There once was a woman whose house
was home to far more than one mouse
Though she bade them to leave
they ignored heartfelt pleas,
so she had no choice but to de-louse
Bold husband concocted his snares
tightly wired and placed with great care
Snap! Snap! went the traps
and that ended that.
New mousies had best be bewares!!
We turned the corner and the activity unfolded before us. Buffed and beautified tractors, decorated trailers and a variety of vehicles lined the street. Costumed people gathered in clusters and one woman practiced pulling a freshly painted metal pig.
“Careful!” someone called out, “It’s still wet under the loins!”
Everyone was getting ready for the annual Bowdoinham Days parade. As we walked past, we waved and called out compliments and greetings. As we passed one festooned “float”, a woman noticed us walking by and said to a nearby child, “Hey, Chase, why don’t you practice throwing them some candy!”
“You want to practice throwing candy at us!? Yes!” I enthused, stopping in my tracks.
Chase leapt into action. He dug his hands into a bucket of candies, then turned and threw a fistful in our direction. I kept my eyes on the trajectory of a golden package of peanut M&Ms and was rewarded as it fell right into my outstretched hand. Yes! I pumped my fist and Chase jumped up and down in delight.
“Thanks!” we called as we continued on our way, heading toward the official parade route.
As we walked, we saw more and more people lining up along the streets. Kids squealed and ran along the sidewalks, jumping up and down in excitement as they greeted their friends. Adults stopped to talk, share their news, and maybe buy a piece of prize-winning pie to support our local school. Everywhere there was such a nice buzz of positive community energy.
Finally, there was a whoop and wail from the escorting police cars, and the parade began. This parade is my favorite thing ever! It’s simply the best. Our town of slightly over 3,000 people has deep agrarian roots and a rich network of active farms. As the tractors trundled down the parade route, they threw some candy, but lots and lots of veggies. This year the choice options were red peppers, carrots and, maybe not so wisely, cherry tomatoes. They also throw marigolds and soon the route was paved with orange petals and flower heads. This year the library stepped up their game and handed out picture books to children. One local farm deviated from the veggie plan and handed out huge glowing sunflowers to spectators. (If you look carefully in the tractor pictures you’ll see flying tomatoes and red peppers!)
And then there are the beloved zucchini races. We weren’t able to stay and see them this year, but stopped by to check out the contestants.
There’s plenty more to do: a chicken run, food trucks, arts and crafts, a fundraising yard sale, lobster crate races, rubber duck racing, live music and fireworks. They were even selling jars of honey harvested from the hives installed outside the local library! It was small town unity and heart on full display, and a most welcome antidote to these divisive times.
Eventually, we walked back up to our home, smiling the whole way, picking up a few lost carrots, and enthusing about what a great morning it had been.
The next evening I made soup with our veggie prizes while the sunflower glowed in my kitchen window.
It was truly a weekend to savor.
These days, as our country mutates into something foul and ignoble, I turn to Nature again and again to find solace. Sometimes I feel almost desperate in my search for a peaceful distraction. It reminds me of the fledglings I see at our feeders in the spring, fluttering their wings insistently in a drumbeat of demand. “Feed me! Feed me!” they insist, over and over again, as the adult birds patiently tend to them. Somedays, I feel like I owe Mother Nature a big apology for my ongoing neediness. She definitely has my gratitude.
These days, I’ve also been rereading Wendell Berry’s well-known “The Peace of Wild Things.” It’s a poem I’ve turned to again and again over the years. It begins
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things…
I’m so grateful to live in a place where I’m surrounded by beauty. I’m so grateful to be a part of supportive communities.
This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Rose Cappelli at her blog, Imagine the Possibilities. This community is another place where you can find solace.
This month it was my turn to set the Inklings challenge. I suggested that we “write a love note to something or someone or some place.” I shared José A. Alcántara’s Love Note to Silence as a possible mentor, or alternatively, I suggested riffing off of one of Georgia Heard’s June Small Letters calendar prompts.
I recently encountered Alcántara’s poem in an on-line class. The first two stanzas establish the relationship between the poet and silence. Here are the last two stanzas:
But listening to you is like the shore listening to the ocean.
I’m swept clean of my detritus, my rotting organic matter,
everything tossed there by the rude and the ugly.
Here, let me grab my pen and notebook, my binoculars. Let me slip
on my coat and shoes. The sandhill cranes are passing overhead.
Let’s go to the fields at the edge of town and make some noise.
You can read the whole poem ( here).*
Inspired by Alcántara, I considered writing love notes to all sorts of things: paper, grief (really!), the great blue heron, the marsh, hummingbirds, the clock, etc. But I kept coming back to… of all things…chipmunks! They just make me happy. So I went with that.
Love note to a chipmunk
Oh, chipmunk, you harbinger of spring!
You’re the racing car of rodents,
sleek and striped,
you scamper and scurry
all rush and hurry as you zip
and zoom across and through
the tangled garden green
or dash into cracks and crevices
or scurry up a tree.
You pop up here and
there
and then appear
in yet another spot.
Always go, go, going!
Until you’re not.
Then you sit in one space
with your nuts or fruit or seeds
and your clever hands proceed
to stuff your face bit by bit by bit
until your cheeks are full–
stretched beyond belief.
You adorable greedy rascal!
You’re my dependable comic relief!
How can I not love you?
Your acrobatic antics never cease
to amuse.
Such sassy spunk and acts
of derring-do.
Ah, chipmunk,
you have a gift for lightness
amidst your serious pursuits.
An intrepid explorer,
you’re bold and brave,
finding sustenance and sweetness
in every day.
Now that summer’s fading fast away,
you’ll soon depart
to hibernate beneath the snow,
all snug in some cozy cave or den,
idling your engine
until you can brave
the first chilly days of spring.
Then once again, you’ll fling yourself
into life with impressive gusto.
Oh, sweet chipmunk,
I’ll be waiting for you.
©Molly Hogan, draft
And now here’s a little cuteness overload for you from around my home:
As a bonus, I have to include a couple of photos from David Bird, an amazing photographer who has photographed wildlife, including chipmunks, with his own created “Becorns”.
If you’re interested in seeing what the other Inklings did with this prompt, please check on the links below:
Linda @A Word Edgewise
Catherine @Reading to the Core
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Margaret @Reflections on the Teche
Heidi @my juicy little universe
Mary Lee is busy gallivanting around the globe this week.
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Margaret Simon at her blog, Reflections on the Teche, where she shares her own love note.
*Please note that there’s a typo in that on line version, but I can’t find it anywhere else. It should read “sandhill cranes” in the fourth stanza, NOT “handheld cranes”!
“What do you want to do on the last weekend before school starts?” Kurt asked me this past Saturday morning.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Let me think about it.”
This is a tougher question than it may seem. I’ve definitely felt the ratcheting up of tension over the past week–the feeling of the walls closing in and everything funneling inexorably toward the onset of the tyranny of the school year. Did I want to do something big and bold or something low-key and relaxed?
After thinking for a while, I suggested, “Why don’t we get up early tomorrow and go to Morse Mountain?”
“Sure,” Kurt said, “Why don’t we take a picnic?”
“Perfect!” I said.
Saturday was busy with errands and some family visits, but we tucked in time to swing by the store and pick up some goodies for our upcoming picnic: baguette, goat cheese, apples, grapes, etc. I couldn’t remember the last time I had even been on a picnic, and my anticipation was mounting.
“This is such a great idea!” I said more than once to Kurt.
On Sunday we were packed and out the door by shortly after 8 am. Morse Mountain is one of our favorite places along the Maine coast. You hike about two miles in and are then rewarded with an amazing stretch of pristine beach. The distance to the beach, along with limited parking, means that it is never crowded and it is always beautiful.
We set off cheerfully, picnic foods and blanket stowed in our backpacks. We hiked up and down through forest and past a few marshy areas. We detoured up for a scenic view from the summit, and then traveled back down toward the beach.
Finally, the trail opened up from forest to oceanside. As soon as I set foot on the beach, I knew we’d done the right thing. It felt as if my whole being simply expanded along with the view. It was the perfect place to be. An antidote to all things closed-in and constricting.
“This,” I said to Kurt, gesturing at the scene before us. “This is what I’m going to picture in the coming weeks and months, whenever I feel like I’m starting to frazzle and unravel.”
We set off, walking barefoot along the shore. A huge raft of some kind of ducks was floating along, a dark mass of bodies, moving parallel to the shore. There had to be hundreds of them! Next, we were delighted to see dozens of seal heads popping in and out of the water. The sun was warm on our skin, but there was a hint of chill in the breeze. The skies were cobalt blue, and the small bits and bobs abandoned by the receding tide yielded lots of treasures, and created fascinating patterns. Every so often we stopped to pick up sand dollars (mostly in pieces) and shells. We let the sound of the surf and our splashing feet wash over us.
Over and over again I thought, “Yes, this is where I need to be right now.”
After a long hunger-ripening walk, we stopped to spread our blanket and set up our picnic. Reclining on the sand, we stared at the ocean and chatted about this and that. Mostly we just soaked up the sun and the view.
“It’s going to be hard to leave,” I finally said, after we were done eating.
“Yeah,” Kurt agreed.
Eventually, heaving a few sighs, we packed up. Then, after one long backward glance at the ocean, we turned toward the trailhead and the two-mile return hike.
It was time to get going.
I’ve been overly focused on my eyes lately. On seeing. On not seeing.
Late this past April my retina tore. Surgery followed and my vision was regained–mostly. My right pupil remains dilated, which is normal–up to a point. It may still recover. It may not. I’m nearing the border between optimism and realism on that front.
The retinal surgery is traumatic to the eye, and kickstarts cataract growth. While planning for that next surgery to my right eye, the doctor discovered I was overachieving–having naturally created another less severe but surgery-qualifying cataract in my left eye.
The right eye surgery wasn’t debatable, and I had that completed a few weeks ago. At my follow up appointment, I was unsure if I wanted to have the left eye done, though I had, at the doctor’s suggestion, already scheduled it for the following week. “You can always cancel it,” he’d told me.
I debated the pros and cons with the tech for quite some time. Finally, she handed me a pad of paper.
“Close your left eye and look at this,” she said.
I did.
“What color is it?”
“White,” I said.
“Ok, now close your right eye and look at it,” she said. “What color is it?”
My jaw dropped. “Whoa! It’s sepia!” I said.
I suddenly saw what I hadn’t even known I was seeing. Or not seeing.
So, the following week I had the second cataract surgery on my left eye.
A few days after that, my husband called me to the window. “Look at all the blue jays!” he said. “I’ve never seen so many together!”
I looked out the window at a dozen or more jays crowding the feeder, scattered across the lawn, and breaking off to fly up into the nearby trees. “Wow! They are so blue right now!” I said, wondering about the afternoon light and how it was creating that impression. Until I realized it wasn’t just the light, it was my “restored” vision. I sat for long moments drinking in the vibrant blues.
These days I perch on the edge of returning to school and its relentless pace, and I am also more and more aware that I am nearing the far edge of middle age. I ponder what I see in this world. And in my life. And the choices I have made and will make. I wonder what I haven’t seen. What blocks me from seeing. What I’m missing.
I keep wondering how I didn’t know what I wasn’t seeing. I imagine that the change was gradual, so I simply didn’t notice it. But it makes me think about how often we miss things with unintentional, unacknowledged blindness. About how changing a lens can make all the difference in the world.
I’ve been in resistance training. Or at least that’s what it feels like. Everyday I am actively working not to hear the increasingly loud and rapid tick… tock… ticktock… tickTOCK… TICKTOCK… TICKTOCK TICK TOCKTICKTOCK!!!!
AHHHHHHHHHH!
Ok….sorry about that. It’s just that August is here, fully entrenched and–OMG It’s the 18th already! That means August is actually almost half over…
AHHHHHHHHHH!
Oops! There I went again. This seems to be happening with increasing frequency! What I’m trying to get across is that I’m trying to live fully in each moment, resisting succumbing to the ever-increasing, inexorable pull of the great whirlpool of the impending school year…
but as each day passes, the closer it gets, and the stronger the pull. I am working frantically diligently to avoid future-thinking and immerse myself in the present and the remaining gift of free time. Occasionally, I’m successful, and often that’s with the help of time outside and with my camera. And lots and lots of reading. But, as that pool of time diminishes, it’s getting harder and harder.
To be clear, I really am looking forward to many aspects of returning to school (more so than in many past years), but the relentless pace is NOT one of them. I dread the constant rushrushrush with such limited time and energy remaining outside of school hours and responsibilities. Sigh.
So, I’m curious (desperate? lol). Can you throw me a lifeline? What do you do to keep things sane when you return to the hustle and bustle of another school year? Do you have a number one tip? Maybe a “school hack” to increase efficiency and productivity?
Fingers crossed and thanks in advance!
We always look forward to the hummingbirds’ arrival in the spring. Some years they arrive, and then are scarcely seen as summer commences and flowers bloom, offering plenty of food in the wild. This year they have been present all summer, feeding from our feeder and garden blossoms. I usually have at least two or three of them whizzing about the garden, chittering and darting. Sometimes they show off their undulating “U” dance, which is always a delight. They also frequently perch in our birch tree, on our weather stick, or amidst the wisteria vines. I never tire of watching them and am always fascinated by how their colors change depending on the light. They are truly a gift of the season.
hummingbird
with her needle beak
and darting flight
summer seamstress
stitches together
all the sweetness
of the season
©Molly Hogan
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Heidi Mordhorst at her blog, My Juicy Little Universe. Be sure to stop by and sip up some poetry!
Welcome! I’m delighted to be hosting the Poetry Friday Roundup this week!
After a few years of exciting travel and busy summers, and a hectic start to this one, I’m now enjoying a slow-flowing summer. I’m embracing and embodying words like putter, meander, wander, roam. I’ve done more than my fair share of digressing and side-tracking. And then there’s that delightful French verb, flâner, which means, essentially, to wander about with an engaged and inquisitive eye, but no destination in mind. I like to think of it as being open to everything, but with no agenda. Now, that’s a summer plan!
One of my favorite things to do this summer has been to follow the pollinators around my gardens and take pictures. It’s made for a lovely pace.
As the calendar flipped to August this week, I started thinking even more about pace. I confess, I have a propensity to hurry and rush. Too often I let the pace rev up to frantic, especially once the school year starts. I’m not sure how to stop this from happening (yet!). As I’ve been thinking about all the impending rush and scurry, this poem has been in my mind.
Hurry
by Marie Howe
We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store
and the gas station and the green market and
Hurry up honey, I say, hurry,
as she runs along two or three steps behind me
her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down.
Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?
To mine? Where one day she might stand all grown?
(To read the the remainder of the poem, click here.)
Those first two lines of the second stanza are playing on repeat in my mind: “Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?/ To mine?”
So, I’m deliberately pushing pause while I can. Avoiding making too many plans. Cancelling or reorganizing them when I realize I have done so. I’ve taken more and longer naps this summer than I have in my entire life, and I’ll try to tuck in a few more. (The hammock and I have become good friends.) These days, when I think of running errands, I’m pausing to ask myself, “Do I want to do this right now? Do I need to do this right now?” More often than not, the answer to both of those question is: I don’t. It can wait.
Today as I lay in the hammock, I hear the bees buzzing about the hosta blossoms. I hear their sound ebb and flow, muffled by petals as they enter each soft chamber. My eyes trace the undulating path of a swallowtail butterfly. A pileated woodpecker swoops directly overhead to land momentarily on an adjacent tree. I watch it move up and down, hear it’s beak thunk into the trunk of wood, see it’s wings unfold as it flies away and listen to its ululating cry. I watch the shadows shape shift in the leafy canopy. I close my eyes and try to imprint the moment.
Summer is ending… but it has not yet ended.
Summer Mantra
May I be present in moment’s glow,
resist directing its ebb and flow,
relax into the day’s embrace,
let buzzing bees decide my pace.
May my eyes drift with monarch’s flight
and revel in day’s changing light.
May I gauge time by shadow’s reach
or tidal rhythms at the beach.
While clocks and phones sit idly by,
may I unwind with heartfelt sigh,
and coalesce with present space.
The gift of now can’t be replaced.
©Molly Hogan
And now I find myself humming this song…
“Let the morningtime drop all its petals on me….” Ahhhhhh…
Wishing you a wonderful late summer and sweet, smooth, flowing days. Please add your link below to join this week’s Roundup.
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Do you remember that old Staples ad? It was a back-to-school ad that showed a parent gleefully throwing school supplies into a cart with two glum children following along behind them. While I’m not thrilled with the glum child aspect, I still think the ad was amusing. Take a peek to refresh your memory!
I’m pretty sure I look a bit like that parent whenever I am shopping for office supplies. I’m not sending any children off to school these days, but I’m an office supply addict! Pens, folders, notebooks? They’re my jam!
So, last week, with great anticipation, I went to Staples for the first time this summer. I walked in feeling the excitement grow. What would I find this year? I lingered in the aisles, picking up and putting down various items. Considering this. Considering that. I kept Investigating all my options. Black pens? Blue pens? Red pens? … All!!! I dumped multiple packages into my cart.
Next, I debated about crayons. I don’t usually have individual crayon boxes, but I’d been considering it. They were on sale… I did the math. I could always add them to the community bin if I didn’t want to use them individually. Decision made! Twenty boxes of crayons were added to my growing pile.
After making many more decisions, changing my mind, trying to remember what I’d already ordered, reconsidering, adding, removing, etc., I finally made my way to the counter to pay. I piled up my tower of crayon boxes alongside the other items.
“Whoa! That’s a lot of crayons!” a small voice piped up from behind me.
I turned from the counter to see a wide-eyed young boy, standing next to his grandmother.
“Are those all for you?!” he asked, eyes bulging.
“No,” I smiled at him. “I’m a teacher and these are for my classroom. Are you getting ready to go to school, too?”
He nodded, holding tightly onto his own teetering tower of supplies. “I’m in precool.”
“You were in preschool last year,” his grandmother corrected. “This year, you’ll be in Kindergarten.”
“I’m gonna be in Kindergarten,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. “I teach second grade. But Kindergarten is pretty awesome! Are you excited?”
“Yes,” he nodded enthusiastically.
After a moment, he looked up at me again. “Will you be there?”
Kids and office supplies…best combo ever! No wonder I love being a teacher! 🙂
Nix the comfort zone 