Beauty

 The heavens bear witness to your wonders, O Lord

                                                              (Psalm 89: 5)

Mount Desert Island, Maine

Tuckahoe State Park, Maryland

Pikes Peak, Colorado

My garden, Maryland

As Mother Earth screams for attention, I contemplate her beauty and wisdom, and I grieve.

Quiet Mystery

 The clouds and light this morning colluded to from this impressionistic photo of the Tuckahoe River.  It looks as if I've used some sort of filter or edit function, but I don't even know how to do that.  The photo describes how I've felt the past few months-murky, dark, the line between reality and fantasy unclear.  Every day a step out into a world in which I am a stranger.  Waiting, waiting.

Can it be that we will make it thru the pandemic? That we will go to the grocery without fear, sing together, hug our loved ones? Hope is drifting in around the edges-a quiet mystery that I feel it yet don't quite trust. The anxiety that waiting brings seems all the more intense.

And yes, there have been silver linings to this enforced time of isolation.  Less rushing, more time for reading and gardening, gentle evenings with my husband.  I want to carry these forward as we go back to "normal."

Our world is reeling from so much loss.   Let us practice compassion and work for the common good, sustained by what unites us.

Days pass when I forget the mystery

Problems insoluble and problems offering

their own ignored solutions

jostle for my attention, they crowd its antechamber

along with a host of diversions, my courtiers, wearing

their colored clothes; cap and bells.

                     And then

once more the quiet mystery

is present to me, the throng's clamor

recedes: the mystery

that there is anything, anything at all,

let alone cosmos, joy, memory, everything,

rather than void: and that, O Lord,

Creator, Hallowed One, You still,

hour by hour sustain it.

                                           "Primary Wonder" by Denise Levertov

Thin Place

 

Perhaps you are familiar with the idea of thin places, where one feels as if they have one foot on the earth and one foot in heaven.  It can happen in so many life situations and I myself have felt that way many times. From being held by a loved one to walking the cliffs of Inis Mor Island, it is a powerful, other worldly experience. And now, as I await the birth of a new grandchild, I am in a thin place once again.

Early on the morning of February 17 our granddaughter is scheduled to be born in Colorado.  This knowing that a new being will enter the world 2 days from now is a thin place for me.  The earthly part is substantial-surgery, with all the preparation, risk and recovery it involves.  And the heavenly? That's more difficult to wrap my mind around, but my heart knows it is true.  A new little person, one of God's beloved, is on her way.

How well I remember the first time I saw Zev and Ari.  For Zev, I walked up the outside stairs, schlepping my luggage, and standing in the door was my beautiful daughter holding her newborn boy. A piece of heaven, my heart overflowing.  And Ari?  Bill and I held him the day he was born. What else can I say? New life, firsthand.

This time we are 1600 miles away and due to Covidtide I will not be able to go and be with them.  I grieve, I pray, I look forward to holding her, and I wait, in this thin place.

Ode to Wendell Berry

 

When I despair I gather myself,

put the dog on a leash and

head out the door.

Walking thru a grassy field

I hurry

to the creek.

Hundreds of geese are honking

as they welcome each other back

from a day in the fields.

Overhead the buzzards circle

before smoothly landing

in just one lone pine.

I like to think they are

settling in for teatime

or happy hour.

This is the setting each winter

no matter the pandemic,

the unrest,

my personal despair.

Life goes on as I continue

to take comfort from

the routines of nature,

of which I am a part.

                                Inspired by Wendell Berry's The Peace of Wild Things

Ring Out the Old, Ring In the New

                 Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

                    The flying cloud, the frosty light:

                    The year is dying in the night;

                Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

                Ring out the old, ring in the new

                    Ring, happy bells across the snow

                    The year is going, let him go;

                Ring out the false, ring in the true.

                Ring out the grief that saps the mind,

                    For those that here we see no more;

                    Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

                Ring in redress to all mankind.

                Ring out a slowly dying cause,

                    And ancient forms of party strife;

                    Ring in the nobler modes of life,

                With sweeter manners, purer laws.

                Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

                    The faithless coldness of the times;

                    Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,

                But ring the fuller minstrel in.

                Ring out false pride in place and blood,

                    The civic slander and the spite;

                    Ring in the love of truth and right,

                Ring in the common love of good.

                Ring out old shapes of foul disease;

                    Ring out the narrowing lust of gold

                    Ring out the thousand wars of old,

                Ring in the thousand years of peace.

                Ring in the valiant man and free,

                    The larger heart, the kindlier hand.

                    Ring out the darkness of the land,

                Ring in the Christ that is to be.

                                            Alfred Lloyd Tennyson, In Memoriam

                    

Autumn 2020

When we lived in New England, fall was a bittersweet season.  The colors were stunning and the crisp air invigorating, but underneath it all lay a sense of darkness and farewell.  It's quite a different story here in Maryland. Autumn brings a great sense of relief from summer's intense heat and lasts a long time. Especially during this year of the pandemic I am grateful for the chance to spend time outside almost every day. We have entertained frequently on our front porch-what a blessing that's been during this time of isolation! (One or two guests at a time, socially distanced, of course).

There is much to complain about the pandemic, for sure, but there are unexpected gifts as well, if we will only look. One of the biggest gifts for me has been more time with my husband, including lunches together al fresco and evenings at home with no rehearsal tthat requires rushing out the door. Another gift is the time to really cook-thoughtfully, carefully- and to come up with my own recipes.

In an effort to use what's in the fridge I've begun making what I call "refrigerator review" soup.  Frustrated at reading recipes and trying to gather all the ingredients (and make another Covid-exposed shopping trip) I threw up my hands and just improvised.  Here's how it works:

Saute an onion and a clove or 2 of garlic in olive oil.  When softened add whatever vegetables you have on hand-I usually have some carrots and celery, a few pieces of squash or broccoli, a potato or two.  When these are softened add a can of chopped tomatoes with their juice, a quart of chicken or vegetable stock, and a can of beans. Salt and pepper to taste and throw in some dried herbs such as basil, oregano or thyme. Let simmer for 30 minutes or so; taste and adjust seasonings. I serve this piping hot and add a handful of fresh spinach to each bowl. Stir it in and it will wilt immediately.

Why did I ever need a recipe for this?

I've also begun making Irish Soda Bread and boy does it work well with this soup. There's a story to my soda bread, which I'll save for another post. You'll see it in the photo below, which shows a recent al fresco lunch. Bon appetit!

 

Summer's End

 The summer of 2020 was exceptional and I feel a great need to document it with words and photos. In some ways it seemed to endlessly stretch from one impossibly hot and humid day to another, while concurrently it was over in a second. With the advent of an early fall my head and heart have been restored a bit and I can see more clearly.

The first few months of the pandemic allowed us time to expand our vegetable garden, which ended up being a huge disappointment.  We have not managed the transition to gardening in Maryland particularly well!  Have you ever heard of a gardener bemoaning the lack of zucchini? Well, that's us. The basil, on the other hand, was spectacular, and I'd guess that we supplied at least a dozen folks with enough for a good batch of pesto.  Bill's signature crop, garlic, did well-enough.

This was the second year of my higgeldy-piggeldy garden and it came into it's own. Do you know what a higgeldy-piggelgy garden is? The definition of that term is in a confused, disordered, or random manner, and that's exactly what my garden is. Anchored by a few perennials, the garden is home to whatever is on sale at the nursery or has been given to me by friends.  I love it!  St. Francis is hiding in there somewhere-next year he needs moving.

For a few blissful days we were restored by the peace of a cottage in Central Maine.  It was a different sort of Maine trip, due to the pandemic, but I cherish every moment we were there.

The summer was notable in that we finally ate crabs, after 5 years on the Eastern Shore. Courtesy of dear son-in-law Jeff, we sat on the porch and made a huge mess.  Wow, crabs are a lot of work!  I really don't mind eating mine in a crab cake, tho.

And then...it was the summer of our family's relocation to Colorado Springs.  Zev spent a few days every week at Nana Camp and Ari made frequent visits as well.  It was intense, exhausting, and life-giving. There was time to introduce Ari to the books of Robert McCloskey and weekly trips to a farm market for lovely produce and yummy ice cream (especially the peach!). Zev and I greatly expanded our baking repertoire from blueberry muffins to include oatmeal cookies, homemade bread, blueberry crisp and banana muffins. Did we ever make a mess...but oh so much fun.

Bill and I made a similar cross-country leap when we moved from Dallas to Maine in 1993. Begrudgingly I have to say I understand the reasons for the move to Colorado. Of course it is different here without them 55 miles down the road and I miss them terribly. But I am happy for Emily and Jeff and proud of them for trying to do what's best for their family.

How could I not say something about the state of our country and the upcoming election? I am worried, yes, and the above says it all.

Every day I make it a point to remind myself that we are all God's beloved. May we treat each other as such and work for healing and peace.