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Tag: nature

lightning flickr.comphotostexaus1
‘Storm’

‘Storm’

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We’ve had some wild weather lately here in Indiana. Howling winds, pounding rain, flashing lightning, nearly endless thunder. And so I looked among Mom’s poetry to see if … yes, of course: Storm The day she dieda rage of weather in the nighthard rain thunder lightningthings she loved and fearedexplodedas her life hadthe daily disagreementsroared to violence of wordsthen wars of silencethe arms on both sidesthat had hugged and held each otherstopped in mid-airstopped before they struck each other ~…

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tulips and other spring flowers
‘state of grace’

‘state of grace’

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It feels like the world’s gone mad, doesn’t it? In a state of anxiety, I still turn to my mother. She’s been gone for more than five years, but she left us her grace, her prayers, her poems … state of grace Spring comeswith her curriculum of clouds we walk in wind this morningto the high gate in our home garden nowthe ten red tulips rise to rally loveappropriate both sun and cloudsthe stalking starthose cisterns of the sky ~…

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1979 Dad loved Canada geese
Canada geese

Canada geese

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With Canada in the news so much lately, I took a look in Mom’s writing archives and found an interesting piece she wrote about Canada geese: Work in Progress I saw them again yesterday, feeding in the field where corn had grown all summer: Canada geese, a dozen or so, those wild and mystical squires of the sky who call us to joy and freedom when they fly above our eyes. Finding them there the first time I was struck…

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bald eagle soaring
Buzzards, vultures, and a bald eagle

Buzzards, vultures, and a bald eagle

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“Cam – come here! You’ve got to see this!” Our grandson was here for an overnight and his Papaw couldn’t wait to show him the traffic jam on our road. First I must share that Farmer Gary is fascinated by the concept of gridlock. The idea that traffic could come to a complete halt because the network of roads was full absolutely blows that country boy’s mind. So when the few cars on our rural road slowed down to a…

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Irish shillelagh
‘The Immigrant’

‘The Immigrant’

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Been thinking a lot about my ancestors this week. We are, after all, a nation of immigrants. Three generations ago, the elders were born in Ireland and Canada. Mom wrote this poem in 1972, presumably after seeing a tragic story in the news about a man without a home found frozen in the snow. The Immigrant He looked an immigrant, forever homelessin his makeshift clothes, dead in the snow for days before the photograph was taken.His life had passed to…

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2025 hoarfrost
‘Country Scene in Winter’

‘Country Scene in Winter’

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Winter hit hard in southern Indiana 10 days ago with that most horrifying of weather combinations: first rain – then snow – then freezing rain – followed by more snow and then a deep freeze. Although the snowfall was gorgeous, cozy, and long-awaited, the high winds and power loss were no fun. At the same time, Los Angeles was ablaze, so there was no complaining from us. (If you’ve been looking to make a donation, here’s a suggestion.) We hunkered…

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Dracula
Witches, Vampires, and a mouse named Algernon

Witches, Vampires, and a mouse named Algernon

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October’s books were packed with Halloween vibes this year. Despite my dear mother’s DNA, I remain a scaredy cat when it comes to evil witches and things that go bump in the night. Nevertheless, I made it through some classic works without having to hide under the covers in fear of bad dreams. (Full disclosure: I’m still not in any hurry to watch any of the film versions.) Book 1: The Witches by Roald Dahl Witches are everywhere, according to…

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How many squirrels are out there, looking in?
Spying squirrels

Spying squirrels

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Have you ever gotten that weird feeling that you were being watched? Turns out, it wasn’t just a feeling. Farmer Gary and I were enjoying our morning tête-à-tête in the sunroom, when he froze – sort of the way a bloodhound does – and intently squinted out one of the east-looking windows. “There’s a squirrel in the tree. He is surveilling us.” Sure enough: Gary calls him Sylvester, after a pet squirrel his cousin Renus had as a child. I…

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hummingbird sip
E’gar the hummingbird

E’gar the hummingbird

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Remember Edgar from the movie Men in Black? Gary and I thought of him the other day as we read up on the brew that must be mixed before it is carefully poured into a hummingbird feeder. “Sugar … in … water” is all he wants. And so, our first hummingbird carries the name E’gar. When I chose this particular hand-blown glass hummingbird feeder, it seemed like the decent thing to do. According to the online description: Blue: Represents resilience…

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hedgehog fine china and books
Postcards from the hedge

Postcards from the hedge

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Postcard 1: Six decades of hedgehog love As proof that memories and assumptions can be faulty, let me confess that I’d always believed my first encounter with a hedgehog was through Mom and her love of Beatrix Potter characters. We brought those tiny story books – just the right size for a toddler’s hands – home from the library every chance we got. I was just four years old when I met a hedgehog by the name of Mrs. Tiggle-Winkle:…

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