An Incomplete Answer

ahmamaHe loved to ask his mother questions. It was the pleasantest thing for him to ask a question and then to hear what answer his mother would give. Bambi was never surprised that question after question should come into his mind continually and without effort. 

Sometimes he felt very sure that his mother was not giving him a complete answer, was intentionally not telling him all she knew.  For then there would remain in him such a lively curiosity, such suspicion, mysteriously and joyously flashing through him, such anticipation, that he would become anxious and happy at the same time, and grow silent.
~Felix Salten from Bambi

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How to Pay Attention

closerI don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
–  Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day”

Sometimes it is enough to kneel in the grass to capture the right light at the precise moment it is sent from above.  It is prayer to be blessed so, prayer to pay attention, prayer to be grateful for that moment.  I find myself on my knees often these days because it all will be gone too soon, much too soon.

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Where Minds and Gardens Grow

hollyhock
hollyhock

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As I go between meetings on the Western Washington University Campus in Bellingham, Washington, I can’t help but admire the work of the stewards of the gardens and landscape, as well as some of the four legged visitors.  These are iPhone photos, taken on the run.

cornbee
cornflower and pollinator
officially a weed but lovely nonetheless
officially a weed but lovely nonetheless
hollyhock
hollyhock

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rose garden outside Old Main after a shower
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rose garden
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geranium outside the Academic Instructional Center
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hedge of ornamental grasses near the Rec Center
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Hollyhock seed pods
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blackberries sneak in here and there
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ornamental hedge berries
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geranium
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nigella seed pods
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Queen Anne’s Lace with its “bruised” center

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wwuscallop

zinniapatch
zinnia patch

WWUpinkcover

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Let Them Be Left

abouttobloom

 

What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and wildness?
Let them be left,O let them be left, wildness and wet,
Long live the weeds and the wildness yet.
~Gerard Manley Hopkins from “Inversnaid”

 

Maybe I identify with weeds as I too have grown a bit “excessive” in mid-life, growing unnecessarily and a bit fluffier than I need be.  Maybe I admire their ability to thrive where they land, resilient through all sorts of trials and deprivation.  Certainly they deserve appreciation for their wildly unique characteristics and their perfect imperfections.  Once I get to know them,  their beauty brings me joy.

I can only hope I too can be left,  my over-proliferation shown grace, my greediness granted mercy.

gonetoseed

 

In nature, nothing is perfect and everything is perfect.
~Alice Walker

 

lotsaweeds

 

…if the simple things in nature have a message you understand,
Rejoice, for your soul is alive.
~Eleanora Duse

 

weedybarn

Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them.
~A. A. Milne

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…make no mistake:  the weeds will win; nature bats last.
~Robert M. Pyle

 

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The Sun Behind You

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sunsethill

… if you ran, time ran. You yelled and screamed and raced and rolled and tumbled and all of a sudden the sun was gone and the whistle was blowing and you were on your long way home to supper. When you weren’t looking, the sun got around behind you! The only way to keep things slow was to watch everything and do nothing! You could stretch a day to three days, sure, just by watching!
~Ray Bradbury from Dandelion Wine

This is a time to slow down and just watch, in order to stretch the days out as long as possible.  I have a tendency to race through the hours given to me, heedless of the sun settling low behind me surrendering the day to the advancing march of darkness.

So I choose for now to be observer and recorder rather than runner and racer, each moment preserved like so many jars of sweet jam on a pantry shelf.   The sun may be setting, but it is taking its time.

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Wish to Whiteness

swirlHer body is not so white as
anemony petals nor so smooth—nor
so remote a thing. It is a field
of the wild carrot taking
the field by force; the grass
does not raise above it.
Here is no question of whiteness,
white as can be, with a purple mole
at the center of each flower.

Each flower is a hand’s span
of her whiteness. Wherever
his hand has lain there is
a tiny purple blemish. Each part
is a blossom under his touch
to which the fibres of her being
stem one by one, each to its end,
until the whole field is a
white desire, empty, a single stem,
a cluster, flower by flower,
a pious wish to whiteness gone over—
or nothing.
~William Carlos Williams — “Queen Anne’s Lace”
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queenannes

Tarnished

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In a patch of baked earth
At the crumbled cliff’s brink,
Where the parching of August
Has cracked a long chink,

Against the blue void
Of still sea and sky
Stands single a thistle,
Tall, tarnished, and dry.

Frayed leaves, spotted brown,
Head hoary and torn,
Was ever a weed
Upon earth so forlorn,

So solemnly gazed on
By the sun in his sheen
That prints in long shadow
Its raggedness lean?

From the sky comes no laughter,
From earth not a moan.
Erect stands the thistle,
Its seeds abroad blown.
~Robert Laurence Binyon –“The Thistle”


As A World Turns

all photos from the Rose Carousel of Butchart Gardens, Vancouver Island, British Columbia
all photos from the Rose Carousel of Butchart Gardens, Vancouver Island, British Columbia

Under its canopy, in the shade it casts,
turns a world with painted horses,
all from a land that lingers a while
before it disappears.
Some, it’s true, are harnessed to a wagon,
but all have valor in their eyes.
A fierce red lion leaps among them,
and here comes ’round a snow-white elephant.

Even a stag appears, straight from the forest,
except for the saddle he wears, and,
buckled on it, a small boy in blue.

And a boy in white rides the lion,
gripping it with small clenched hands,
while the lion flashes teeth and tongue.

And here comes ’round a snow-white elephant.

And riding past on charging horses come girls,
bright-eyed, almost too old now for this children’s play.
With the horses rising under them,
they are looking up and off to what awaits.
~Rainer Maria Rilke from “Jardin de Luxembourg”

As a child, I could not resist a ride on a carousel, waving each time I came round.  As an adult, I can not resist watching a carousel, waving back.

It is a world that turns and turns without going anywhere, except in the imaginations of the riders who fly higher, leap farther, jump huge gaps, race fastest.  It becomes a world that goes anywhere and everywhere.   The swirl of surroundings and magic of music raises each child up, up, speeding faster and faster to catch whatever may await them.   Then the world slows, settling and settling until each waving child becomes the stationary waving adult who stands their ground fast faithfully waiting — remembering how going round and round without going anywhere was the most wonderful feeling in the ever turning world.

You don’t really understand human nature unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around – and why his parents will always wave back.
~William D. Tammeus

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Perchance to Dream

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A kitty we met in Scotland who was willing to share the sun room

I count it as a certainty that in paradise, everyone naps. 
~Tom Hodgkinson

I believe the world would be a better place if we could stop in the middle of the day and just rest our eyes for awhile — to look at the inside of our eyelids for a few minutes, to pause, to pray, to purr…

perchance to dream.   Aye, there’s the rub.

We just might wake and see things differently.

 

A slight breeze stirs tree branches
so shadow patterns play on the curtains
like candlelight in a drafty room.

The harvest is over, corn
stubble and weeds in the field. The sky is

soft blue, a few clouds in the distance.

I will close my eyes, nap for
a while. Perhaps when I wake all will seem
the same. Sleep plays tricks in many ways.
~Matthew Spereng – “Late August, Lying Down to Nap at Noon”

Like a graceful vase, a cat, even when motionless, seems to flow. 
~George F. Will

Fair Weather Farewell

I’m feeling nostalgic for the hubbub of the first day of the Northwest Washington Fair in Lynden this morning. We are not there with our Haflingers this week, taking every other year off for the last four years since I first wrote this blog piece. Our main (now adult) helpers all needed to be away doing other important things this week and Dan and I need to be at work. We have a slew of young helpers we will miss spending time with this week: Ellie, Hans, Ethan, and Josiah and a few who are hoping to be helpers in the future. Our Haflingers are standing out in the field this morning wondering why they are not the center of attention in our fair stalls, all fluffed and buffed. Maybe next year, fellas and gals, maybe next year…

Barnstorming

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For the first time since 1992, we are not preparing this weekend to spend the week displaying our Haflinger horses at the Northwest Washington Fair in Lynden.  BriarCroft has been a consistent presence at this fair for almost two decades, promoting the Haflinger breed in a well  decorated display, providing 24 hour a day coverage for the horses for the 6 days of the fair. We begged the Fair Board for 5 years to allow us to display at the fair, and they finally said “okay, here’s the space, build it yourself” and we did! We were not there for classes, competition, or ribbons. We were there because people enjoyed our Haflingers and we enjoyed the people.

But this year, it was not to be.  Our faithful trick riders Kelsy and Chesna who performed daring feats on their Haflingers in front of the grandstand crowds are busy with their horse…

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