this week, while the world swirls

post #487
          A regular week in irregular times -- which doesn't mean there aren't one time only things not happening. (That sentence is sort of a good example of a double negative being positive....)
        We all have to keep records of our day to day life these days if we don't want to have  events to blur together.
       In one unexpected happening, a special apple tree blew over early in the week, in full bloom. It was "always" part of my life in Kentucky, as much as a tree can be. It lived outside the living room window, entertained and sheltered various birds, and dropped apples on the metal roof, sounding like tennis balls thrown against a wall. 

        This photo was made on Easter day because of the laundry on the line, but it ends up being the last photo of the tree, full of blossoms, behind the house. 

 

         The tree blew away from the house.














The trunk's totally worn out. It was an empty shell. Oh the birds it attracted....

the remaining apple tree -- is that a bird? perhaps a love bug?

        This whole time we are observing social distancing.  And it was not the best time of day to get good light before taking a few photos, but since these days (and nights), we are making up our new normal, some imperfection is to be expected.  

local visionary

resident gymnastic cat!

    Back at my house, I now have a few birds, but watching them is not yet the same as it was at my original house (where my daughter and family now live.)  I do have a red-winged blackbird that returns to my little pond every year, including this year.  And the feeder provides me with great pleasure:
.

on the post near the bird feeder

across from where Sideway Road connects with the road along Mauk Ridge

       
          The last three photos are also along Mauk Ridge, as spring takes over all of eastern Kentucky.  I know my current photos may not be as sharp as I would like, but here's the scoop:  I can blame it on the coronavirus, since I was about to have my cataracts removed.  My appointment will happen soon enough, but, I hope, not too soon, not before we are ready and know how best to help these changes happen safely. 
            It's hard doing what we need to do to bring down the virus numbers unless we accept the reality that by not doing anything we are doing a lot.  I tried to show today how ordinary stuff weaves it way into the current major upheavals and anchors me.  
        Some new readers might be visiting this blog, and I say welcome! Two things to know: I have a place for comments, but for some reason it doesn't work for everyone. I have it set up that I review a message before it gets published.  Also I am not reliable about answering a comment.  Sorry.  The other thing is if a reader clicks on an image, while on a laptop or maybe an iPod, all the photos in the post line up along the bottom of the screen, and clicking on them enlarges them. (It may not work on a smart phone.  No room.)
        I seem to have some readers in many countries, so sometimes I include political comments, to reassure them that there are many points of view in our nation.
       Again, thank you for your interest in my work, in Appalachia, and in going gentle on this earth.  

more redbud at last, mostly

post #486
          I am not always here in April, and the redbuds are not always as spectacular as they were this year. But these trees call to me every year. Here's the second collection of spring flowers and their companion redbuds. 
        I feel compelled to share these earlier photos of this time of year. I seek to affirm and honor that 1) change happens, and 2) there's reliable evidence that things renew every season, just as the terrible time we currently experience won't last forever. Of course there will be changes as life turns closer to normal, but there will be redbuds next spring for sure.

apple orchard, ringed with redbuds.

rue anemone, in the forest -- and a shout out to Channing and Amy who both, separately but at the same time,  jolted my memory for the name of this early flower that is easily missed if you don't get there in a timely manner

It's actually harder to get a photo like this than might be expected...

bluets, also known as Quaker Ladies....

dogwoods IN the woods, and along the edge of fields

Every year I look forward to when this section of Mauk Ridge looks like this.

special sight, early morning, this time of year, along my road

now some photos from a visit in Winchester, Kentucky, in 2019

evidence of the wondrous way the blooms emerge from the branches

            I may add a photo or two in the next few days, but for now this is my testament to a tree that grows where it wants to, often on the edge, an old friend who shows up to announce spring. I appreciate their showy selves this year particularly, when so much sadness and confusion greets us each day. I trust we all have the perseverance to do like a tree, to try over and over and again to do the best we can.

expressing thanks in the moment

post #485
          I give thanks for this lovely spring, for my extended family, for friends, neighbors, my Quaker community, long ago college classmates, and for my curiosity gene and trusting heart. I want to keep things simple today, partly as a way to express those thanks, and partly just because it feels like the proper response to a world having to reexamine itself. 
        Just for the record, I don't think not having a church service -- for the sake of the health of other people -- is a strike against religion. Instead it feels to me like a gesture of solidarity with the human race, making things safer and holier for everyone, assuring there will be less lives lost. In this circumstance, I am very pro-life.

         OK, first a celebration of a favorite tree, the redbud.  This year they have been quite their wondrous selves.  Here are a few recent photos; I have others from earlier years, but that's for another time. They are early harbingers of the fuller spring beauty to come.

along route 504

        I also want to acknowledge the ongoing remarkable response across the nation to the enormous effort happening all around us. Thank you everyone who's working so hard in the face of the Covid19.  This reality is far from finished, and the need for continued patience is huge. I have a subscription to the New Yorker magazine, and I'm sharing last week's cover -- an image that speaks loudly and clearly.  Also thank you everyone who's going along with #SafeAtHome.  It's all about one day at a time.

a TV screen shot from our Governor's daily report, sharing compassion and clarity - again so many of us thank him for his reliable truth telling.

I did go 4 miles from home today for Easter dinner -- I brought my own table, chair, table cloth and silverware!  I enjoyed dining in the carport with my three local family members before returning home. They ate before I came and then sat on the back of the pickup during our short visit.  

I SO LOOK FORWARD TO WHEN I CAN HUG MY FAMILY and FRIENDS AGAIN.

T. drew me the hug bug I had requested a few days ago!

A recent moment at my pond, and I do believe there's a fish in it! I also find ripples a vivid reminder of how what we each do goes so far beyond ourselves.  Again, a topic for another time. Enjoy.

pausing for a poem

post #484
      For making sense of these serious, shifting and unsettled times, it definitely helps to have writing friends who use their words to respond to what goes on around us.  I'm fortunate to share in the poems, essays, songs, novels, memoirs, and fiction manuscripts from the monthly writer's group I've been part of for over 25 years. We stay surprised, grateful for the work that surfaces in this supportive milieu. In addition, we rely on each other's perspectives about anything.
      A recent poem George Ella Lyon shared with all of us gave me the idea to feature it on my blog, with a few photos of mine that could have a connection. I next hoped the other five of us would share some words over the next weeks or months. I'd like to add photos when it works to do so. I look forward to seeing what we come up with! 

      When George Ella recently sent us all this poem, she included a short paragraph with it, which follows:
          Thank you [all] so much for responding to my poem in such a deep & thoughtful way. I wrote it in the early fall of 2008 when I was at the Mary Anderson Center as that financial crisis was unfolding. I was concerned, of course, but I had a meadow, abloom with fall flowers, to walk in. I had the birds, the butterflies & dragonflies, the lake, the woods. I experienced such presence and consolation. Ever since then I've had that meadow in my heart to return to. 
          May we all have such places. May we honor them & each other.

THE MEADOW DOES NOT KNOW
about the stock market.
Today she is worth
exactly what she was worth
yesterday, a year ago, at creation.                            

I don’t mean property value,
taxable assets. I mean
milkweed and copper moths
honeybees, cow vetch,
king snakes. Meadow life
is not money. What rises
and falls here are stems
and flowers, leaves and fruit.
No zigzag line of profit and panic
but the great wheel turning.
Here God gives of her
extravagance and here, like
flicker, viceroy, dragonfly
we come into our inheritance.


  

                     
                George Ella, thank you.