Farm Life: High in the Hive

P1070696We are half way through August.  I bet you are wondering about the Fog in August count.  So far, every day has brought fog, except the day that it was raining…  Winter is coming.  On top of that, at the time of year we should have hot-humid days, when you sweat while taking a shower, we are putting extra blankets on the bed, wearing sweaters, and coming in early from dinner on our deck because it is too cold to sit outside.  We are having days in the low 70F’s and mornings in the mid-40F’s.  Our neighbor mentioned seeing hundreds of geese migrating south already.  I noticed some of the deer are changing from their summer rust coats to their drab winter coats.  Speaking of turning colors, the dogwoods are turning red a month early.  Then, I noticed the yellow jacket nests… Continue reading

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Fossil in the Stream

P1070693Since childhood fossils have fascinated me. Maybe it was my grandparents’ travels to the Petrified Forest during their Southwest vacations. Maybe it was reading about archaeology and discoveries of dinosaurs. In any case, I had the impression that fossils were rare items found in some dig far away. Subsequently, I have had opportunities to see those petrified trees exposed in the desert and dinosaur skeletons displayed in museums. Finding a fossil still seems to be something a better trained eye would do. However, recently, while clearing rocks from a washed-out area, I came across a rock with a pattern. Continue reading

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Farm Life: Fog in August

IMG_3174Living in the country allows you to be more aware of natural phenomenon: the north and south movements of the sun with the seasons, the phases of the moon, the patterns of weather.  All of these have an influence on what tasks you will tick off from your To-Do-List on any given day.  Each work-day, we open the side of the garage for either our Fair-Weather-Car (Honda Civic Hybrid) or Foul-Weather-Car (Subaru All-Wheel-Drive) according to the whether prediction for the day.  While technology and the internet give us more data than most TV news weather reporters had prior to five years ago, centuries of old-timey weather observation are sometimes more accurate for planning ahead. Continue reading

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Poem: Painterly Poetry

P1070620The poet and the painter,
etching memories
with each one’s imagination.

The poet uses brush strokes
of words which
Create images on paper.

The painter describes
a place and time
Indescribable unless seen.

The poet sees the ideas
beyond the scenery,
Directing our eye to look deeply.

P1070626The painter realizes
the drama to capture
The moment of action glanced.

The poet challenges us
to expand our vision
Of language, extraordinarily.

The painter challenges us
to read further than sight
To watch, attentively.

The painter and the poet,
put to paper two hands,
Reaching, grasping, touching us.

P1070637 P1070638

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Poem: The Physics of A Wave

The mass of waterP1070591
moves mid-ocean,
Not measured in meters
of height or depth,
but, volume –
atom upon atom of
H2O in solution
with Na and Ca,
Each pushing the other
while pulled by
Gravitational force of
moon and sun,
Not perceived by us
until we observe
P1070568The distant swell,
building into a wave,
until those stacked
Molecules tumble
over each other with
The physics of competing
inertia — the water in
Motion, and cliffs
at rest — surf
Crashing teal, turquoise,
sea-foam green,
In the beauty
of natural laws.

P1070537 P1070575

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Poem: Cottage Garden

The cottage needs no dye lot,P1070472
for the flowers that
Border its hem.

The lilies stack
bud over blooms
In mid-summer shades.

Or, open but for a day
in yellow and orange,
Fading in the evening shade.

The sun reflects the goldenP1070477
threads of petals,
Embroidered on green.

Shadows contrast the colors,
drawing eyes like
Pollinators flying for nectar.

But, before the mid-day light
shines over-head,
Morning dew beads and sparkles.

Stroll a path, perennial,
in the cottage garden.
Sit, reflective of the scenery.

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Poem: Against the Surf

A summer’s dayP1070402
at the beach:
We face the sand
and surf, rolling,
in a variety of crystalline
whites and marine blues,
Each surface reflecting
fragments of the other,
In layers of sand, stone,
building and cresting waves,
Pastelled sky with clouds.

But, should we turn,P1070394
we would see the greens
And grays that
hold the oceans in
Their tureens.
Cliffs of rock etched
by tides, and
Dunes hold tight
by roots of grasses,
Or, weathered trees
or, roses clinging
To the mud from
brackish ponds.P1070443

Without these walls
and marshes,
The sea would invade,
pulling our homes
To Atlantis’ depths.



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