocked with thumb, the practice is one breath out and in through the left and then block the left and exhale through the right and inhale. Rinse and repeat this cycle of focused relaxing breathing.  

All of this would be so much easier if I didn’t start using this peaceful time to start planning for the next day.  The mind is a curious place when one tries to keep it still.  It is a stubborn creature really.  A few seconds of perfect rhythm and then in pops a seemingly random thought that was lurking unbeknownst in the cracks and crevices of the brain.  The thought could be about laundry or kids or coffee or just about anything.  The trick is to acknowledge it and then politely ask it to go away.  This usually works about a second or two, for thoughts and plans are what we are all about it seems.  Our minds are continually grasping at new things to think about.  Some are welcome and some not.  I did a few times try to recall my happy place when I had thoughts of the dirty laundry piling up. What would I wear tomorrow?  Isn’t it supposed to snow again?  Breath in and out. Meditation. Om.  Kids, classroom, dishes.  Om, beach walk, happy place.  Maybe I should get a dog. Phone, text, e-mail, bills.  Om…cluttered thoughts please go away.  Just let me breath in and out.  Left breath in and left out or is it right in and out?  Om…

January 15, 2023

On a high ridge in the industrial park in Freetown sits the Amazon Fulfillment Center.  The view from here is expansive on a winter’s day when you can see through the trees down past Mother’s Brook to the Taunton River.  The center is located near the Native American territory of the Wampanoags.  Once they roamed these forests and fished in these streams and river. I wonder what they would think of this industrial area where they once hunted for their few basic needs at the very source of life.  Now we have a fulfillment center that gathers our materials from far and wide.  

The building is expansive beyond words, and one can only imagine the products that reside in the huge structure.  What is it about material goods that we seem to need so many in this first part of the twenty first century?   And every year, that need seems to grow as it is fed by our own greed. Perhaps it is to fulfill the empty parts of our soul that have been crushed by the crass materialism that permeate society.  Standing on this hill, one of the highest points in Freetown, the wind blows through the few trees that remain to pay homage to their past. The road through the park is littered with man’s careless trash.    Funny that we should refer to this industrial complex as a park as the only things that seem parked here are the buildings.  Still, if you time it just right, you can capture the spectacular sun setting beyond the buildings and trees. For a moment, things are like they have always been. Listen carefully through the whistling of the winds that rise up from the lowlands and you might hear the mournful sigh of the ones who came before us.

December 23  Bomb Cyclone

“Who Has Seen the Wind” by Christina Rosetti

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

The winds are blowing gale force this morning, and the ancient Freetown pines in the back yard are bending and swaying.  They will not be broken for they have survived these winds many times before.  In a heavy gust, they bend to nearly touch the ground.  It seems like they may crack under the pressure, but they have great resiliency and so must we.  This storm, known by the unfortunate term bomb cyclone, started on the West coast, traveled through the middle country, and now is bearing down on New England with heavy rains and high winds. We have been spared the heavy snows that hit the Midwest, but we will get our share of ice tonight when the temperatures drop into the low digits.  The march to The Solstice is over, and now winter is upon us.

In the ancient Sanskrit, the word for breath or life force is called Prana, and it seems that today nature itself is taking a deep breath.  Perhaps it is exhaling some of the negative forces that have dominated our country this year. 

December 16, 2022  Material Goods

In his chapter titled “Economy”, Thoreau writes about what man has given up in his quest for more material things:

“But lo! Men have become the tools of their tools. The man who independently plucked the fruits when he was hungry is now become farmer: and he who stood under a tree for shelter, a housekeeper. We now no longer camp as for a night, but have settled down on earth and forgotten heaven. . . We have built for this world a family mansion, and for the next a family tomb.”

Thoreau lived before the days of computers and the technology that has permeated every aspect of our lives. We can all agree that they have had many positive impacts on our lives.  The information that we now have at our fingertips is just amazing to behold, and no one would deny the huge medical advances that technology has provided.   In one sense they make our lives easier, and yet in another, they add complexities beyond our imaginations. Who knows what will become of man as we cede more and more of our humanity to the calculations of machinery.  As we creep forward into this twenty-first century, there is no denying that Thoreau’s words have more value than ever for we truly have become the tool of the tool. Hopefully, Thoreau’s other warning about our mansions becoming our tomb does not ring also true.

December 15, 2022 ~ Marching Towards the Solstice

This is the day that the evening sun begins to set later bringing with it more minutes of much needed afternoon light.  The sunset has been at a standstill at 4:14 since December 9^th, but today we are making progress towards the solstice. It is hard to believe because by the calendar, we are still technically in the Fall season, but nature doesn’t follow man made rules. It seems ironic that the hours of daylight will continue to diminish until the 21^st but this is only because the sun will continue to rise later until early January.  Somehow all this evens out on the solstice.  What is important is that our precious evening light is expanding and that feels good.

December 13, 2022 ~ Restoration

Today, the day is cold but sun-filled, and that might account for the feeling of uplifting energy in the air.  The sun seems to hold enormous powers to do so many things including lifting the human spirit.  In Walden, Thoreau often pondered the amazing ability of the sun’s energy.  He noted, “the same sun which ripens my beans illumines at once a system of earth like ours.”  It is still amazing to comprehend how the sun’s light travels millions of miles to provide life sustaining light and energy to all inhabitants of the earth as well as the solar system beyond. 

Yes, the sun is a very busy multitasker indeed. Even during this darkest of seasons, it is capable of shining through our windows at that marvelous winter slant.  It touches on things that only get highlighted by winter’s light.  It warms our floorboards to the touch and sets photosynthesis into motion for the houseplants lined up by the window sill.

December 10, 2022   Darkest Days of Fall

Snowflakes have been falling on and off for the past couple of days, and for all their work we have our first dusting of white covering the ground.  The darkest days of the year are upon us as we approach the Winter Solstice.  It is worthy to note that by week’s end, the sun will begin setting a bit later so we will start to gain a minute or so of light at the end of the day.  However, the sun will continue to rise later until sometime in early January.  We look forward to the Solstice when the hours of daylight begin to overpower the darkness.  But for now, we dwell in this time of darkness when the sun peaks at its brightest sometime before noon, and we begin to feel the chill of evening as the three o’clock hour approaches.

November 2022

Thanksgiving Weekend ~ The Yin and Yang of Life

In eastern thought, these two complementary forces make up all aspects and phenomena of life.

Yin is the black part of the symbol and is conceived of as earth. It represents femaleness, darkness, passivity, and absorption. It is present in even numbers, in valleys and streams.  Yin can be described as a time of receptiveness as in winter.  Yin is the feeling of relaxation and the accepting what is – the being

Yang is the white part of the symbol and is conceived of as heaven.  It represents maleness, light, activity and penetration. It is present in odd numbers and in the mountains.  Yang is a time of activeness as in summer.  Yang is the tension and the feeling of what needs to be done – the doing.

Why is it that in American culture, there is so much more importance placed on the doing and the getting rather than acceptance of what is and enjoyment of just being present in the moment.

This weekend has me thinking about all this as Americans immerse themselves in the shopping experience of Black Friday, small business Saturday and cyber Monday.  It is all about consuming more and more at the expense of our poor planet’s resources.  New storage facilities will have to be erected in every small town and city to contain the hoard of unnecessary goods bought this Christmas season.  What a world we live in.  Most of the items were bought to make people happy.  Who doesn’t want to see a happy face on Christmas morning?  But it is often a temporary kind of happiness.  One that can not make up for the unhappiness that lies within the soul and the heart.  It will take more than a brightly wrapped package to fix that.  It is hard to come to terms with the idea that thoughtfulness might entail giving less and being more.

November Night ~ There’s a Hoot Owl Calling

I’m lying in bed after having turned off the reading light.  All is dark outside my bedroom window save for a few twinkling stars. The stillness of the night is broken by the loud hooting sound that must be a Great Horned Owl.   I wonder about this lonely owl.  Is its hoot a mating call or just a shout out into the night seeking some fellow companionship?  I think about all the people in the neighborhood who have also put out their lights for the night.  The neighborhood is dark and quiet, except for this soulful sound which echoes through the forest of stately pines and permeates through the walls of this house and every house in hooting distance.  Its sound seemingly vibrates one’s bones.  With all of the entrapments of modern life that stuff our brains with nonessentials, this instinctual sound reminds us that nature carries on despite man’s best laid plans.

November 18, 2022 Late morning sunshine

Just a few short months ago, we were reveling in the beauty and warmth of summer.  And it was a good summer here in New England.  Yes, there were many hot days, but not any that can be described as brutal.  We had a few heat waves that reached into the 90’s but never to 100.  And there were some days that were too muggy for comfort as well as those drought worries during the latter part of summer.  Despite it all, the human soul is very forgiving, and summer’s memory looms now like a sweet dream.  When it is all told, the gardens and other plant life were able to survive it all.  It seems that many crops do like hot and dry weather as can be attested by the heaping piles of pumpkins adorning the local farmstands.  Now the cold has settled in around us, and the days have grown remarkable shorter. The snowstorms have started in many parts of the west, and we know it is only a matter of time before serious snow falls around us here.  The late morning sunshine seems to be the strongest of the day, and that is the time to enjoy the best of the sun’s rays for when two o’clock comes around, the shadows of the day begin casting as the sun starts on its quick descent towards sunset.  These days call on us humans to appreciate every sun filled hour for at any moment, the grays of November are only a whim away.

September 30 – Farmstands

I love farmstands especially in the Fall.  Just viewing the brightly colored squashes and pumpkins with all their different shapes and sizes really gives my spirits a lift.   Watching a family pick out just the right pumpkin is such an age-old tradition and a simple one that I hope never goes away.  I wonder what a `visitor from another planet dropped down in Massachusetts on an early Fall day would think about all of those round orange objects on people’s doorsteps.  I’m not sure how the tradition got started, but it is a lovely one.   I was going to buy a pumpkin for the doorstep at the farmstand today, but I didn’t because I thought it was such a waste of a lovely pumpkin.  As the nights get colder, the pumpkin on the stoop starts to get mushy, and so I left the farmstand empty handed.  However,  after all this thinking about pumpkins, I have decided I am going to give in and get a pumpkin or two – for the aliens.  I just have to be better about bringing them in before the nights get too frosty.  I think I might even grow some next year for the doorstep.   If they don’t make it into pies, maybe the chickens will like them.  At least it wouldn’t be such a waste, and if all else fails, they do make some great compost.

September 28, 2022   We Are an Integral Part of the Universe

At the end of the yoga class  today, the instructor read a passage from the author Katagari about our place in the universe.  The idea is that we should try to fit our small world into the huge universe rather than the other way around.  My takeaway is that even when we are feeling down about ourselves and our abilities, we should remember that each one of us is important because we were created to be a part of the greater universe.  God willed this to happen.   We have been gifted with life and the ability to interact with something larger.  Each of God’s creations whether small or large is equally important for we are all interdependent.  Even the seemingly stoic stones and rocks have an important part in sustaining life for they contain the minerals that we are all so dependent on for life.  As humans, we can use our part to do good for the earth and humanity or we can create darkness and chaos.  Unlike so many other creations, we have been given the gift of intellect and the ability to choose. 

I have often puzzled over these words with my students when we studied Transcendentalism and especially his concepts about the “transparent eyeball.”   It was my favorite subject to teach, though I profess to know very little about the subject except what is in my heart.   That is where we all can understand that we are indeed all “part or particle of God.”  Who knows in what microscopic and undetectable particle of our bodies lies the God of all creations.  I do think Emerson was on to something in his explanation about the God force that circulates through all of us, if we take the time to notice.  Like Emerson, we may need to take a walk in nature to find more awareness.  For others, it might be a spiritual reading, religious study or other venue. All we need is a quiet place of reflection and the willingness to try to come to some understanding of the mystery of God and the universe.   This idea of the “Universal Being” is larger than our ability to comprehend, and yet we continue to try.  We can see this in the widely varied creation myths that every culture over the eons has grappled with.   There has always been that quest to understand man’s place in the great scheme of things, how we matter as a mankind, and perhaps more importantly, how we matter as individuals.

June 2022 Freetown

The long-awaited rain came in droves last night giving the earth here the good soaking it needed after weeks of scant rainfall.   June so far has been in a moderate drought.  Over the past weeks, the ground became so dry, I drove up small dusty clouds just walking the paths.  I couldn’t help but wonder how farmers were able to survive these dry spells over the years.  Morning after morning, I looked to the sky for some sign of rain. And at every nightfall I felt as defeated as the newly planted squash which seemed to be drooping in exhaustion.  But after today’s rain, they have positively perked up as has everything else in the garden.  Plants have learned to thrive in nature’s cycle of wait and growth.  In dry times, they turn away from the hot and drying sun and their leaves fold together in what seems a small prayer.  They seem to understand that this semi-dormancy is only temporary and that the rains will come and with them so will new periods of growth. Drought is something that we are so powerless over, but nature has learned to cope.  So too is it with man, for life too has its various cycles to appreciate and understand. Though it may not make the tough spells any easier to get through, we know that beauty and bounty will surely follow the harsh spells. Much more could be written about this, but for today, I am just thankful for the generosity of rain.

May 2022  Hiram Hill

Waiting on the Rain

So much depends on a raindrop. It is what makes our earth so green, so abundant, so livable.  It is easy to take rain fall for granted, until one day it doesn’t.  Then we turn to the sky and wonder if it ever will rain again. Long stretches of drought may even get us thinking about the need for a rain dance to remind mother nature of her duties in case she has somehow forgotten how to shower down on her earth below. 

This morning, the sky over the distant mountains is forming massive thunderheads, but the weather man says the rain will fall too far north or south to count for much here up on Hiram Hill.   And if it does rain, it will surely be just a passing shower like so many over the past few weeks.  Inevitably, the spring winds will kick up once again, and the clouds will follow leaving behind a few meager drops that fall far short of what the parched earth needs.

The road to the cabin is bone dry and clouds of dust kick up every time a car passes by. The flowers and trees seem bowed down and their leaves clapped together in a kind of hopeful prayer. It is amazing that they can do with so little, but survival of adversity seems to be in their DNA.  It is with a kind of patient awareness that they live through another dry day.    They seem to know that the rain will come in its own time.  It always does in Maine.  Some years in wild and profuse abundance and others in profound scarcity.

The insects and bees are humming about busily plying through the wild strawberries that have taken over the lawn.  Like them, I could find some diversion to keep busy, but I find myself sitting here on the hill just looking at the clouds forming over the mountains and wishing for the rain.