RED CROWN GASOLINE

RED CROWN GASOLINE
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

Can't resist adding this to the post below. There are two of these at the replica station.

Highway rest stop masquerades as gasoline station

Highway rest stop masquerades as gasoline station
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

North Dakota has created here a little temple to the oil found near here and to the small refineries that made it into some of the American fuel that transformed our whole way of life. This replica thing tickled me. And the sun of the plains made for nice bright photos.

The Badlands in October

The Badlands in October
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

Just a brief stop at this view spot for Theodore Roosevelt National Park late this afternoon. The colors were less intense in this light and at this time of year. The small tree has some red berries, which I haven't identified yet. This is a lovely pastel palette. I am almost too tired to write, but love to log in from the motel. It's such a treat not be be cut off..

Actual hail, actually falling

PA260026
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

Oh, I know it wasn't very much and it melted right away; but while it was falling it did cause a fine flurry of excitement. And it made a nice display on the road or the mulch, where it didn't fall in betweeen the grasses. If you look closely you can see the pale streaks (against the green) made by the hail as it fell. The subtle muted colors of this landscape would make a nice painting, I think.

I may not be able to post for a couple of days (on the road again) but I'll be back soon with news and views. Good night.

Autumn through the kitchen window

Autumn through the kitchen window
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

It doesn't get much prettier than this! This was the 2005 autumn, which does not really seem that long ago. The yellow tree is one of the three sisters. Many of the maples and aspens were a little redder this year. Since I take so many pictures here, it is fun to follow the growth of individual trees and compare the colors of one autumn to another. This year the tamarack, or larch, are just beginning to turn in the last two days. Last year, they were all yellow at this time, so they are later. Which is a small bit of anecdotal evidence for global warming. My daughter moved here in 1986 and the winters aren't generally as cold as they were then. And the oldtimers say that winters in the thirties and forties were MUCH colder than they were then. I hope we have finally gotten the will to make an all-out assault on this problem, at least as we understand it now. Most of the things we think need to be done, are not HARMFUL, especially conservation. But I have to admit, I HATE those ugly-shaped, mercury-containing and stingy-with-light flourescent bulbs. I'm using them, but it is sort of like being on a diet--not fun, even if you know how virtuous it is.
The cold is coming in tonight and there will be wind, snow and rain on Monday, so we may wait a day of two before leaving.

Seasonal Road: Not snowplowed by the Emmet County Road Commission

Seasonal Road: Not snowplowed by the Emmet County Road Commission
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

My grandson is home for the weekend and we've been doing a lot of visiting. What a delight to see him again before we leave!
I love the layers in this picture of the unimproved (and therefore perfect!) road that runs along the south end of our chunk of land.
Clean window, wipered-after-frost window, mirror, road in front, road behind, camera, lens, hand of the photographer, edge of car roof, part of hood. When I took it, I was only looking at the late autumn trees.
Today I said goodbye to my water exercise group, a fine bunch of folks. I plan to keep this up wherever I go; it really works! I'm stronger than I was at the beginning of the summer.

Frost crystals, aspen leaf

Frost crystals, aspen leaf
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

Yesterday morning after the first really determined frost, in the sun-soaked morning, this perfect and imperfect leaf.
Tonight I worked on a newsletter with my daughter and I have been crafting text for three hours, so I am about out of craft, but I wanted you to see this leaf. Good night.

Morning Frost

PICT4332
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

It sure enough did in the potted geraniums on the porch! I started another book by Bernd Heinrich today. Of course, every writer is my favorite when I am in the thick of a book, but his books are ALL my favorites. The Mind of the Raven just about knocked me out! This book is called Winter World; the ingenuity of animal survival. The golden-crowned kinglet weighs about five grams but winters in the frosty north. I am about to find out how, and many other secrets, some of which I hope to share with you, without freezing my physical self. I could never do the things he does; I like the indoors too much. After all, that's where the keyboard is. I find that outdoor light, even when I sit in shadow, makes the laptop screen difficult to use.
To begin with, he thanks the people who have studied the way nature works; the information they have gained enables all of us to think about these interesting mysteries. Here is what he says in the acknowledgements, "I also read somewhere that Thoreau "stopped being a thinker" when he became a naturalist. I think that is getting it the wrong way round. You need facts to think with, and thinking about nature without facts is, really, feeling. Fiction is fiction, no matter how real one tries to make it seem." p. vi
Let's read that again: YOU NEED FACTS TO THINK WITH! I would like to see that engraved over the entrance to all school buildings. And then on the door sill, deeply engraved, so you would have to [step over it every day you went to school: THINKING [about anything] WITHOUT FACTS iS, REALLY, FEELING.
Take that! And that! Like they used to say in the comics: Biff! Pow! Thwap! Such a clear, and to me incontrovertible, statement.

Aspens and sky

Aspens and sky: Photomerged
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

I Photomerged four photographs to get this expansive sky. It was a glorious sunny autumn day. I had S let me out of the car and walked home down the two-track taking pictures all the way. I seem to want to hold onto autumn more than ever before.
I have been remembering a doll I had. She was commercially made, about five inches tall, of a single piece of wood about 1/4 inch thick. She had been jigsawed and sanded and her edges were very smooth. She could wear rather short little easy-to-make dresses with a drawstring around the neck and buttonholes for her arms. Her underwear was painted on.The bottoms of her feet were flat and she could stand in her little painted-on white sox and black Mary Janes. Most of the time I think her hair was blond and then once in a while, I think it was black. All of her was painted in smooth enamel paint; her skin was peachy-pink. If I named her, I cannot remember the name. At some point, she got a couple of little-sibling tooth marks on her face, quite marring her beauty. Tonight I am wanting to hold her in my hand. I am going to try to sketch her. Maybe my sister, who has a jogsaw, can make me a replacement. There must have been others like her. Where have they all gone? There is a similar hand-made older doll on eBay right now. But she is nine inches tall and has jointed legs. And a VERY old fashioned hairdo. For the past year or so, I have bought myself some small dolls at jumble sales and in thrift stores. I don't know why. I never played much with dolls, actually, because I was usually busy reading. Do you still have any of your dolls?

brief autumn--
a painted doll awakens
from a long slumber
jhh

Have a good night's rest in this excellent autumn weather. Open those windows!

Gray Cloud of October

Pano Oct 20 up
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

It's the green and gold time of year. The reds have blown away. And the bones of the forest show ever more clearly. The cranes and geese have all gone south by now. But my daughter has seen two pileated woodpeckers calling raucously while she is on her morning walk. Every day I realize that some of the things I was going to do/paint/visit this year will have to be relisted for next year. Sleep tight.

Jeanette, June, John

Jeanette, June, John
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

I have been thinking about my parents and my family--and memory. This picture was taken circa 1951. This is not our house and I don't know whose it is. This photo was taken in the Schenectady, NY, area (was it your house??) and looks like the ones we took with our Brownie Reflex. (I got myself one of those last year from eBay, but still need to get some film.) I am in the center, in a dress I made of iridescent blue fabric. Rayon, I think. It may have been one of the items I sloshed in dry-cleaning fluid and then hung out in the barn to dry. (Did anyone else ever do anything quite as dumb?) If I was going to make something, I might have chosen washable fabric. Maybe someone gave me the yard goods? How much I have forgotten. . .
Our friend, Jeanette is on the left. She was a couple of years younger than I. I haven't heard from her yet (she lets email clump up in the box) but hope she will remember something more.
My brother John, six years younger, is on the right. He can't remember the place, but says he remembers well the joy of finding something to be interested in while dressed in Sunday clothes.
Am I holding a game? Are we playing with pencil and paper? What does a Ouija board look like? We didn't have one (or did we?) but the owners of the mystery house might have.
Tonight my husband talked to my grandson on the phone and recalled a time maybe fifteen years ago when we went with my grandsons and their widowed mother to see the eldest one play T-Ball. It was just supposed to be practice, not competition, but somehow my grandson got called out. It made him cry, his mother angry, and we all went home. I had completely forgotten about this outing. My husband is a big repository of this stuff: who we had over for dinner, what we ate, what movies we went to see and with whom. Most of this stuff is not in my databank at all. Sometimes, under his coaching, I get a memory trace, that's all. But many other things I remember in great detail. What do you remember. What incomplete stories do your family photos tell? Sleep tight.

A Turban Squash says: Buy me!

P1240154
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

These always seem a little dangerous to me, as if they might be harboring alternate life forms. While I was looking at this, a lady asked me if I knew how to cook them. I had to admit I did not. And we already have two uncooked kitchen-counter-decoration squash from our last optimistic visit to Bill's Farm Market. And it is most probably true that you can't take it with you . . . at least on a projected two week auto trip.

Purple Cabbage, believe it!

Purple Cabbage, believe it!
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

I never saw a purple cabbage
nor did I think to see one
But I can tell you anyhow
I'd rather see than be one!
(With apologies to Gelett Burgess.)
At Bill's Farm Market these are displayed next to the gold cabbages. And each of them commands a pretty price. I didn't ask if chemistry is involved in this, I don't think it would cook up prettily, either. The recipe should use it raw or blanched in florets. And now, having done my bit for cuisine, I'll say good night. Weather turning colder here.

Brief Autumn

Brief Autumn
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

Lots of people think these landscape photos are boring. I'm just thankful there still is some landscape. I read a long article today (in a recent New Yorker--Oct 6, 2008) about the smuggling of Russian timber into China, enriching the smugglers and local officials, as well as Chinese factories and US stores like Walmart. It touched on timber smuggling from Brazil and Indonesia as well. It mentioned baby cribs and paint-brush handles as things that are made from smuggled wood. It seems that there are too many people, really, using too much stuff. And here I sit at my computer, made of minerals mined everywhere. . .

Little Brother

Little Brother
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

I tracked this into someone's house tonight. Oh, you don't need to bother with that she said, when I picked it up. But it does remind me of a little brother. This may be the silliest post I ever made. Good night.

Remnants of past lives

Remnants of past lives
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

A fallen cedar fence post; a small stone pile. Tha sandy soil and short growing season made for little chance of agricultural success here. To me, the agricultural landscape of the people who came before is is very poignant. As the fences decay leaving only a row of scraggy bushes and trees--as the barns fall, more and more of them each year, we get farther and farther from evidence of those difficult lives which nourished so much of American competence and inventiveness.
Little circles of pale green lichen make lace upon these stones. What is my accomplishment?

Three Stones

Three Stones
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

I remember reading somewhere that a stack of three stones is not an accident. Someone placed them there; it carries some meaning. But I cannot find this in my notes or anyplace else. This particular stack has been here quite some time and has attracted some handsome lichen ornamentation. When I was in high school, I would have said "Lih-chen" because no one had ever said the word around me; I had only read it. No one taught me much natural history. My folks had both grown up in southern Arizona, and didn't know the local plants. I never had any course in any kind of natural history, with the possible of a few things in the crowded "Biology" course in the tenth grade. Which also covered (sort of) reproduction and single-celled animals. I had no idea that people watched birds, or studied wildlife or plants of any kind. I think it was the major flaw in my education. In college, I filled my "science" requirement with a year of chemistry, which was very interesting, but sort of inanimate, compared to wildlife study.
Good night, little idol of standing stones. It reminds me of a cartoon badger--standing upright and looking at you.

Young trees on the old fence row

Young trees on the olf fence row
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

The fallen fence post is at the lower right. We have taken up a lot of the barbed wire, but not all of it. The larger tree in the photo reminds me of a nurse, or governess, for the smaller one, which looks like it might be frail, yet determined, and perhaps a little scatterbrained. It is easy to personify trees and it does take my mind briefly away from politics or world economics.
I can make these short fictions, but the focus required to write a novel is almost unimaginable to me. Today I got two more of William Maxwell's books from online bookstores. Now I am trying to decide which one to read first. Guess I'll go get started! Good night.

Mist: autumn morning

Mist: autumn morning
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

I have named these young maples the Three Sisters. They have grown so much since we came here. After some large Quaking Aspens blew over, they are claiming the space and the sunlight outside the back door.
Many mornings now, we have a heavy mist which hangs on until well after sunrise. It gives everything a special glow.

At the turning

At the turning
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

Meaning, pattern, form and authenticity

At this time of year, the layered arrangement of the limbs of the untrammeled maple becomes ever more clear. I have been reading William Maxwell and would like to quote him. William Maxwell is a favorite writer of mine. He is the author of many novels, the earliest of which was published in 1938. He was also the fiction editor at the New Yorker for forty years. This is what Howard Moss says about him on the back cover of The Outermost Dream, a collection of his work from which the excerpt below is taken, “As for life in general, one need merely read him. The least flashy of writers, a writer’s writer, he is controlled and reserved, and yet magical at the same time. He has been a master of fiction for almost fifty years.”

“I was never asked to deal with a work of fiction [to review it for the New Yorker] and if I had been I would have said no. Too much of a busman’s holiday. Also, after you have said whether it does or does not have the breath of life, what standards are you going to invoke when confronted with a thing that, like a caterpillar, consumes whatever is at hand? A long narrative requires impersonation, hallucinating when you don’t know the answer, turning water into wine, making a silk purse out of a string of colored scarves and extracting a white rabbit from a sow’s ear, knowing how and when to hold the carrot in front of the donkey’s nose, and sublime confidence. “The house was full of that poetic atmosphere of dullness and silence which always accompanies the presence of an engaged couple.” That sort of thing will keep any reader from escaping out the side door. But diaries, memoirs, published correspondence, biography and autobiography—which are what I was asked to consider—do not spring from prestidigitation or require a long apprenticeship. They tell what happened—what people said and did and wore and ate and hoped for and were afraid of, and in detail after often unimaginable detail they refresh our idea of existence and hold oblivion at arm’s length. Looked at broadly, what happened always has meaning, pattern, form, and authenticity. One can classify, analyze, arrange in the order of importance, and judge any or all of these things, or one can simply stand back and view the whole with wonder."
from the introductory note to The Outermost Dream; essays and reviews.

The Brave Little Seedling

The Brave Little Seedling
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

If you look closely, you can see the conifer seeding that has sprouted in the sawn-off-close-to-the-ground stump at the edge of the trail. The Waldron Fen is a nature preserve. Many years ago, the former owner planned a Christmas tree farm and planted a variety of native and non-native conifers. I don't think a single Christmas tree was ever sold. Left to themselves, the pines and firs are becoming a forest cathedral. On a recent Saturday, we walked through the tall slender (overplanted) trees on a soft carpet of fallen needles. This was something I saw; it's not terribly pretty, but it is encouraging.

Beginning of autumn

Beginning of autumn
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

Both these maples grow along the old fence line. This same hedgerow also has two beautiful Serviceberry or Juneberry trees that bear beautiful white blooms in early spring. It makes me smile about birds sitting on the fence and digesting juneberries. It makes me think about hedgerows, what springs up there, and the wildlife they support, particularly on land like this that was marginal for farming. (Too cold here, too sandy.)
One afternoon last summer I noticed that the Juneberry tree in the east meadow seemed to be flipping its limbs or thrashing about. But it was a perfectly still day. I got my binoculars. A pair of Rose-breasted grosbeaks were feeding on the berries, and so was a squirrel. He worked his way out to the end of a branch and sort of swung on it, like a too-heavy Christmas ornament. When he reached the end of the branch, he swung down and transitioned to another branch. The grosbeaks moved around him and worked where he was not. The next day, when I walked out to the tree, I couldn't see a single red berry, although I had spotte quite a bit of red with my binoculars. I've read that early farm women made jelly from the berries, but I don't know how they got them in time. And I haven't tasted a single one.

Last goldenrod bloom

Last goldenrod bloom
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

I am pretty sure it is goldenrod, but small and late, and of an atypical shape. The large blooms of the Canada goldenrod have turned brown by now. I went to pick just the flower on the walk back from the mailbox; I was surprised when the root ran along the ground just under the surface and perpendicular to the shaft of the plant. When I looked at it, I thought it was pretty and brought the whole thing home. It took some "persuading" to get it to hold another angle so I could scan it. I like the look of the cluster of root hairs where the plant goes underground.

Young Sugar Maples

Young Sugar Maples
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

Here you can see how the bigtooth aspens (Populus grandidentata) have served as "nurse trees" allowing the young maples to begin growing in a more protected, slightly-shaded place. Since the aspens are a short-lived tree, the maples will continue to gain in relative strength. Fifteen years ago, when we bought this land, they were little more than seedlings. I have become very interested in the trees here. It is a climate much suited to trees. I love to see where they choose to sprout and flourish and how they arrange themselves, trunks, limbs and leaves, in search of sunlight.

autumn deepens--
my grandson stuffs the washer
with a load of jeans

I just looked this up and it has been five years since I wrote this haiku!
I never saw anybody put more jeans into a single load. It still makes me laugh to think of it, now that he has left home for good.

Sunrise

Sunrise
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly flow the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze

Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears

Remember that Fiddler? Lyrics have a way of lodging in your head and popping up. Mostly I have hymns. But this has always been a catchy, memorable tune to me.

Rhythm; beginning of autumn

Rhythm; beginning of autumn
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

And here I am at another autumn, the gateway to winter. Eight years since I retired and none of my projected retirement projects are advancing very fast. Things remain undone, and chances are missed. I recently read the memoir that Hayden Carruth wrote about his long friendship with James Laughlin. It is called Beside the Shadblow Tree. I loved this short and heartfelt book. After reading it, I had new ideas about Laughlin, his charitable actions and his marriages. I liked him better than I had before. It sent me back to Laughlin's late-in-life published works, which I had ignored, leaving him back at the Ezuversity and in wealthy youth, except for New Directions, and all that he accomplished there.

I also had a new sense of Carruth's emotional fragility. In that small book, I had met two people (about both of whom I had read quite a bit) in a whole new way. I went around for a couple of weeks writing Carruth a letter in my head. I was going to tell him how much his encouragement had meant to my deceased pal, Pat Shelley, as well! I thought Carruth wouldn't mind hearing these things and of my appreciation for his poetry. It probably would have taken me no more than an hour to actually write this letter and send it in care of his publisher, if I could not find a better address. And while I was thinking about it, he died.

Here's Beth's post about Carruth, with one of his poems. You can find more of his poetry through Google. Like this one:

On Being Asked To Write A Poem Against The War In Vietnam

Well I have and in fact
more than one and I'll
tell you this too

I wrote one against
Algeria that nightmare
and another against

Korea and another
against the one
I was in

and I don't remember
how many against
the three

when I was a boy
Abyssinia Spain and
Harlan County

and not one
breath was restored
to one

shattered throat
mans womans or childs
not one not

one
but death went on and on
never looking aside

except now and then
with a furtive half-smile
to make sure I was noticing.

Hayden Carruth
from poemhunter.com

Grampy's Hat

Grampy's Hat
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

Today we had a sump pump alarm installed. We will close up here and visit this adored granddaughter on our way back home. This is how she looked when we saw her last, but she is changing fast at her age. I can't wait!

A fresh cake of suet

A fresh cake of suet
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

This flavor of suet block is called Bird Blend. There are different nuts and seeds imbedded in the block. Last year, even squirrels used to pick them out. But this year has been almost squirrel free, for reasons we do not know.
I love to watch the strong feet of this woodpecker cling onto the wires of the suet holder. Tonight I am feeling very lucky to live here, and as if I do not really deserve such luck when things are so terrifying for so many children and families in the world.
Here's a little something for Joann; it's from Scott Russell Sanders's 2006 book. A Private History of Awe. "It's often said a young child is like a sponge, but that seems to me the wrong metaphor, because a sponge can be wrung dry, while everything that goes into a child stays there. A child is more like a forest, gathering every every drop of rain or flake of snow, every fallen leaf, the slant of sunlight and glint of moonlight, the fluster and song of birds, the paths worn by deer, the litter of bones and nuts and seeds, and whatever the wind delivers, taking it all in, turning everything into new growth."
page 43.

I wish I had written this! "the fluster and song of birds" is gorgeously fresh and perfect. The whole metaphor "a child is like a forest" is absolutely stunning. I believe we all need to be mindful that "whatever goes into a child stays there" so that whenever we are able to do something to improve the lives and situations of children that we know or are able to extend the hand of charity to, we have this as an obligation. When I read this short passage this morning, I knew I had found something great for my blog; here it is. Good night

Masses of cloud rise up in the east

Masses of cloud rise up in the east
Originally uploaded by jhhymas

Every cloud different, yet still a cloud. I took this through the raindroppy windshield on Levering Road last night.
What a lucky life I lead! Tonight as I write, on XM radio the soulful French horn theme from Strauss's tone poem Don Juan catches my attention. I remember Wendell Rider filling the San Jose Symphony with this gorgeous melody.

And I am laughing out loud halfway through Gogol's Dead Souls, which I never guessed from the title would be so funny. This is the new Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky translation. In an attempt to capture the tone of the original, they use a lot of slangy British formulations. I like it, but it makes me uneasy, because it is so unlike the familiar classic fiction translations. I can only compare it to the three volumes of Natsume Soseki's I am a Cat, also translated (from the Japanese) by British writers. That has the same slangy edge, which I also like.

While I enjoy my life, we are undergoing another American crisis which I am powerless against. Up the road, the house which a man inherited from his grandmother, which he mortgaged and lost, is now for sale with the eight acres it stands on for $50,000. The house is well-built, but will need work, since he removed the copper plumbing pipes to sell just before he was forced to leave. This is only one little American story. We drive past signs of many others every day. Many homes in this rural area have been for sale for two or three years. I hope it is Morning in America, but right now, it does not feel like it.