Of Ponds and Poets

There were two ponds on the farm where I grew up. First was the one in the pasture over west - the one where Mom would take us to try to teach us to fish. I could dig up the earthworms we used for bait, but I could not sacrifice them to the fishhooks. Mom had to do that for me. My sister was not so squeamish.

This was also the pond Betty and I once went skinny-dipping in when we were old enough to "pike-off" - Mom's term for when we roamed around the farm without telling her where we were going.

The second, new, pond was the one a short distance up the road at the other place. That was the one Dad threw my sister and me into thinking we would have to learn to swim. It was also where brother Ron and his friend Norman built and launched their leaky raft. 

The pond pictured above was the hidden pond I didn't discover for months after we had moved to the 'Little House' in Taylor County. It was a quiet, serene spot, perfect for our geese, Mac and Molly. I liked that pond a lot. 

The kids and I swam there a few times, but the instance I, and he, remember the most was when I thought I could teach Bud how to swim. It was a short lesson - he swore I was trying to drown him. (This was when we had just started dating so there may have been some trust issues involved.) 

But it is the pond I have seen every day for almost fourteen years that means the most to me now. Bud has fished there many times and taught a few of the grands and great-grands, even three grand-nephews about fishing. (But no swimming.)

It is the pond I see every day out my magic window. I have seen so much wild life and so many sun and moon sets over it. I have taken beaucoup photos of it in all kinds of weather and every season. Twice I have stood on the deck and taken pictures of  funnel clouds over it as well as many times watched hot air balloons drifting across above it. 

So it isn't surprising that it is the pond I think of when I read a new, to me, poem by one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver.

Walking To Oak-Head Pond 

And Thinking Of 

The Ponds I Will Visit 

In The Next Days And Weeks

What is so utterly invisible

as tomorrow?

Not love,

not the wind, 

not the inside of a stone.

Not anything.

And yet, how often I'm fooled --

I'm wading along

in the sunlight --

and I'm sure I can see the fields and the ponds shining

days ahead --

I can see the light spilling

like a shower of meteors

into next week's trees,

and I plan to be there soon --

and, so far, I am

just that lucky,

my legs splashing

over the edge of darkness,

my heart on fire.

I don't know where

such certainty comes from --

the brave flesh

or the theater of the mind --

but if I had to guess

I would say that only

what the soul is supposed to be 

could send us forth

with such cheer

as even the leaf must wear 

as it unfurls

its fragrant body, and shines

against the hard possibility of stoppage --

which, day after day,

before such brisk, corpuscular belief, 

shudders, and gives way.

First Outdoor Walk Since New Year's Day

Our long cold wet spring has kept me inside using the treadmill. I haven't walked outside since my New Year's Day walk. But these humid ninety degree days have gotten me back outside. Yesterday it was in the flower beds, today it was back to my favorite trail at McKinley Park/Lake. 

There are all kinds of wonderful paved trails at McKinley, but my favorite is still the hidden gravel path on the other side of the lake dam. It is the closest thing to walking in the woods without going very far from the house. 

One step on the path and there was a bush I remember from my youth when we used to go to the woods mushrooming.

Does anyone still go the timber to pick gooseberries then bring them home and make gooseberry pie? Or jelly?

Would any of my children or grandchildren even know what this bush was?

A few steps away was this honeysuckle bush, the first of many in the area.

I love the pink and white flowers when they first begin to open. They are so dainty. They make me think of little dancers.

Another reason I like this path is for all the birdsong.

Usually I hear them and catch glimpses but don't get a picture before they dart away. I was in luck today and got a photo of this little wren.

But the big one for me was this member of the flycatchers family - a Western Kingbird - a first for my lifetime list.

My plan was to walk over to the spillway to see how much water was going over it. 

There was just a little coming out of the lake but it was enough to gush out of the opening under the roadway.

And there were still some blossoms on the wild plum bush nearby.

I have been hoping to find some lilacs for a bouquet and there was a bush near the spillway!

A few sprigs came home with me. I love lilacs.

I also love the wilderness feeling of this area.

This photo is of the woods across the little creek flowing out of Lake McKinley.

I mentioned the wild honeysuckle. Almost all these bushes across from where I was standing are honeysuckle bushes. 

Another good thing about following this path at this time of year -- the mosquitoes aren't out yet!

P.S. No little stones came home with me this time.

But HD did bring me a little fossil from his morning walk around the neighborhood.  💕

The Little Stones

 

How Happy Is The Little Stone (Emily Dickinson)

How happy is the little Stone

That rambles in the Road alone,

And doesn't care about Careers

And Exigencies never fears --

Whose Coat of elemental Brown

A passing Universe put on,

And independent as the Sun

Associates or glows alone,

Fulfilling absolute Decree

In casual simplicity --

I have read many Emily Dickinson poems over the years but this is the first time I've seen this one. 

I've gathered many little stones in my life - those pictured above are only a few - and have wondered such things as: "How far did this rock travel before ending up here for me to find?" "How large was it before time and travel eroded its edges and smoothed it to the shape it is now?" But I have never wondered if little stones are happy. Are they happy that I treasured them enough to bring home with me and display around my house? Or would they be happier if I had left them as I found them? Do they think anything at all or am I just personifying?

One thing for certain is that my children will not be surprised to find little rocks everywhere when I am gone - they know all about my love for rocks. 💛

Books Read In April 2022

Only six books read this month, but the one on the bottom of this first stack is the size of three or four regular books! 

Promise Me by Harlan Coben is, I believe, the first book I've read of his. I was looking for a new author and based upon other books I've read in this genre, he was supposed to be a match. I wan't overly impressed.

A Noble Radiance by Donna Leon is the first book I've read by this author and the only one my library has. I don't remember where/how I heard of her but it was something positive so I decided to try one of her books. This is #7 in her Commissario Brunetti series set in Italy. Even if my library had more of her books I doubt I would read them.

Into The Black Nowhere is by Meg Gardiner, another new author for me. This one was a little more to my liking. The protaganist is an FBI profiler trying to help catch a serial killer in Texas. My library has several of her books which I will most likely read.

Fall Of Giants by Ken Follet is the first of his Century Trilogy and my favorite read this month. This one follows five interrelated families through the First World War, the Russian Revolution and the fight for women's suffrage in Great Britain. 

I know a lot of people wouldn't consider reading one book of this size let alone three, but I couldn't put it down. Follet is such an amazing author and a diligent researcher. I learned more about this time period from this book than all the history classes I ever took.

 

The Paper Palace by Miranda Cowley Heller is her first novel and a Reese's Book Club pick. I don't try to read all of Reese's picks, but I do usually like them.

Memory Man by David Baldacci is book #1 in his Amos Decker series and the first I've read by this author. I will absolutely be reading many, many more. I'm hooked! I'll read the others in this series and then begin one of his other series!

In A Green April

 

A Blackbird Singing (R.S. Thomas)

It seems wrong that out of this bird,
Black, bold, a suggestion of dark
Places about it, there yet should come
Such rich music, as though the notes'
Ore were changed to a rare metal
At one touch of that bright bill.

You have heard it often, alone at your desk
In a green April, your mind drawn
Away from its work by sweet disturbance
Of the mild evening outside your room.

A slow singer, but loading each phrase
With history's overtones, love, joy
And grief learned by his dark tribe
In other orchards and passed on
Instinctively as they are now,
But fresh always with new tears.

Dandelions

 

The First Dandelion (Walt Whitman)

Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close emerging,

As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,

Forth from its sunny nook of shelter'd grass—innocent, golden,
calm as the dawn,

The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful face.

To A Dandelion (Helen M. Johnson)

Blessings on thy sunny face,
In my heart thou hast a place,
Humble Dandelion!
Forms more lovely are around thee,
Purple violets surround thee,—
But I know thy honest heart
Never felt a moment's smart
At another's good or beauty,—
Ever at thy post of duty,
Smiling on the great and small,
Rich and poor, and wishing all
Health, and happiness, and pleasure,
Oh, thou art a golden treasure!

It is that time of year - when the pure yellow of dandelions dot the yards, roadsides, verges and all areas between. I did not bring in any dandelions. I did, however, bring in a bouquet of those violets; always a favorite of mine.

Do you see that little curled leaf at the bottom of the photo? Does it make you think "Gnome"? It did me. 

Finally some spring weather to go along with the dandelions. 🌞 💛

An April Night

 

An April Night (Lucy Maud Montgomery)

The moon comes up o'er the deeps of the woods,
And the long, low dingles that hide in the hills,
Where the ancient beeches are moist with buds
Over the pools and the whimpering rills;

And with her the mists, like dryads that creep
From their oaks, or the spirits of pine-hid springs,
Who hold, while the eyes of the world are asleep,
With the wind on the hills their gay revellings.

Down on the marshlands with flicker and glow
Wanders Will-o'-the-Wisp through the night,
Seeking for witch-gold lost long ago
By the glimmer of goblin lantern-light.

The night is a sorceress, dusk-eyed and dear,
Akin to all eerie and elfin things,
Who weaves about us in meadow and mere
The spell of a hundred vanished Springs.

When I posted this photo of the March full moon to Nature Lovers last month one of the comments was "Do I spy Will o' the wisp?" which is why I used it instead of one of my April full moon pics. 😘