FIRE IN THE SKY
Tag: Outdoors
WHAT A SHOW!
As much as I keep the outdoors Christmas lighting around our place to a minimum — usually strands around the bay window and entryway — we also keep ours going through most of January, as does a much more elaborate neighbor two doors down the street.
But that doesn’t keep us from appreciating those who go all out on this front, especially folks with an artistic flair.
This year, though, we’ve learned of a teenager who’s been doing something remarkable at his home for the past five years — something so remarkable he’s also done City Hall this year, which we’re anticipating viewing this week as soon as the glitches are ironed out and it’s back running. The bit I saw Thursday night was jaw-dropping.
But we did drive on to see what he’s up to. Trust me, there’s no way to describe what this kid does with a computer and 8,000 LED lights. He’s set it all to music and a seemingly infinite number of variations on motion, coloring, and timing. It’s quite mesmerizing, although I think I’m getting a headache from the afterglow in my head. Still, to get a faint idea of what he’s up to, you’ll just have to click here.
You just might find it worth a trip to Dover.
BRUSSELS SPROUTS & LETTUCE (INCLUDING UNDER PLASTIC)
Some vegetables turn sweeter if you leave them in the garden after the first hard frost. The Brussels sprouts and kale are good examples.
My wife’s best friend and I are the ones who love the miniature cabbages, and that’s led to a tradition at our Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, regardless of whether we’re all sitting down to eat at their place or ours. Yes, like me, she’s especially fond of the sprouts, any way they’re served. So here’s looking ahead, with anticipation.
BRUSSELS SPROUTS ETC.
out in the garden, I use an ax to dig out Brussels sprouts
from under two feet of snow
for Christmas dinner
and maybe some kale
to boot
poem copyright 2014 by Jnana Hodson
WAKING TO THE FIRST SNOW
It’s pretty but also heavy, wet, dense — you much prefer the lighter, fluffy stuff when it comes to shoveling. Still, you can’t help but admire it as the sunlight starts strumming through the branches.
We’ve had several rounds of flurries before this, when some of the neighboring towns found their ground covered. Real snow, in my book, means digging out the driveway.
HERE IT COMES
TURKEYS IN THE WOODS
I pulled over to photograph some ducks on a pond, or so I thought. When I turned around, this is what I found.
Wild turkeys have made a remarkable comeback in New England. The other day, I had to stop behind a stopped car on the road. That’s when I saw the gobbler stroll off the pavement. There was even one in our yard, we’ve been told.
MOSTLY FROM A LAST TRIP TO ENFIELD, MAINE
I was on my way to the Metzlers’ farewell reception in the Grange hall as they wrapped up 19 years’ service in a rural community. As I often do driving solo, I slipped into a meditation and jotted down random thoughts and observations on the five-hour drive. Here they are.
31 May 2009, unexpectedly staying over and returning Monday, before an evening shift at the office:
Wells, Maine, en route – so long since I’ve gotten AWAY! (Excepting Ohio.) The commute … toll … York … driving a lot, same old loops for starters. And then beyond the usual fringe.
A pilgrimage. Saturday night major revisions to “On the Broad Penobscot,” which I would read at the reception – and see at that time it’s as much about marriage as kayaking.
Summer in New England:
When the air temperature
finally reads higher
than the open-roadway
speedometer.
Driving the Maine Tpk. same time as Meeting for Worship: a driving meditation.
Tide way out, Fore River and Casco Bay – mud flats.
Seems so natural now.
No CHECK ENGINE light on for the past month or two, and then, sometime around Brunswick, on a tank of Mobil rather than Irving, on it comes again – and stays on.
Losing another Friend: Heather Moir. (Morning e-mail.)
Just before Bangor: What the hell am I doing? This long, gust-torn drive? So many emotions and memories stirred up! So I’ve been here almost 22 years now – NH from Balto – and they’ve been part of it most of that time. The one lover’s wounds still fresh and intense, then another.
Their efforts to establish a medical practice and to be ordained. The kids. So much time, so many lost years! The barn they took down, the crowded kitchen, the introduction to homebrewing, the treehouse. The trip taking Megan to China Lake and then R and I continuing to an overnight in Orono – and Carolyn’s “She’s a keeper.” (Our canoeing across the lake and, on our drive home, the long loop up through Rangely and down through Berlin.) Much sadness here, this transition.
I find myself running way ahead of schedule. Stop at the Weathervane in Waterville, and find the contrast between their fish and chips and those at the Shanty in Dover a revelation; the later doing everything right, the former cutting every corner. At the next rest area, I phone R and tell her she’s spoiled my appreciation of food – it’s like discovering great champagne, I tell her.
I skirt a serious thunderstorm, get only sprinkles, and then it’s sunny again.
Stop at Borders in Bangor, find a collection of Andre Dubus stories and Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer, as well as a Keith Jarrett trio CD.
In Enfield, I kill time along the Penobscot, where the sky has turned gray and the wind is kicking up whitecaps.
Clouds reflecting
in the pollen-covered
Penobscot current
(the river a mile wide in places?)
Passadumkeag
water striders
and sedge (reeds)
– the public access landing
river mussels
(A few days earlier, Sherry told of attending Andre Dubus’ funeral: he had insisted on being buried in the backyard, which created a controversy in the town. The coffin had a copper plate on top, which all of those present at the graveside service were to sign before the burial. It was all quite strange, she said, but there was lots of food.)
In the Grange hall, their motto: Unity in essentials, liberty in non-essentials, charity in all things – the Pilgram Marpeck!
In one conversation, a man was telling about his three-year-old grandnephew’s first reaction to the paper mill in Lincoln: Who farted! (How accurate! Who am I to complain, writer – user of paper?)
Only a portion of paper mill production is newsprint, office paper, or book/magazine stock. So much cardboard, tissue, etc. instead. Just for perspective.
Before entering the Grange hall, I drove down to Cold Spring Pond, looked across. R and I canoed that far? Amazing. With all of its clarity that day and the big boulders 20 feet down.
Their Jesse was in Budapest, but Margaret was quite present. As were Bill and Barbara – both after all these years. Other than that, I knew no one.
Was surprised D wasn’t present. Didn’t get a chance to inquire, either.
Good thing I went. Sense of closure. The poem went quite well.
Carolyn’s sister, Marsha: “You’re a deep thinker.” She should see what happens with Carolyn.
Raining during the gathering and through the night.
But next morning clear and bright.
A perfect day for driving – after the rain.
How dramatically the drive changes from Portland south – no more of the same rural quality.
~*~
How vivid all this, these years later! And how precious the friendships and memories!
AUTUMN RAINS AND LAKE ERNIE
After a particularly heavy rain, a small pond forms in the bottom corner of the side of our lot we call the Swamp, over by the far neighbor’s driveway. When we first moved in, that meant Ernie, a retired pipe-fitter who’d built the tidy house and large garage a half-century earlier.
Somehow, we dubbed the puddle Lake Ernie and learned to watch it as a warning. Whenever Lake Ernie appeared, I needed to check on the cellar – make sure the sump pump was working.
Soon now, the ground will freeze and likely become snow covered. It comes as a relief, at least until the melting, when I have to start checking the cellar. Especially if heavy rains melt the snowpack.
AUTUMN IN THE WATER
BEACH BANDIT
