What I've been doing...

I had a nice chat with a friend last night, comparing notes on what we've been doing during this time of "sheltering."  Several people have told me that they are enjoying this time. Are you? I can't say that I looove it, as one son did, but I am pleased to have dedicated time for working on this quilt. What do you think?

These many triangles have challenged me, so I'm happy to have the triangle portions done. I have another step or two and then I'll find a long-arm quilting service to do the actually quilting.

Yesterday I had another nice surprise; my cousin Jacque sent me another photo of my Grandma Grace Masters Pierce. This one is a professional photo taken of Grace and her Masters siblings.  I am SO delighted to receive it! A huge thanks to Jacque, who also provided this information:

These are all the children of Grandma Pierce's parents, Henry and Margaret Masters. From left to right in back - Guy and Frank Masters

Middle row - Jennie, Addie, Grandma

Front - Iva

I feel like I can sense their personalities from this picture. The shy one, the romantic one, the one who organizes everything... and don't you love Frank's mustache? And the clothes?

This poem by Luci Shaw spoke to me this week, taking a look at small blessings. So important...

Signs

by Luci Shaw

In time of drought, let us be

thankful for this very gentle rain,

a gift not to be disdained

though it is little and brief,

find the rest of the poem as well as more about Luci here.

April is Poetry Month, and every Friday is Poetry Friday, so come on over to Christie Wyman's blog,
Wondering and Wandering to see all the poetry activities she's been involved in. Mind boggling!

Take care out there...

Bad Hair Days

I know it's ridiculous, but I have to write about hair. I wear my hair short, and I need trims often. So imagine my dismay when I drove past my hairdresser's to see a big sign on the door that says: CLOSED BY MANDATE.

Okay... it's a small ugh. I get that.  But I thought maybe a focus on something mundane and a little silly, like hair, could bring a laugh or two, and in that vein, I put together today's post.

I've always loved this poem by Edward Lear, Father of the Limerick.

There was an Old Man with a Beard

BY EDWARD LEAR

There was an Old Man with a beard,

Who said, "It is just as I feared!—

Two Owls and a Hen, four Larks and a Wren,

Have all built their nests in my beard.

I could NOT find my book with the good illustration of this, but I rather like this guy with the cat in his beard... don't you? (Hint: Once you do a search for unusual hair, the options are endless.) 

It is audacious, but I thought I would follow Lear's limerick with a little poem I wrote a year or so ago, when... ahem... I was moved to write the following:

Demise of an Old Guy’s Prize

Grandpa’s face hair was unruly

Bristly, scraggly, scary… truly!

Grandma noticed Grandpa snoring

Shaved him ‘til his face was boring.

© Karen Eastlund 2018

It seemed the better part of valor to use photos from outside the family to explore this idea. And NO, I did not shave my hubby's face, but I did trim his eyebrows! 

These photos led to the next quote... which pertains to our current predicament.

Hahaha....

Okay, I hope this brought at least a smile, if not a laugh. Here's a fancy hairdo on one of my lovely grands, to leave you with a nice image. (This came from a salon. Just getting the knots out of long hair is enough to undo me.)

Getting bored? Try a fancy hairdo... learn to braid. Try to memorize all those knots that are helpful for sailors and around the house. Personally, I have to work hard to make a square knot instead of a granny. Can you do it?




Okay, everyone, comb the knots out of your hair and keep safe. It's a hairy time... but you can do it.

Hey! It's Poetry Friday!  You can be part of a Friday blog party called Poetry Friday. This week all the participants will post their links at Tabatha Yeatts: The Opposite of Indifference. Join us!

A Little Elderberry Lore

When young and living in Nebraska, we used to pick elderberries in the fall to make jelly. Big elderberry bushes grew wild just about everywhere, but especially along the railroad tracks. Here's what they look like.  Each berry is tiny, the size of a small pea, and its juice is very dark. In my opinion, they make the world's best jelly.



http://www.sci-news.com/medicine/elderberries-influenza-virus-07145.html

Recently I heard that elderberries are good at warding off cold and flu symptoms. We might need this, right? Then I found this article in Science News, May 2019, expounding the virtues of elderberries.  "... compounds from elderberries exhibit multiple modes of therapeutic action against influenza infection."

Another source said that elderberries have been used for health purposes for over 2,000 years.

As a precautionary measure, I found an over-the-counter cold and flu preparation based on elderberries at Walgreens. It comes in several forms, but I got tablets that melt on your tongue. Hubby had a cough (no fever)... and I also tried them as a preventative. We agree, the taste is decent!

My most vivid memory of elderberries was making jelly with a friend. My father-in-law showed up one day with (surprise!) a HUGE box of elderberries. My friend Gwen and I worked together to make them into jelly. She had a baby boy in a high chair, and we gave him a single berry. He held it between his four little front teeth and bit. Deep dark purple juice squirted out, staining his lips and soon thereafter most of his face. He must have liked it, I don't recall a fuss. And the jelly was the best! Dark, flavorful, and yummy!

I wrote about elderberry jelly in 2014 and put the poem away... so here, for you, is its debut:

Elderberry Jelly

Pick some plumpish elderberries

Deeply purple, almost black

Cook them in a jelly pot

Make a jellied berry snack

Squeeze the berry juice out slowly

Bubble liquid 'til it's thick

Pour the jellied juice in jars

Pop the top on quick

Taste the deep rich berry flavor

I think no jelly could excel it

Wear your berry purple smile

Who cares that grape outsells it?

© Karen Eastlund

This info should be heeded:

Cooked ripe elderberries are perfectly edible. Unripe elderberries are poisonous. Raw berries can cause nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea, among other symptoms, so be sure to cook them before eating.

I invite you to explore elderberries for health and eating pleasure. Check your farm stands, they often have elderberry jelly on their shelves. Elderberry wine is also mentioned, though I admit I have not tasted it. 

It's Poetry Friday, so join the gang at Michelle Kogan's.  She's highlighting a poem from The Best of Today's Little Ditty 2017-2018 in which I also have a poem. An honor, I'm sure! 

Be good
Be well
Stay safe out there

Get sleep
Wash hands
And please take care.

Best, Karen

Keeping our Collective Chins Up

I don't know about you, but it hasn't been the best week for me.  I won't go into it, just trust me. So, in an effort to keep our collective chins up, I thought I would post a few things that might bring either a smile or some hope.  'Nuff said?  Okay... here goes...

Some quilted hearts, to share my love...

A sweet grandchild smiles from above...

A basket of flowers, vibrant & beauteous...

A Grandfather's hat... clearly hilarious!

A smiling face of sidewalk chalk

 

The glories of an autumn walk

A sunset tints the ocean rose

A snowman with a stone cold nose

These rhymes and pics... I must impart...

Are simply shared to warm your heart.

And if you, like me, could use a prayer this week, here is a lovely one from the the Felgild Compline:

Calm me, O Lord, as You stilled the storm.

Still me, O lord, keep me from harm.

Let all the tumult within me cease.

Enfold me, Lord, in Your peace.

It's Poetry Friday... find more poetry at Matt Esenwein's Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme. 

Corn and Rain

Once upon a time, before machines to do the job, I joined my college roommate in detasseling corn. I think I detasseled just one day, but one day made a strong impression. Unfamiliar with detasseling?  Wikipedia says:  Detasseling corn is removing the immature pollen-producing bodies, the tassel, from the tops of corn (maize) plants and placing them on the ground. It is a form of pollination control, employed to cross-breed, or hybridize, two varieties of corn.

We started early to avoid the worst heat of the day, early enough to see steam hover over the Missouri River as we crossed it. Once at the field we received instructions. Take the tassels off the marked rows, leave them on the unmarked rows. Easy. We could do this.

Into the dewy corn we went, wearing giant plastic bags provided by the seed company to keep us from getting wet or cut by the corn leaves. We soon learned three things: 1) We were both shorter than the cornstalks and reaching the tassels was a considerable effort, 2) the bags were uncomfortable, felt and looked miserable and we sweat like crazy in them...they had to go, and 3) the heavy mud stuck to our shoes and made them impossibly heavy. We were better off barefoot.


Photo by permission from https://theagavin.wordpress.com/

The sun rose higher, the day was a proper scorcher and the rows went on and on and on. We laughed when Lois had to shinny up some of the taller stalks just to be able to reach the tassel. The Iowa corn rows were interminable. Mud stuck to our feet and made them humongous. We laughed some more. Did I mention the rows were interminable?

Finally the time came for us to be picked up, but our ride did not show up. We waited. We listened. Yes, we could hear the cornstalks grow! They rustled and squeaked all around us. We waited some more, scanning the sky, hoping for a cloud. A rain shower. Anything. No luck, just relentless sunshine. There was no shade to sit in, and our skin had long since sweated off any sunscreen. Finally our ride came and drove us back to the house, just a few hours before our evening shift at the restaurant.

Years have passed, but that day sticks in my mind. Angry pink sunburn, feet heavy with mud, sore muscles everywhere, and overwhelming fatigue. (Happily, Lois and I can still laugh about it.)

Fast forward to Donna Smith's post last week on Mainely Write, asking her readers if they were pluviophiles? A what?  A lover of rain. A person who finds joy and peace of mind on rainy days.  Well... yes, I am a pluviophile, and part of the reason is my day of detasseling. I had to write about it.

I chose to write a tanka, consisting of 5 lines. Lines 1 and 3 each have 5 syllables, all the other lines have 7. Like its cousin the haiku, a tanka often includes some reference to a season, and often has a turn in the middle. My poem takes place in the cornfield, but in it my wish for rain comes true.

Some people feel the rain, others just get wet. - Bob Marley

Rain fell RAT-A-TAT!

RAT-A-TAT! steam veiled the fields

corn squealed in applause

laughter eased our endless toil

toes splayed wide in heavy mud

© Karen Eastlund

It's Poetry Friday. Join the Poetry Friday gang today at Rebecca Herzog's Sloth Reads.

Poetry Friday, The Humble Candlestick

Happy first Friday of Lent.  I chose this poem from 2015 to share today. I hope you like it. Also, if you have a lenten practice, you might want to check out yesterday's post, which offers a prayer from the Celtic tradition.

Behold the humble candlestick

It bravely offers up its wick

To host the fire’s hungry lick

Then waning, shines on through the night

The victim of a dancing sprite

Aglow with endless appetite

As one they dance and ebb toward dawn

Til a sputtering, guttering, bottomless yawn

Proves sprite and candle both are gone

What morrow for the candlestick

That quietly offers up its wick?

Yet it shines a light! That’s no mean trick.

- Karen Eastlund

It's Poetry Friday, gathering today at Karen Edmisten's blog. You can find it here.  Karen has a poem about February's extra day. You won't want to miss it!

Keep your lamps trimmed and burning...

In the Celtic Tradition

Yesterday began the ecclesiastical season of Lent, a Christian time of self-examination and prayer. This year I will focus my meditations on the Celtic Daily Prayer Book, which offers prayers and readings from the Northumbria Community. There are many beautiful prayers and poems in this collection, and I will share a few here in hope that you will find peace and beauty in them also.

Image by hbieser from Pixabay

I am not sure of the author of this prayer/poem. It may have been St. Patrick, or it may have been another of the celtic saints. In any case, I commend these beautiful words to you.



I bind unto myself today
the virtues of the starlit heaven
the glorious sun's life-giving ray,
the whiteness of the moon at even,
the flashing of the lightning free,
the whirling wind's tempestuous shocks,
the stable earth, the deep salt sea,
around the old eternal rocks.

I bind unto myself today
the power of God to hold and lead,
His eye to watch, His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need,
the wisdom of my God to teach,
His hand to guide, His shield to ward;
the word of God to give me speech,
His heavenly host to be my guard.

Blessings all...

European Hornets and Poet Intro

Welcome to Poetry Friday.  You can find the whole kidlit poetry gang today at Cheriee Weichel's blog, which introduces a wonderful Canadian poet. Find her here.

I felt the need to do a follow-up on the hornets' nest that blew down out of a tree and into my backyard a few weeks ago. One person asked what happened to the hornets. That set me to discovery. I learned that the type of nest I found is made by European hornets, and the only hornet to survive over the winter is the new queen, who goes underground. The rest of the hornets die with the cold weather. It was a relief to know I had nothing to fear from the nest that had blown into my yard, but I admit some mixed feelings about the hornets.

I started looking for a hornet poem, and found one by an Irish poet who went by the name of Padraic Colum (1881-1972). I had not heard of him previously, but he was quite well known and prolific, and so I decided to introduce him. You can read more about his life here.

I rather like his poem about the hornet's nest, but I must confess I still puzzle over the third couplet. I think I get the gist of it, but ... maybe you can help me? At the very least, I hope you will enjoy his imagery.

Hornets

How strangely like a churchyard skull

The thing that’s there amongst the leaves!

A Hornets’ nest; but stir the branch

And they’ll be round your head and ears!

So wary ana so weaponed,

How do they not possess the wold?

Their lives a watch, their act a doom,

Of their own terrors they must die!

Livid, uneyed, articulate,

How like a skull their nest they make!

Padraic Colum

That's it for me this week. I hope you enjoyed this poem and poet, and I hope you might take a look at my new posting of Grandma Pierce's diary for July 1928. Her life on a farm in Iowa comes to life in her diary, and...I've included a classic picture of her with my aunt and my mother.  Click on the link under archive.

Cheers!

Happy Valentine's Day to the Robin

I had a flock of robins in my yard yesterday... a fun prelude to Valentine's Day and some vintage robin poems:

Little Robin Redbreast

Sat upon a tree,

Up went the Pussy-Cat,

And down went he;

Down came Pussy-Cat,

Away Robin ran,

Says little Robin Redbreast—

Catch me if you can.

You have to go way back to remember this one:

When the red red robin

Comes bob bob bobbin' along, along

There'll be no more sobbin' when he starts singin'

His old sweet song

Wake up, wake up you sleepyhead

Get up, get up, get out of bed

Cheer up, cheer up... there's life ahead

So live, love, laugh and be happy!

Have a Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!  You can find all the kidlit poetry gang at Linda Baie's today:

https://www.teacherdance.org/.  

A Sweet Story and a Laugh...

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! 

💕💗

Today I have a sweet story to share with you. Before we were married, my husband bought me a little peperomia plant. I loved its shiny heart-shaped leaves. Over time it has lived inside and out, in large pots and small. Sometimes I overwatered, sometimes I let it get too dry. Sometimes it was leggy, sometimes it was full of leaves. Sometimes it blossomed. Over time I have learned what it likes, and we have gotten along together. Cuttings have been shared with a number of people. Come this summer, I think it will be 49 years ago that I received it. This cutting, which I took last spring... now looks very much like that plant when I received it. I still love those leaves.   💖

We've had our share of gray rainy days lately and I, for one, could use a good laugh.  How about you?

A preschool story I recently remembered:

Early in the day, standing around the table, counting heads. 

Me: Where is Alicia? Does anybody know?

Little Boy: I know, I know... she can't come today. She's sick.

Me: Awww, that's too bad. I'm sorry. I hope it's just a cold?

Little Boy: No...I think her mom said she has chicken nuggets.

Just looked out my window and saw that a flock of robins has flown into my yard!  

Cheers!

Big Wind... Big News!

It's Friday, and I thought I wouldn't have time to blog, but then this happened, and I decided to go for it anyway.

It's Poetry Friday, this week hosted by Laura Purdy Salas at LauraSalas.com.  Join the poetry crawl!

Yesterday I posted a picture of this tree, and mentioned the wasp nest on the lower right.

Today

A big wind

Hit town

Wasp nest

Blew down

© Karen Eastlund

The end... haha...

Grandkids coming, got work to do. Hope you all have a good week!  

Book Talk featuring Sig Olson

Do you have a favorite book that you look to over and over? One that you read and reread, that never disappoints?  This post is about one of my all time favorite books, one that feels like an old friend. It would be very hard for me to say I have one favorite book, but Sigurd F. Olson's Wilderness Days is certainly among the top contenders.

If you happen to be familiar with Minnesota's famed Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, or if you are curious about the people who championed this wilderness area, you will know about Sigurd F. Olson. Some have called him the second John Muir. He helped draft the federal Wilderness Act and worked to establish a number of national parks and wilderness areas in the U.S.

In our early days, when we lived in Minnesota, my husband and I took a number of canoe trips into the BWCA. What adventures we had! What beauty!  

I had read some of Olson's books when I lived in Minnesota, but I didn't own any until I rummaged through a box of books at a yard sale after we moved to New Jersey. In the box, in its original but water stained dust jacket, was a copy of Wilderness Days. I eagerly paid a $1 for this treasure.  

Wilderness Days is a collection of writings from Sigurd Olson's several previous books, organized by season, containing those writings that most appealed to or moved his readers. These writings best express his love and respect for this unique wilderness. To me it is distilled beauty. 

There are certain passages that I have to read over and over. The mouse that rapturously and repeatedly slid down the side of his tent during a night of full moon. The wolves that followed him down a frozen lake. I always find gorgeous writing, love of wilderness, quiet adventure, and inspiration in Sig Olson. I always feel a little closer to the beauty of Minnesota. As below, most every line seems poetic.

"Moonlight on a frosted leaf belongs to the world of the intangibles." - Sigurd Olson

If you run into a copy of Wilderness Days, or any of Olson's books, I encourage you to try them. He is a consummate writer. His first book, The Singing Wilderness, became a NYT bestseller. In 1974 he was awarded the John Burroughs Medal for his nature writing. He also won highest honors from the Sierra Club, the Izaak Walton League, and more.  Sigurd Olson was the real deal. 

In those times when I need to refresh myself in the rich language of nature, this is one of my touchstones. I commend it to you also.

It's Poetry Friday, hosted today by Kathryn Apel,
who posts from Australia. You can find her
here. As you might guess, it is a difficult time for
Kathryn, but you'll want to hear her news, read her
poems and leave a comforting comment. Don't hesitate to join the Inlinkz party to find other blogs
offering poetry.

My best to you for a calm and productive week. 

The lowly toothpick

It's January... a cold, windy, gray kind of day. What could be a better time to consider the work of the toothpick!  No kidding... I was looking through some of my poems, wondering what to post today, and I ran across this little ditty about toothpicks. So... I figured... why not???

The Toothpick

The toothpick is a tool

That's so simple

Any fool

Can poke one

'Tween two teeth

To get relief

Yet I give that pick

High praise

For its work on

Baking days

When it declares the cake's not done

In bas relief

© Karen Eastlund

The definition of a bas relief is a piece of artwork that is sculpted, carved or molded in such a way that it barely protrudes from the background flat surface.

Toothpicks have done many jobs, but would you think of a toothpick as a map? Check out this excellent article by William Boyle, full of toothpick lore as well as memories of his grandfather's penchant for toothpicks:
https://www.oxfordamerican.org/item/1503-chewing-on-toothpicks

It's Poetry Friday! You can find more poems by following the links on Catherine's blog:
https://readingtothecore.wordpress.com/.
Thanks for hosting, Catherine.

Have a great week, everyone.