The Cruelest Month?

 In his poem, The Waste Land, T. S. Eliot refers to April as the cruelest month:

April is the cruellest* month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

A little life with dried tubers....

Sorry Mr. Eliot, but in deference to your poem, I earnestly disagree.

In my opinion, April is one of the most hopeful months.

Spring rains and warmer temperatures encourage flowers and lush foliage like this on the north side of our house.

And while Autumn is my favorite season of the year, Spring is a very close second choice.

Is there anything cruel about catkins swaying in a spring breeze?

My only objections to the beauty of the Oak catkins is the abundance of acorns and leaves to rake in the Fall.

Otherwise, they delight me every April.

As does a small bouquet of Violets even if they are considered by some to be a weed.

And Lily-of-the-valley which is just beginning to bloom. Soon a bouquet of those will perfume my room.

It is possible Mr. Eliot refers to the snowstorms and the severe weather warnings, including tornadoes, that go along with the month of April. Those seem insignificant on a day like today when you can spend a little time on the deck and come away with photos like these:

Yes! Baby goslings! Just as in past years, these are not the ones from the nest floating on the pond but one hidden in the reeds.

 

A far-away flash of blue and a quick snap of a Bluejay on a fir tree.

A sprig of the aforementioned Lily of the valley just beginning to open.

As well as my very colorful Iris that bloomed a few days ago.

I only quoted the first few lines of The Waste Land and really did not garner the idea of April being the cruelest month from the rest of the poem, but honestly, can you believe that this second month of spring can be the cruelest?

(* British English spelling of the word.)

"Spring has returned. The earth is like a child that knows poems." Rainer Maria Rilke

"A Poem Is......

.......a record of discovery."   (Ted Kooser)

And from the time I first discovered his poetry, he has been a favorite of mine.

Today is his 87th birthday.

 Recently I've been giving some of my depression glass collections to the granddaughters. 

Depression Glass

By Ted Kooser

It seemed those rose-pink dishes   

she kept for special company   

were always cold, brought down   

from the shelf in jingling stacks,   

the plates like the panes of ice   

she broke from the water bucket   

winter mornings, the flaring cups   

like tulips that opened too early

and got bitten by frost. They chilled   

the coffee no matter how quickly   

you drank, while a heavy

everyday mug would have kept   

a splash hot for the better

part of a conversation. It was hard   

to hold up your end of the gossip   

with your coffee cold, but it was   

a special occasion, just the same,   

to sit at her kitchen table

and sip the bitter percolation

of the past week’s rumors from cups   

it had taken a year to collect   

at the grocery, with one piece free   

for each five pounds of flour.

Pelicans On Earth Day

I have celebrated Earth Day for many years, most often by planting a tree or some flowers. Watching the WHO-TV weather early this morning I saw a photo of pelicans at Green Valley State Park. I thought going to see them would be a good way to recognize Earth Day. These were at the north end of Summit Lake.

In the marshes between Green Valley Lake and Summit Lake were flocks of pelicans. 
This photo was taken from a greater distance.

Four coots and a wood duck were close to the road.

We came home past Lake McKinley where I believe the dredging is done because now they are working on shoreline stabilization and fish habitat. An article in the local paper said more than 300,000 cubic yards of dirt had been dredged from the lake.

Past the lake and the campground runs the gravel Spillway Road leading back to McKinley Street. I always liked this street because of all the naturally lush wild growth, about two-thirds of which has now been rooted out. I'm not positive what this is, possibly chokecherry.

But I am sure that this is Honeysuckle and while I love it, the DNR considers it an invasive species and wants it eradicated.

 And while I didn't plant anything for Earth Day today, I do plan to go shopping tomorrow. It's possible a plant or two may find its way home with me - better a day late than never. 🌿

You! Haiku

April 17 and it is National Haiku Day again. My first Haiku poetry blog was eleven years ago. Six years ago I posted these three on Facebook. It looks like we were still having winter on some days then, too, just as we have had this spring.

I swim all alone 

While mama sits on the nest

Watch for our goslings

 

Lonely yearling asks

Underneath all this snow is there

Anything green, like grass

Lovely dove ponders

Spring-it's April seventeen

Snow coats everything

My daughter dearest

In a turquoise Mustang rode

To toga party

Mother's Maytag stove

Now in grandson's kitchen sits

Brings back memories

Bowers of plum and

Redbud in fence row delight 

Bring spring to my day 

In addition to Haiku being a seventeen syllable verse form of three metrical units of five, seven, five, Haiku uses images from nature. It emphasizes simplicity and directness of expression. My Haikus are probably not any better than my attempts at writing poetry. (Example: Or Shades of Gray? 5/17/21).

Yet I dream being

A competent composer

Of exquisite verse

The Landscape of Childhood

 "The landscape of one's childhood is more vibrant than any other."

"My soul is sky; my heart is soil."

"Remember your first everything."

You Can't Take It With You

I've been trying to get my children and grandchildren to take some of my 'treasures' if there are things they'd like to have. When Deise and Dominique were here last weekend they did choose a few small items.

And one large one -

Deise and Zach took the large painting that had hung in Mom's house.

It was painted by one of her Illinois cousins, Donald Gray. 

When he died in 1984, his sister Gladys invited Mom and her sisters to choose a painting of his. This is the one Mom chose.

After Mom died the painting came to me.

And now it hangs in the living room at Deise and Zach's.

It makes me very happy that it stays in the family. A small part of the Illnois connections remains.

Donald's father, Roy Xavior Gray, was a first cousin of my grandfather, Joseph Rufus Ridnour. Their mothers, Josephine Mauderly Gray (Aunt Josie) and Katherine Mauderly Ridnour (my Great-grandmother) were sisters.

Don's mother, Nellie, and my grandmother Delphia, cousins by marriage, were also very good friends. Trips back and forth between the two families happened on a regular basis and included trips to Illinois made by my family when I was young.

When Donald brought his mother to visit we would go down to Grandma & Grandpa's to see them, too. When my sister, cousin Janet and I were teens, we talked Don into taking us to town and scooping the loop just so we could be seen in his new, bright yellow, Mercury convertible.  

I even made a trip to Illinois with my children in 1975 to bring Grandma Delphia home from Nellie & Don's after one of her visits. We stayed overnight in Plainville and then drove back to Iowa the next day. I wonder if they remember that. I know I still fondly recall my Illinois connections.

Eldest Grandson and Great-Grandson

 

That's my eldest grandson Brock on the left and his son, my eldest great-grandson Ridge on the right.

Look a lot alike, don't they? But as they've aged, they look less alike.

Have you ever noticed how some grandsons look more like their grandfathers than their fathers as they get older? That's true of my father and one of his grandsons as well as with my brother and one of his grandsons.

My son Douglas (Brock's father)

And Doug's grandson, Ridge. 

Douglas, high school.

Ridge, high school. 

Do you see the resemblances between grandfather, Doug, and grandson, Ridge? 

In their teen years Doug and Ridge look more alike than Ridge and Brock.

Maybe it isn't even the similiarities of their looks. It may be that, even though I've rarely seen Ridge and don't know what he's like, I imagine that his and Doug's senses of humor are comparable.

I know what my son's is like......

.....and judging from this picture of Ridge, I believe his sense of humor could be very much like Douglas'.

Ridge on the ridge - could he be any more droll than that?

Ridge was a year old before I got to meet him in person. Over the years I've only seen him a handful of times. I wish I could have seen him more often and known him better.

I hope he and his Grandpa Douglas get to know one another.