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.