Birthday Weekend

This weekend I turned 57.
I think I will remember how old I am this year
without the usual subtraction
because I was also born in '57.
I usually celebrate with ice cream
and a wade in a local creek,
but his year 
we celebrated by going south.
Not the balmy breezes south,
just far enough south to see daffodil buds
and hear spring peepers.
While Den visited friends
and looked at campers
and bought a book about early exploration in Pennsylvania,
I attended a SCBWI conference
(Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators)
near Frederick, MD.
Did you know that you can get free books
if you will write reviews of them?
And that leprosy is now totally curable?
True.
I had lunch with a woman who worked for the Washington Post
and NPR
who is writing a children's book about leprosy.
I had supper with Den.
Crab linguine.
Travel rule number 16:
Always have crab when in Maryland.

We came home through Gettysburg.
On the Culp's Hill drive,
I spied a creek near Spangler's Spring
that was perfect for wading,
or as perfect as it gets at 37 degrees and raining.

My feet warmed
in Ronn Palm's Museum of Civil War Images
where Abe Lincoln's bronze life mask and hands
hung above the door.
I was moved by his hands.
Abe's right hand
held a piece of broomstick
to make his fingers curl;
he had been unable to make a fist
as shaking hands with hundreds of people
had swollen his right hand. 
We then went down the block
to Lord Nelson's Gallery
and came out with a Bev Doolittle print.
Den had thought it was impossible for a picture
to show the majesty of the Great Plains,
but found he was wrong.
Rolling landscape.
Blowing prairie grass.
Amazing skies.
Indians on horseback.
Bison herds.

Lucy and four of the five black olives

I felt the dry breeze in my hair
and heard the rumble of thunder.

A State College stop where family and friends
big and small,
on and off key,
restrained and enthusiastic,
sang "Happy birrrrrrrthday dear Graaaaaaaaaammy"
while three candles burned
on an ice cream cake,
followed by a supper that had,
joy of joys,
black olives.
It was as perfect
as a rainy cold spring weekend can be.
And the fun is not over.
Tomorrow is Ugly Sweater Day!

Equinox Thoughts

 
-->

by Denny

            This morning I trekked beyond the cabin with my bucket of corn.  The little herd of deer that make an appearance each morning so we might enjoy breakfast together watched me.  No flapjacks and sausage for them.  They are delighted with corn on the cob, served up cold and on the ground.  As I approach they skip and jump with seeming delight, or do they do that just because they can?  Some jump over the fence, some juke under.  They flee just beyond spitting distance and wait, inquisitively watching while I serve up breakfast.  Tails wag and they come “skipperty-hopping” when I turn my back and walk toward the house.

            As morning unfolds, snow is falling gently and there is a slight breeze which reminds me that today has its feet in the hard winter and its head in the delight of a new birth of spring.  Yes, the robins are back, the snow has receded and the geese are flying in the right direction.  I am painfully aware, though, that the first snowdrop hasn’t popped up yet, and despite finding several wonderfully warm, moist road banks yesterday, there was no evidence yet of coltsfoot. 

Denny at Tara, an ancient Irish site

            It is no wonder the ancient Irish looked to the sun.  Am I so different than they?  Perhaps I am.  I am come back to a warm house and with the flick of a switch I will have light.  With the turn of a knob I can make fire.  Their lives were not quite so comfortable.  I am thinking of all of those massive stones they collected from all parts of the Emerald Isle.  They sorted and arranged them into structures to celebrate the season.  My goals for today are not quite so lofty.  My day will be spent here on the mountain.  I am looking for the sun just as they were, but it is only a bright white orb that peeks out from behind the clouds every now and then.  The ancient Irish looked for the sun to return, but they knew that if it didn’t, it may be there tomorrow.  There is evidence it is there and, “Hope springs eternal,” three words that go together quite nicely I think, and I am reminded,

            The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith,

            is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living.

            It’s our handle on what we can’t see.  The act of faith is what

            distinguished our ancestors, set them above the crowd. 

                  By faith we see the world called into existence by God’s word,

            what we see created by what we don’t see.

                                                                                    Heb. 11    Peterson

bop

The First Buzzard of Spring

Yesterday was Saint Patrick's Day.
Everyone knows that if you catch a leprechaun
he has to grant you a wish.
To lure in any neighborhood leprechauns,
I was dressed as a leprechaun
and distributing luck
by putting green glitter
on the heads of kids in line for dismissal.
Fun!
...also a hygiene check:
how long will it take the glitter to leave their hair?
A little girl said,
"Hey Leprechaun!
Hey!
Hey! Hey!"
I turned around.
"Yes?"
"Hey! Did you know I'm Amish?"
I gave her an extra sprinkle.

The glitter was green,
but outside
the grass has not yet begun to green.
It has been cold.
At recess yesterday
in right field
the kids found a large frozen puddle.
I warned, "Be careful,"
and turned them loose.
Thump.
Thump thump.
The thumping was science at work.
Ice is slippery.
Gravity pulls mass toward the earth.
Lessons were learned with squeals and grins.
As small-bottomed impacts
made the ice crack
kids picked up the pieces
"This looks like glass!"
and learned about transparence
and translucence.

Today the ice was mostly gone.
Instead,
the kids piled sticks between the trunks of trees.
L found a spider on a chunk of bark
and took it over to show the girls.
"Augh!!"
They screamed
and ran away,
not because they are afraid of spiders
but because it is fun to scream.
T found tufts of fur,
remnants of a rabbit long gone.
E insisted the eagle that killed it
was up in the woods.
There is a fine line
between pretending
and lying.
Then I looked up
and saw a big bird.
Not an eagle...
the tipping of the v-shaped wings
told me it was a turkey vulture.
The first buzzard of spring!
I blew my whistle to call the kids together
and pointed out the vulture.
"Lets make our arms into a V
and tip from side to side.
Be vultures!"
As we tipped and soared around center field,
a small voice said, "There's a V!"
She pointed up.
There above our heads
were four Vs
headed north.
White Vs.
Snow geese!
I have never seen snow geese.
Canada geese are exciting enough...
but snow geese!
We form our class into a V,
girls on one slant,
boys on the other,
and flap our goosey group
northward
toward the school.

We haven't found any leprechauns,
but we are indeed lucky.
Saint Patrick would call us
blessed.

Irish Mythbusters #2: Saint Patrick Chased the Snakes Out of Ireland

"Saint Patrick's Day
HAS to be about more than leprechauns
and green beer."

With that thought in mind,
Sue applied for an intracultural studies grant
and in 2011
we had the opportunity
to travel to Ireland.
We visited many Saint Patrick sites:
Slemish, the mountain where he was a slave-shepherd,
Saul, site of his first convert and first church,

It is now a tiny Methodist church.
I felt an inner tremor and realized
Something Earthshaking Happened Here.
Spiritual.
Cultural. 
Historical.
Centuries later, 
the Irish monks would "save civilization" 
by keeping literary culture alive 
in monasteries 
while the Dark Ages churned.
Tara and Slane, the hills where he confronted the king,
Armaugh, his headquarters,
Downpatrick, his gravesite.
We learned that the rounded Celtic cross
combined the sun
with the traditional cross
as sun-worshippers came to faith in Jesus,
and that crosses were carved
to teach Bible stories
as people couldn't read.

I asked at the museum in Downpatrick
about the origin of the snake story.
"Due to its isloation,
Ireland never had any snakes.
But Satan took the form of a snake in Genesis
and Patrick fought the powers of Satan in Ireland.
By the end of his life,
Ireland was mostly Christian
so Patrick had gotten rid of the "snake."

This is not a snake.

I imagine snakes have sometimes been brought to Ireland
perhaps as a joke
or perhaps to "help" the environment
but so far Ireland still considers itself snakeless.
Too bad Australia's bunny imports
and America's yellow ladybug
and Great Lakes gobi fish stories
didn't end the same way.

Happy Saint Patrick's Week!







I

Irish Mythbusters #1: The Pot of Gold is True

We left the mountain in 2011
to travel to the green hills of Ireland.

Meteorologically,
we learned that it rains in Ireland. 
A lot.
Most days it rains,
then the sun comes out,
then it rains again,
then more sun.
There are opportunities for multiple rainbows daily.

Historically,
we learned about local clan
wars
and about the Vikings
who sailed up the rivers in twenty-foot boats
to sack the villages.
Before a battle,
people would bury their valuables in the peat bogs--
gold necklaces,
gold brooches,
gold bowls,
gold bells,
gold communion chalices--
to prevent them from being stolen. 
When the battle was over,
the dead weren't able to dig up their things
and the gold was lost to the centuries.

Through the years,
some gold treasures have been unearthed by plows,
some by small children at play,
some by dogs digging for bunnies.
In Ireland
there is gold still undiscovered,
and rainbows do appear daily.
So the good news is:
there really may be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

The bad news is:
it is against the law to dig for it,
and if you discover some gold by accident,
it belongs to the government.

Happy Saint Patrick's Week!

One Elmo Doll, Two Red Shirts, Three Black Bananas, and Four Rubber Bands

The grandgirls came to stay with Bop and Grammy this weekend.
Lucy saw the new Elmo doll
sitting mid-staircase
as soon as she came in.
"Emmo!"
Elmo was a Goodwill find,
probably donated because he refused to sing.
He swam through the wash cycle
and thumped through the dryer
and emerged with his ABC song.
Who knew?
Lucy loved dancing while Elmo sang,
again
and again
and again.
After supper,
Elmo once more refused to sing.
I thumped him against the couch a few times.
The bad news--
and the good news--
is that his voice never returned.
He still is a good cuddler.

We took the girls
to an Eagle Scout spaghetti dinner fundraiser.
Always put red shirts on preschoolers
when taking them to spaghetti dinners.
It's not a bad idea for adults, either.

Anna Banana turned three black bananas
into banana bread
while Lucy squished chocolate chips
into Aldi sugar cookie dough.
While the house filled with delicious smells,
I, the mother of sons,
found four rubber bands
and put the girls' hair into pigtails.
"What do you say when Grammy puts your hair in pigtails?"
"Ow."
"What do you say when Grammy takes your hair out of pigtails?"
"Ow."
We went to visit my mom in the nursing home.
Mom seemed to be unaware of the girls
until we put Lucy
on the wheelchair's footrest.
While Anna and I pushed,
Lucy greeted everyone we passed,
and when we came
to a stretch of empty hallway
Lucy wanted to go fast.
Pigtails were flying
and Mom was holding on to Lucy's arm tightly.
Perhaps a thought surfaced:
She could fall off.
When the ride was over,
I had to peel Mom's fingers from Lucy's arm.
They both were smiling.

Mom and Lucy both enjoyed the ride.
They both are extremely cheerful people.
And now,
they both wear pull-ups.
Lucy's pull-ups give her freedom
and the thought that she is a big girl now.
Her experiences are limited
and there is so much she doesn't understand--
she was shocked to learn recently
that she will grow up.
Anna understands about growing up.
When she read Miss Bindergarten Gets Ready for Kindergarten
she talked about going to kindergarten next year.
Olivia and the Fairy Princesses was harder for her to understand,
and I had to help with "corporate malfeasance."
I understand the adult humor in the Olivia books
but infinity
and the trinity
baffle me.
Our understanding
is limited
by our lack of experiences.

During Lent
we think about giving things up.
Mom has had to give up walking.
It was not her choice.
But God,
who created black holes
and bobcats
(Lucy calls them "Bop cats.")
and beryllium
chose to be limited to a human body
to break the rules of death.

On Easter morning,
coming soon to a planet near you,
we will celebrate
the thumping
and muteness of death
with Elmo dances
and bright colors
and good food
and hands raised
with

the spring wind
in our pigtails.



Blessed Lent!









 


 

First Day of Spring

Today is the first day of March.
For years
we have celebrated the first day of spring
on this date,
using the logic
that if summer vacation
is June, July, and August,
then spring must be March, April, and May.
And though the temperatures were below zero yesterday
and there is a Major Snowstorm predicted for tomorrow,
last week Den saw the first robin,
right on schedule.
The bluebirds, however, are late.
Smart birds, those.

Spring arrives in increments.
The rising sun wakes the cats
who wake us earlier each morning.
Four geese flew over on Valentines Day.
Where did they land?
I still wear a black turtleneck almost every day,
but some days I cover it with a cotton sweater
instead of wool.
The winter fleece-lined boots
are occasionally replaced with wellies.
The ankle length wool coat
is replaced by a knee-length wool coat.
The daffodil noses emerge on the south side of the house
while the snowdrops are still buried under a big snowbank,
but by the end of the month,
crocuses will be withering
and The Great Coltsfoot Race will be over.
(Den usually finds the first coltsfoot
as he travels at lower elevations
and he knows of a certain south-facing spring-fed bank,
but I am just as thrilled to find a sunny yellow face
a week later under the mailbox.)

Today we celebrated the first day of spring
by having our blood drawn--
new doctor--
and then going out for breakfast.
Scrambled eggs with friends
was a serendipitous small town treat.
A stop at the County Historical Museum
to sell some books
led to the 1866 Pomeroy property map
full of Troutville ancestors--
Knarr.  Kunst. Heilbron. Schoch. Zilliox.
In Osceola,
Kepharts and Gearharts,
in Mount Joy,
Conklins and Shaffners.
I find myself thankful
that I am not dependent on their ancestral furnaces.
This winter we have been snug
despite the frequent sub-zero temperatures.
We decide to drive Clearfield Creek
to see a result of those temperatures,
the ice jams
between Dimeling
and Faunce.
The jagged pieces
stand up like the hair
on the back of a giant ice-cat
and are as tall as I am in some places.
The road had been flooded
but the water has receded
and we are able to get through.
We swerve to miss a flash of red,
then turn around
to pick up the body of a pileated woodpecker.
Roadkill is another sign of spring,
but it's usually possums
and raccons
and skunks,
mammals who are using their hormones
instead of their eyes.

Upon our arrival back home,
a possum under the birdfeeder
greets us with a mouthful of sunflower seeds.
He scuttles up the tree
and waits motionless.
I wonder--
if he is nervous,
will he play dead
and fall out of the tree? 
I talk to him,
touch his tail,
his toes,
his haunch,
then look a bit closer at his teeth
and decide not to press my luck.

All have us have had an adventure
this first day of spring.