The first week of October and the trees are speckled with golden leaves among the green ones. The sun is setting before 7 p.m. and the only birds I see flying over head are chimney sweeps and Canadian geese. There are no longer any songbirds trills---they have been replaced by the cawing of crows. We are definitely ensconced in the early days of autumn as the whir of combines and a huge cloud of dust is constantly rising from the grain elevator both day and night. The butterfly bush is still blooming in the garden but there are no butterflies. The garden is looking spent as the tomatoes are small and few in number. I love the sights and smells of fall, but I also feel a sense of foreboding because I know that a long spell of winter white will follow the riot of color that is rapidly developing around me. One day the trees are clothed and then the cold rains and winds of late fall will remove their raiment and overnight the trees will stand stark and naked against the gray skies of winter. Winter when gray days make it seem as if twilight meets twilight and silence is only interrupted by the howling of the winds through the pines.
I lay in the grass soaking in these last days of carefree coatless, shoeless freedom. My soul craves the communion I have with the out of doors, but that communion will soon be muffled by boots, coats, gloves, snow cover and darkness in the winter. How distant those first sweet days of spring seem right now. I am overwhelmed by the maudlin feelings of someone who is seeing the last glimpses of land upon embarking on a long ship voyage knowing full well that it will be a long time before one can again see dry land.
Winter is a voyage for me. Just as the ocean, it can be beautiful and beguiling and suddenly turn to torment and treachery. Winter is definitely not for the faint hearted. It can drive many a soul inward to spend long nights with the only comfort being the warmth of the fireside. Winter is a time for introspection and reflection. A time for hibernation and hot cocoa. A time for comforting foods and the comforting words of good books. A time for self indulgence and long naps. A time for consolation that can only be found in hot soup and warm slices of homemade bread. Sometimes the world seems to stand still in winter. It is as if nature has hit the pause button and the fast forward is broken along with your spirit.
I watch two squirrels intent on burying hickory nuts in the woodland before me and know that I, too, must prepare the last of my winter store and brace myself for what lies ahead. Winter is inevitable and unavoidable.
It will bring a black and white world, a clean slate for man and beast, a new beginning and if one rides the white wave of the season---you realize that the world is a new blank canvas just in time for a new year and before you know it, it will be time to wake up from the deep winter sleep as the world reawakens and pick up your renewed spirit and write a brand new chapter.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Dog days of summer and her just homage
Summer is galloping by. Jennie Wren has exited her home here for southern climes and cicada are whirring with the anticipatory sounds of fall. Some children are already back in school and many look at a mere week or two before they are back at their desks again.
I love the sights and smells of fall, but I also always lament the loss of summer. I am not a hot weather lover, but I do love the longer days and the warm evenings of summer. I also love the lush gardens and the songs of all of the birds that make the days so sweet. To see what was once the barren landscape of winter lit with a kaleidoscope of colors is sheer magnificence. And to be able to go barefoot in the grass or pluck a lush ripe red tomato from the garden and enjoy the unmatched flavor of summer's fresh bounty free from pesticides in indescribable. Ah for those blissful flavors of summer next winter.
I have been busy enjoying the fruits of the season while they are here. We have enjoyed apricot galette, cherry clafouti, plum cake, peach bread, peach pie, and every fresh vegetable imaginable. Fresh tomato soup is heaven indeed!! How I wish gardens could be with us year around! But would we appreciate that splendid bounty nearly as much if it were so? All we can do is gather the spoils while they are here and preserve them in mason jars for those long dark winter days when we will sit by the fire with the new seed catalogs dreaming of another sweet summer.
I love the sights and smells of fall, but I also always lament the loss of summer. I am not a hot weather lover, but I do love the longer days and the warm evenings of summer. I also love the lush gardens and the songs of all of the birds that make the days so sweet. To see what was once the barren landscape of winter lit with a kaleidoscope of colors is sheer magnificence. And to be able to go barefoot in the grass or pluck a lush ripe red tomato from the garden and enjoy the unmatched flavor of summer's fresh bounty free from pesticides in indescribable. Ah for those blissful flavors of summer next winter.
I have been busy enjoying the fruits of the season while they are here. We have enjoyed apricot galette, cherry clafouti, plum cake, peach bread, peach pie, and every fresh vegetable imaginable. Fresh tomato soup is heaven indeed!! How I wish gardens could be with us year around! But would we appreciate that splendid bounty nearly as much if it were so? All we can do is gather the spoils while they are here and preserve them in mason jars for those long dark winter days when we will sit by the fire with the new seed catalogs dreaming of another sweet summer.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Dog
Dog: Here is your number one companion - cute, talented and loyal. He can sit, lie down and roll over. Try giving him a pet and watch how he responds. Keep your dog entertained by playing ball or giving him a bone. Reward him by giving him a treat. To get him to sit, double-click your mouse on the ground close to him. Double-click again to get him to lie down. Then hold your mouse button down and make a circular motion to tell him to roll over.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Grilled Cheese Social: Marco Polo
Grilled Cheese Social: Marco Polo: All right I'm gonna make this quick, I've got a crowded train to catch and a sixer of bud to slam. I felt bad that I left my vegetarian buds...
Monday, December 31, 2012
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Autumn . . .
Autumn, the word itself exudes wonder as it rolls off the tongue. I adore the crisp clear morning sunrises and the cool nights that have you reaching for the comfort of a soft blanket. The goldenrod is in its glory and the chirping of the song birds has been replaced by the cawing of the crows alerting everyone that autumn is coming in and ushering summer on her way.
The corn crop rattles in the field and blackbirds gather on the telephone lines. Woolly worms risk the long trek across country roads and combines whirl as miniature dust storms encompass the bean fields as they are harvested. Pumpkins lay golden and ready for the plucking in the punkin' fields and the long lines of farmers with their wagons brimming with the harvest wait for their turn to unload their bounty at the elevator. The whirrrrrrrrrrr of the elevator continues into the night as it attempts to take in all of nature's bounty in a few short weeks.
The gardener is busy digging up their carrots and potatoes to put them away in the wooden bins in the root cellar for winter store. Rows on rows of fruit jars brimming with tomatoes, beets, pickles, relishes, peaches, plums, berries, and grape juice set side by side in a patchwork of color on the cellar shelves ready to be plucked up at a moment's notice when winter winds howl and all is snowed and silent in the garden. Favorite bulbs have been dug and snuggly stored in the cellar until they are reawakened next year. Amaryllis sit dormant in the darkness until they are brought from the cellar into the warmth of the house after Christmas to awaken and bring us a display of color in the bleakness of winter. Bags of onions hang from the open rafters ready to be placed in a warm stew at a moment's notice.
Fall is a time of preparation. Preparation against the cold, harsh reality of winter. Windows caulked, flower beds mulched, snow fences strung, storm windows hung and gardens plowed.
To everything there is a season . . . and autumn is a glorious richly colored bountiful one.
The corn crop rattles in the field and blackbirds gather on the telephone lines. Woolly worms risk the long trek across country roads and combines whirl as miniature dust storms encompass the bean fields as they are harvested. Pumpkins lay golden and ready for the plucking in the punkin' fields and the long lines of farmers with their wagons brimming with the harvest wait for their turn to unload their bounty at the elevator. The whirrrrrrrrrrr of the elevator continues into the night as it attempts to take in all of nature's bounty in a few short weeks.
The gardener is busy digging up their carrots and potatoes to put them away in the wooden bins in the root cellar for winter store. Rows on rows of fruit jars brimming with tomatoes, beets, pickles, relishes, peaches, plums, berries, and grape juice set side by side in a patchwork of color on the cellar shelves ready to be plucked up at a moment's notice when winter winds howl and all is snowed and silent in the garden. Favorite bulbs have been dug and snuggly stored in the cellar until they are reawakened next year. Amaryllis sit dormant in the darkness until they are brought from the cellar into the warmth of the house after Christmas to awaken and bring us a display of color in the bleakness of winter. Bags of onions hang from the open rafters ready to be placed in a warm stew at a moment's notice.
Fall is a time of preparation. Preparation against the cold, harsh reality of winter. Windows caulked, flower beds mulched, snow fences strung, storm windows hung and gardens plowed.
To everything there is a season . . . and autumn is a glorious richly colored bountiful one.
Bill Cunningham
What a jewel Bill Cunningham of the New York Times is! Check out his media blog by googling "on the street with bill cunningham at the new york times". You can also check out a short documentary on this amazingly passionate photographer at hulu.com.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Springtide
The Maiden has made her presence known early this year,
She has sent Beelzebub on his way---no languishing last long breath this time
She has marshaled her magnificent minions to arrive early,
Crocuses are dotting the landscape, redwings call at dawn, waves of robins forage in the field,
This year she is dancing on a wild warm wind chiding old man winter to challenge her heraldry
Her footprints are evidenced everywhere as she awakens the landscape with new cadres of color
Awaken drab countryside! Awaken sullen trees! Awaken diaphanous daffodils and forsythia!
Enrapture us with your heady fragrance hyacinths!
Come forth! Cloak yourselves in your best spring regalia!
The long slumber is over and a magnificent kaleidoscope is about to emerge
Cast off your coats of dead dank leaves! Push past the thatched brown grass
Harken to the new sweet songs on the wing
Breathe in the perfumed patchouli of the pageantry
Winter is defeated
If you harbor any doubt
Look only to the birds busily building their nests, the signature scribbles of children’s chalk on the pavement
Kites capriciously dancing on the wind and the sun batting her eyelashes in the church windows in early morn
The maiden has arrived victorious in all her glorious splendor. Drink the drink, breathe in the balmy breeze, and hear the harkening of our homeward bound heroine
Join with your voices in the crescendos as they rise
HALLELUJAH!!! Demeter’s daughter HAS ARRIVED
Persephone is loosed from the nether world!
SHE IS HERE! SHE HAS COME.
She has sent Beelzebub on his way---no languishing last long breath this time
She has marshaled her magnificent minions to arrive early,
Crocuses are dotting the landscape, redwings call at dawn, waves of robins forage in the field,
This year she is dancing on a wild warm wind chiding old man winter to challenge her heraldry
Her footprints are evidenced everywhere as she awakens the landscape with new cadres of color
Awaken drab countryside! Awaken sullen trees! Awaken diaphanous daffodils and forsythia!
Enrapture us with your heady fragrance hyacinths!
Come forth! Cloak yourselves in your best spring regalia!
The long slumber is over and a magnificent kaleidoscope is about to emerge
Cast off your coats of dead dank leaves! Push past the thatched brown grass
Harken to the new sweet songs on the wing
Breathe in the perfumed patchouli of the pageantry
Winter is defeated
If you harbor any doubt
Look only to the birds busily building their nests, the signature scribbles of children’s chalk on the pavement
Kites capriciously dancing on the wind and the sun batting her eyelashes in the church windows in early morn
The maiden has arrived victorious in all her glorious splendor. Drink the drink, breathe in the balmy breeze, and hear the harkening of our homeward bound heroine
Join with your voices in the crescendos as they rise
HALLELUJAH!!! Demeter’s daughter HAS ARRIVED
Persephone is loosed from the nether world!
SHE IS HERE! SHE HAS COME.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Friday, July 8, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Ahhhh Sweet Spring!
I have ordered garden seeds although they have not yet arrived and the ground is too wet to rototill. There is something about just getting ready for spring that makes me smile. I love to spend time dreaming about what this summer's garden will look like and planning how I can go about making that plan come to fruition. Spring is like a clean slate after a long cold winter. The trees are starting to bud and you can step outside for the first time in the new year and feel the greening grass beneath your barefeet. The robins are singing early every morning as are the mourning doves who are busily arranging their nests in the evergreens. The first spring rain comes and washes away the last remnants of the winter from the landscape and from your soul. Better days are ahead. Days where you can forget about coats and gloves and boots and scarves. Where you can replace those thoughts with sunny picnics and fishing and the sweet smell of the lilacs that will bloom in May. Perhaps God made spring to follow winter to make us realize that although life can often be bleak and dismal and we cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel---there generally comes a time when the sun comes out and we once again smile in the sunshine and feel the warmth of the spring sun on our souls and all is once again well with the world.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
WHY??????
man’s inhumanity to man
an inexorable wrenching stain
that blemishes man’s existence
and makes our world so pained
the hunched shoulders of man trace the torment
the heavy yoke of our lament so recalcitrant
from the origins of our beginnings
until this day among all days
man’s feet of clay are mired
in this mesh of mangled malaise
why must we maim the reflection
of our own image still
what makes man so wretched
with such a monstrous will?
have the Amistad, Auschwitz, & Big Horn
taught us nothing as we trudge on
must we weep in the blood of our brothers
unchanged by each new dawn?
repeating and repeating our transgressions
stuck on this same sullen path
unwilling to admit torturing our own souls
with such unmitigated wrath
the unending question still unanswered
the essence of man still blind
why must history repeat and repeat itself
an implacable scourge on mankind
an unrequited scourge on all mankind.
c l schrage
Envy of the Mischievious Marauder
ENVY OF THE MISCHIEVOUS MARAUDERS
It’s an early muddled morn on a snowy winter day
It’s an early muddled morn on a snowy winter day
Undeterred the bushy tailed knaves are at play
Among the pines beyond the pane of frosty window glass
As I watch in amazement slumped in a pajama-ed morass
I envy their whimsical tricks on the limbs bowed with snow
Their antics unaffected by the watchful cat below
As they walk the swaying branches like agile tightrope walkers
They refuse intimidation by their obvious waiting stalkers
They leap and spring with unbridled “mischievity”
For this they show enviable proclivity
As I can only huddle here and dream of how it must be
To live life high in the oaks and laugh at humanity
c l schrage
OLD MAN WINTER
Hear the old man’s wily whisper echo as he draws near
The thud of frosty footsteps---his visage comes crystal clear
No mystery that jagged breath on the northern gale
The deep guttural gasps can make Beelzebub’s soul turn pale
His long icy digits grasp the hemlocks and glass the lagoon
As he settles in and sprawls out under a gossamer moon
The old man’s mane lies glistening like diadems in the night
As all beings are bade breathless by such an ethereal sight
No creature doubts the power of this oracle of old
The breadth of his mighty shadow ---makes a brave man’s blood run cold
One wave of his fabled fist can topple towering, timberline trees
Seize up rushing rapids and bring the whole world to her knees
He may seem old and weary but all wise souls take heed
Old man winter is still a demon
Who lives by his own creed.
Aye he lives by his own creed.
C. L. Schrage
Hear the old man’s wily whisper echo as he draws near
The thud of frosty footsteps---his visage comes crystal clear
No mystery that jagged breath on the northern gale
The deep guttural gasps can make Beelzebub’s soul turn pale
His long icy digits grasp the hemlocks and glass the lagoon
As he settles in and sprawls out under a gossamer moon
The old man’s mane lies glistening like diadems in the night
As all beings are bade breathless by such an ethereal sight
No creature doubts the power of this oracle of old
The breadth of his mighty shadow ---makes a brave man’s blood run cold
One wave of his fabled fist can topple towering, timberline trees
Seize up rushing rapids and bring the whole world to her knees
He may seem old and weary but all wise souls take heed
Old man winter is still a demon
Who lives by his own creed.
Aye he lives by his own creed.
C. L. Schrage
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Homage to the flame haired gypsy . . .
Autumn dances across the plains, her copper tresses brushing against the leaves on the trees as she passes.
She entices all with her beauty wantonly whispering that she will linger
Even as we are awed by the brilliance of her halcyon reflections in the lake
The blackbirds congregate and cry out as they perch mottled amidst the jingling of the golden coins on the poplars
Their anxious cacophony announces that they are not deceived by such a majestic charade
They know too well her familiar calling cards and gather to begin their long trek southward
Although the flame haired temptress beckons them to stay and bask in her warmth
But the winged warriors know that autumn is a beguiling beauty whose temperament can be very fickle, restless and fleeting.
One moment her warm breath and unequaled splendor have conquered the landscape
With the turn of her heel the foreboding winds and driving rain of early winter arrive as a reminder that the old man cannot be far behind
And all that is left of the restless gypsy is the rustle of her crimson petticoats that have left their remnants scattered on the ground as a bittersweet reminder of her once blazing glory and hypnotic dance upon the landscape . . .
Alas now but a smoldering memory in the vermillion haze of the sunset---she has vanished.
She entices all with her beauty wantonly whispering that she will linger
Even as we are awed by the brilliance of her halcyon reflections in the lake
The blackbirds congregate and cry out as they perch mottled amidst the jingling of the golden coins on the poplars
Their anxious cacophony announces that they are not deceived by such a majestic charade
They know too well her familiar calling cards and gather to begin their long trek southward
Although the flame haired temptress beckons them to stay and bask in her warmth
But the winged warriors know that autumn is a beguiling beauty whose temperament can be very fickle, restless and fleeting.
One moment her warm breath and unequaled splendor have conquered the landscape
With the turn of her heel the foreboding winds and driving rain of early winter arrive as a reminder that the old man cannot be far behind
And all that is left of the restless gypsy is the rustle of her crimson petticoats that have left their remnants scattered on the ground as a bittersweet reminder of her once blazing glory and hypnotic dance upon the landscape . . .
Alas now but a smoldering memory in the vermillion haze of the sunset---she has vanished.
C. L. Schrage
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