Don's Blog "Plum Tuckered" 12-31-19

We have had an amazing year. We look forward to the next one. We wish you the Best.

Here is a favorite image:

This recently born fawn had to lie down for a rest in our

 front yard during the middle of the day.

I notice that we are now at a different end of the age spectrum than the faun and we need a little more rest than we used to.

Don's Blog Blessed Christmas 12-25-19

In 1979 we received a handmade book from Mike Dahl. Each holiday season we bring it out for the family to enjoy. This year I am sharing it on my blog.

It is a felt covered book with hand written calligraphic text on parchment paper.

Christmas

               Incarnation: into flesh

                                   to cloth with flesh

                                   to embody with flesh

                                   to invest with flesh.

                                   The act of assuming flesh.

                                   The act of taking

                                              a human body

                                              and the nature

                                                    of man.

Icy hard cold blue winter diamond stars

    Pinpoints in blackness

          And the blackness breathing

                                         living

                                         pressing its being

                                         into every nook and

                                         cranny, every crack

                                         and crevice,

                                         searching for,

                                         seeking and finding

                                         shelter. Finding home

                                         incomes well prepared

                                                                for it.

Ice caves.

                 Dark animal caves

                       blind unseen walls

                       dirt floors and soggy wet straw

                       shit smells and misty dankness

And she walks

                       worn and weary

                       walks on and wanders

                                homeless

                                heavy

                                haggard

                                ragged and dirty and hungry.

                        Anticipating the fear.

                        Afraid of the pain

                                     and the burning tears.

                         No madonna

                         Just a woman

                                                 pregnant.

                         Just a woman with child.

                                     And so very weary

                                             so very tired.

Cave.

The cave

Waits for the moment.

                                                         Now

                                                         The time.

                                                          The moment.

Its beginning.

                           The fear.

                           The cave.

                           The black unwelcome.

                           The pain.

                           The pain into pain upon pain.

                           The tearing.

                           The cry. 

                           The scream.

                           The shriek.

The sharp shrill sudden savage sound. 

Then silence.

Then stillness.

Then birth.          Baby   

                           Child

                           The boy.

                                             The toes.

                                             The hands and eyes.

                                             The hair and feet.

                                             The stomach and

                                               arms.

                                             The legs and fingers.

                                             The ears and butt.

                                                back and rib-cage.

                                            The  shoulders                                              and penis and thighs.

                                             The nose and chest.

                                             The mouth and lips.

                                             The tiny body,

                                                                     breathing

drawing breath.

Incarnatus Est !

Incarnation.

           And the word was made flesh

           And the word was made

                Flesh and bone and body and blood.

          And god was made man

                                                  cooing, cuddling

                                   crapping, crying, bubbling

                                   blubbering sucking

                                           slobbering

                                       gurgling giggling

                                                                  God!

          And you could see Him 

                        and touch Him

                        and taste Him

                        and smell Him

                        and hear Him

          And you could tickle Him

          And you could hug Him

                and squeeze and kiss Him

                and nuzzle your nose in His

                                                   bellybutton

                and chew on His toes.

          And you could laugh at Him

                        and sing and dance with Him

                        and dream of the day when you

                        would climb trees and go

                        swimming with Him

                        and play tag

                        and have snowball fights with Him

                        and just sit

                        and watch birds

                               and just sit

                        and watch Him grow.

But for now it is His time to dream.

But for now, this night, He sleeps

      sleeps sweet dreams in the still black cave

                                                   with you.

But for now he is little more than

                                                    just here

But for now the morning sings from his slumbering

          and you laugh with the sunrise

                   as the late stars reflect prisms

                                      reflect rainbows

                                  in your rooms.

And your cave sparkles

                           shines

                                       a steady splendor

                                      a splendid radiance.

                         He is here.

I am usually speechless after reading Mike's incantation to incarnation. The text is printed in calligraphy on parchment paper and is flawless. The book ends with a personal heartfelt greeting from our talented friend and continues to empower us.

Mike Dahl was a former Trappist Monk who sold us our chalet #134 in 1976 at Innsbrook. He entered his ministry too early in life  and left it too late. He was a sensitive loving human in a world that is not always welcoming. He passed from us too soon, leaving us with a lingering sense of incompletion. We still want more of him. 

"Joy to you in the Lord at all times, once again I wish you Joy"

Don and Jan

December Twentyfifth  Twentynineteen

                      

       

          

                                             

  

    

        

       

      

                 

Don's Blog Screech Owl

Lately we have been hearing owls hooting, mostly at night. It is their calling.

             Screech Owl

 All night each reedy whinny

from a bird no bigger than a heart

flies out of a small black pine

and, in a breath,is taken away

by the stars. Yet, with small hope 

from the center of darkness

it calls out again and again.

 

Ted Kooser

Delights and Shadows

Copper Canyon Press

2004

Don's Blog Lobocraspis griseifusa

         Lobocraspis griseifusa

This is the tiny moth who lives in our tears,

who drinks like a deer at the gleaming pool

at the edge of the sleepers eye, the touch

of its mouth as light as a clouds reflection.

In your dream. a moonlit figure appears

at your bedside and touches your face.

He asks if he might share the poor bread

of your sorrow. You show him the table.

The two of you talk long into the night,

but by morning the words are forgotten.

You awaken serene, in a sunny room,

rubbing the dust of his wings from your eyes.

Ted Kooser (2004)

And for those with an entomological interest:

Congregations of tear drinking bees at human eyes: Foraging strategies for an invaluable resource by Lisotrigona in Thailand (Apidae, Meliponini)

Wild Lisotrigona cacciae (Nurse) and L. furva Engel were studied in their natural forest habitat at three sites in northern Thailand, May 2013-November 2014. The author, both experimenter and tear source, marked the minute bees while they drank from his eyes viewed in a mirror. All marked workers, 34 L. cacciae and 23 L. furva, came repeatedly to engorge, 34 and 27 times on average, respectively. The maximum number of times the same L. cacciae and L. furva came was 78 and 144 visits in one day, respectively; the maximum over two days was 145 visits by one L. cacciae; the maximum number of visiting days by the same bee was four over seven days by one L. furva which made 65 visits totally. The same forager may collect tears for more than 10 h in a day, on average for 3 h 15 min and 2 h 14 min for L. cacciae and L. furva, respectively. Engorging from the inner eye corner averaged 3.1 and 2.2 min, respectively, but only 1.3 and 0.9 min when settled on the lower eye lid/ciliae. The interval between consecutive visits averaged 3.3 min and 3.8 min, respectively. Lachryphagy occurred during all months of the year, with 91-320 foragers a day during the hot season and 6-280 foragers during the rainy season; tear collecting resumed after a downpour. During the cold season eye visitation was reduced to 3-64 foragers, but none left her nest when the temperature was below 22°C. Flying ranges were greater than in comparable non-lachryphagous meliponines. It is proposed that Lisotrigona colonies have workers that are, besides nectar and pollen foragers, specialized tear collectors. Tears are 200 times richer in proteins than sweat, a secretion well-known to be imbibed by many meliponines. Digestion of proteins dissolved in tears is not hampered by an exine wall as in pollen, and they have bactericidal properties. These data corroborate the inference that Lisotrigona, which also visit other mammals, birds and reptiles, harvest lachrymation mainly for its content of proteins rather than only for salt and water.

https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Figures-1-2-Lachryphagous-Lisotrigona-1-Row-of-20-L-furva-sipping-authors-tears_fig1_326799763

I prefer the poetic to the scientific treatment.

Don's Blog Creativity Rules 12-13-19

After I finished my residency in 1968 I went on active duty into the US Air Force. After some training at Sheppard Air Force Base in Wichita Falls, Texas I drove my young family (Jan, Lee, and Gordon) from St Louis to Anchorage, Alaska. For our first Christmas in Anchorage my artist wife created the most surprising and long lasting ornaments for our tree. Utilizing found local materials she painted these amazing ornaments.

These ornaments, made in 1968, look as good as on the day they were made. They are made from moose

nuggets. They have been placed on our tree yearly for the last fifty-one years.

Don's Blog Christmas Reindeer 12-12-19

 My grandparents and parents celebrated holidays with many specialized decorations. Each year we had table and place setting turkeys for Thanksgiving and bunnies for Easter. I still have a Christmas favorite of my mothers which was a pair of hollow core lead reindeer from the late 1930's. As I unpack my declining number Christmas ornaments I am delighted when these reindeer show up. One of the deer has lost an ear which makes it even more special to me. They are heavy and provide a feeling of solemnity to my mantel.

This image is interesting as I was able to get the deer on the 'snow' of the kitchen table with natural

mid December afternoon sunlight. No special canned lighting for me. And the shadows lengthen quickly

as the sun moves.

Don's Blog Sunday Adventure 12-8-19

We had to get out today despite the drab weather. We ended up at Robertsville State Park which until today has been a name on a highway sign. The park is south and east of our favorite Shaw Arboretum.

We played at the boat ramp on the Meramec River.

           
          

The river is one of the longest free flowing waterways in Missouri. It goes 218 miles from its headwaters near Salem to where it empties into the Mississippi River south of us near Arnold. From its source to its mouth it falls 1,025 feet. It is navigable from just above Meramec

Spring just south of St. James, Missouri.  Meramec Spring is the fifth largest in the state producing 100 million gallons of water  each day.

There are several marked hiking trails in Robertsville State Park. Here is one that I took.

This is a tree that was on the path. I took the image as a sort of self portrait as these days

somewhat like the  tree I am gradually unraveling.

You can see that the tree is perfectly solid and the unravelling is occurring on the surface only.

On the way home we were treated to this view of the Meramec.

Of interest is the story of the Meramec Basin Project. Because of several episodes of severe flooding, Congress

funded the project in 1938. The plan was to put several dams on the river with the main one at Sullivan, Missouri. World War II intervened. Later grass roots opposition to damming the river forced Congress to reconsider the project. President Jimmy Carter removed the funding in1981 and President Ronald Reagan later

signed a bill de-authorizing the project. It is very rare for a Corps of Engineers project to be permanently halted after work had already begun. The river is still flowing freely and still flooding regularly.  

Merry Christmas 2019

Each year we slow down especially in Christmas decorations. One decoration will continue until we don't. 

This is a barren ground caribou that I took in August of 1969 in the Wrangle Mountains of Alaska. The rack was blood red as the velvet covering had only recently disappeared. It has been with us ever since. We ate caribou all that winter  - it is delicious and not at all gamey. 

Its still beautiful.

Enjoy the holidays.

Don's Blog Our Parents 11-21-19

On this my 84th birthday it is appropriate  to send out this poem sent to me by my brother many years ago.  

     Our Parents

        — for my brothers

      Our parents died at least twice,

      the second time when we forgot their stories,

      or couldn't imagine how often they craved love,

      or felt useless, or yearned for justice

      in this world. In their graves, our parents need

      for us is pure, they're lost without us.

      Their honeymoon in Sea Island does or does not 

      exist. That late August in Lakeside

      we can decide to make them happy.

      What is the past if not unfinished work,

      swampy, fecund, seductively revisable?

      We try to say what happened in that first house

      where we were ,  like most children, the only

      needy people on earth. We remember

      what we were forbidden, who got the biggest slice.

      Our parents, meanwhile, must have wanted something

      back from us. We know what it is, don't we?

      We've been alive long enough.

     Stephan Dunn

     Prairie Schooner

     Volume  73 Number 2

     Summer 1999

Don's Blog "The Diver's Clothes Lying Empty"

My humble suggestion: read it at least five times / don't try to 'understand' it or what its about/ who wouldn't want to 

experience the 'sound of no shore'?

The Divers Clothes Lying Empty

You are sitting here with us,

but you are also out walking in a field at dawn.

You are yourself the animal we hunt

when you come with us on the hunt.

You are in your body 

like a plant is solid in the ground,

yet you are wind.

You are the divers clothes

lying empty on the beach.

You are the fish.

In the ocean are many bright strands

and many dark strands like veins that are seen

when a wing is lifted up.

Your hidden self is blood in those,

those veins that are lute strings

that make ocean music,

not the sad edge of surf

but the sound of no shore.

Rumi, translated by Coleman Banks

Don's Blog The American Kantorei 11-18-19

Yesterday afternoon we went to a concert by the American Kantorei at St Pauls Luthern Church. They played four complete cantatas by JS Bach - BWV 93 (1724), 27 (1726), 156 (1729) and 37 (1724). That is a long time ago. They were inspiring and quieting. Its not easy to slow down our inner voice but this hit the spot. It may sound heavy when one of the headliners is, "Ich steh mit einem Fuss Im Grabe " (I stand with one foot in the grave),
but Bach had it right , "Denn Ende gut, macht alles gut!" (A good ending makes everything good).
It is always fun to exercise my German muscle.

Don's Blog 'In Autumn' 11-16-19

This poem was sent to me by my brother exactly 8 years ago.

IN AUTUMN

I know there are those who ask: Why does he not

sing the same wild harmonies as before?

But they have not seen the labors of an hour

the work of a minute, the prodigies of a year.

I am an aged tree that when I was growing,

uttered a vague, sweet sound when the breeze caressed me.

The time for youthful smiles has now passed by:

now, let the hurricane swirl my heart to song!

Ruben Dario

Selected Poems of Ruben Dario, translated by Lysander

Kemp, University of Texas, Austin, 1988.

Don's Blog Settling in for a Long Winter 11-13-19

Well the flowers are gone. I thought I would send out a few poems. Enjoy them. They will deserve more than  cursory glance - several readings - but winter slows things down - no excuses not to. 

 After Reading Wang Wei,

I Go Outside to the Full Moon

Back here,old snow like lace cakes,

Candescent and brittle now and then through the tall grass.

Remorse, remorse, the dark drones.

The body's the affliction,

No resting place in the black pews of the winter trees,

No resting place in the clouds.

Mercy upon us , old man,

You in the China dust, I see in my past life.

Salt in the light of heaven.

Isolate landscape. Worlds grip.

The absolute, as small as a poker chip, moves off,

Bright moon shining between pines.

Charles Wright

Chickamauga, 1995

Final Flower for the Day Night Blooming Cereus 11-8-19

The cold weather has finally arrived. I am down to four indoor plants - hoya, palm, lemon tree and my

trustworthy Night Blooming Cereus. The NBC stays small because I trim it back ruthlessly each year when I bring it in. Despite this it has become a multiple bloomer in August and later. I missed six blooms this year as I was out of town each time. The last bud appeared last week when I brought the old timer inside. It  was a beauty and a fitting end to another blooming year.

Flower for the Day Wild Radish 11-5-19

This plant came up in late August but I could not identify it. I got some 'naming' help. It is called wild radish (Raphanus raphanistrum) and is also known as jointed charlak.

          
           

The small flowers are striking.

           

           
            It is a mustard in the Brassica Family and may be an ancestor   of the common radish (Raphanus sativa). Its leaves taste 'peppery' as does the peeled tap root.

       

I think I will stick with R. sativa.

Flower for the Day Spotted Ladysthumb 10-30-19

For several weeks now I have noticed this pink-red flowery weed growing in the grass. It is Polygonum persicaria and is an annual in the buckwheat family (Polygonaceae). Its common names include spotted ladysthumb, Jesusplant  and redshank.

          

In North America it is an introduced and invasive non native plant that spans the continent. Who knew?

Don's Blog A Surprise in the Artists Studio 10-29-19

Jan found this beauty in some of her finished work in the back basement. Luckily it was dead but it certainly was a surprise.

           

          Can anyone identify it?

            
           

And how did it get there?

Flower for the Day: Butterfly Named 10-26-19

The butterfly from yesterday was identified as a Painted Lady (Vanessa cardui - Linneus 1758). As

The upperside is orange-brown with darker wing bases. The forewing has a black apex patch and white bar on leading edge. The hindwing with a submarginal row of 5 small black spots sometimes has blue scales. 

          

The underside has a black, brown, and gray pattern with 4 small submarginal eyespots.

As you can see they love the nectar from asters.

Flower for the Day Field Aster 10-25-19

I have three different kinds of aster. In the front yard I have ones  with vivid purple flowers.

                       

In the wildflower garden the asters were much taller  and slightly more pale.

In a field circle the asters are medium in height and even paler.

 

                    

The butterflies flock to the field circle asters that are out in the open. There are still many small

yellow, white, and orange butterflies darting around even in late October.

Can you name this butterfly (above and below)? I think they are the same one.

Flower for the Day Hydrangea 10-24-19

We are well into Fall and flowers are still blooming as we await the first freeze. The most mysterious bloom is in the "Green Garden". This healthy hydrangea did not put 

out any blooms this year - until this week when one appeared. Any thoughts on this?

        

It is a beautiful blue and pink and is the only one.

Flower for the Day Stiff Goldenrod 10-8-19

With the asters in full bloom it is also the time of goldenrod (Solidago rigida). Interestingly stiff 

goldenrod is also in the aster family. 

                     Goldenrod

By Ian Parks

If I don't say it

someone will: the wind

blows through the goldenrod

like death flows through a crowd.

I watch it from a distance

as the whole field lifts and stirs.

Close up, it holds the promise

of a less than perfect world.

I knew the thing

before I knew its name.

Now all I know

is what the name infers:

a life of pure sensation

or the rod some angel brings—

announcing a momentous

death or birth, each face

expectant, brightly-lit.

I say the name and what it means

until the meaning blurs.

The wind blows through the goldenrod

like death flows through a crowd.

Nothing is accomplished

and the world is changed by it.

Flower for the Day Dahlia 10-4-19

This is the time for the dahlias to shine. All but the purple dahlias are in their second year. The others aged out. In this space that seems to be happening.

         
 
          

         

          

       
          
         

           NIGHT LIGHT

 That cameo was my secret grief.   

 He will make you sing,the hooded moon.    

 Not a sacred thing   

 Kissing the toes of a traveler for fecundity.  

         
        In doorway it was between us and them
        for bargaining for Dahlias. 

        Lips unkissed will call for honey from bees.
        Eyes will search for a candle. 

        In alien land of flames and tumultuous desires, 
        the golden breasts will take revenge. 

             
        Satish Verma