Remembering My Mother



There she is: the redhead in white in the middle of the fun. Behind her, in the white cap, is my father. This was a newspaper photo from the 1930s when she was Rochester, NY, city speed-skating champ and he was the city's men's tennis champion.

And here is a poem written by Shaman:

A wish

May we all find our
way to our mothers
today, or some day.
May we find
the mothers
we miss,
the mothers we wish we had,
and the grandmothers of our
mothers,
where the love waits
unconditionally.
And may we be wise enough
to say thank you for the gifts
they were able to give.

........................Written by Becky Harblin..... May 13, 2007

Happy Mothers Day to each of you who are mothers and who have or had mothers.

You may find more wonderful poems by Becky here.

Spear Fishing

Ya-hoo! Look what's up!

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Our asparagus bed averages about three feet wide and is 100 feet in length. That's a lot of asparagus... We eat it fresh and freeze all the extra crop to enjoy year-round. Six weeks from the date of the first harvest, we desist and the spears are left to grow into green feathery plants that grow taller than my head. Okay, so I'm not a particularly tall wizard, but still, they are impressive. The greenery will nourish the roots, which will in turn provide next year's harvest.

This bed is thirty years old and still thriving. The key seems to be keeping it weeded and picking off the Asparagus and Japanese beetles. In the worst attack times, I prowl the patch several times a day carrying a small bucket of water and dish detergent, drowning my enemies. (I also squish 'em bare-handed if I happen to be bucket-less).

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Fresh, wholesome, organically grown asparagus. It's delicious.

Leeking Information...

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For the past week I have caused several people to be in a perplexed state.

While looking for wild leeks, I came upon an unfamiliar wildflower and of course photographed it. As soon as the pictures were downloaded and viewable, I set about trying to connect a name to the mysterious greenish-purple critter.

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That turned out to be not so easy, and in fact by the time a local naturalist saw and recognized it, there were at least four knowledgeable people thumbing through field guides and botany books and scratching their heads.
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It was finally identified as blue cohosh, an herb known as "a powerful women's ally, who's main action is on the uterus." Reportedly (on the all-knowing, ever-truthful Internet), it can be used for everything from contraception to menstrual cramps, and although one writer reported that it didn't work for her, blue cohosh might be used in combination with pennyroyal and black cohosh to induce abortion. As you might expect, you are warned against overuse...

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Just imagine: there is something growing in my lovely woods that those opposed to CHOICE might find unholy. How nice!.

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Fortunately, the search committee is not tainted by any such concerns, and all agreed that this is a lovely and interesting denizen of our spring surroundings. It's not as pretty as trillium, perhaps...

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but the greatest blessing Mother Nature gives to us is the diversity of her children. If I want to excite my uterus, I will gather some blue cohosh, but if I want to dazzle my eyes, I will gaze upon its three-leafed cousin.

And did I mention how delicious the wild leeks are?

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Bogart & Bacall, Lucy & Desi, Homer & Jethro, Macaroni & Cheese, Green Eggs & Ham, Shaman & Wizard...
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poem © 2007 by Becky Harblin, photo © 2007 by WizenedEye.com
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If I listen
closely
to the place
I came from,
and eventually will return to,
I can hear
the green children
playing
their sweet fiddle tunes.
And sometimes
when I am out walking
in early, early spring
I catch them
just as they pull
back into the earth,
nothing showing
but the soft
curly green of their fiddle's
head.
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The Agway Studio
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. ............................phalenopsis (orchid)
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In the bank yesterday, a teller asked me if I had any photos of calla lilies. I do not, or rather, did not. In fact, it seems to me that it's been years since I saw one in bloom.

After leaving the bank, I went to Agway to pick up some grain for the horses. There is a large and wonderful greenhouse there, and this time of year it is teeming with plants. Next to several beautiful orchids, I spotted two calla lilies. For the next twenty minutes or so, I photographed some of these beauties. It was a good excuse to stay longer, breathing in the heavy scent of so many flowers.
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surprised by sunshine
silly gardener shopping
greenhouse flowers bloom
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And now I must get to work in the garden!
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Wood to stack today, burgemot to thin, grain and supplies to fetch... but this came in from Shaman and inspired an early morning photo. Enjoy ~
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I can’t look in without looking out


I am searching
for the root, the heart,
the very essence,
a center,
some of us call God,
some say Creator,
or Allah, or the One.

I keep looking small, and talking big,
then when I still can’t find
this nano-essence,
I talk of smallness
and look to big,
because maybe,
the essence
is not a boiled down thing.

This core of life, has no core,
it is the biggest
all encompassing
universal lumpy thing.
It is the all without and all the within.
This is exhausting,
I think I will have a cup of tea,
and drink it in.

................... ~ Becky Harblin..... April 29, 2007
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........................photo by wizenedeye.com

Spring! Friend! Neglect! Sloth!

John Prine and Steve Goodman wrote a song that contained everything that had ever been in any of the country and western songs they had ever heard. Dallas, dope, divorce, dead dogs, trains, prison Christmas, mothers, farms, and trucks - you know the stuff. The verse of it I remember is:

Ever since the dog died and mama went to prison
Ain't nothin' round this old farm that's been the same
You know when mom broke out last Christmas
She drove her pickup truck into a train

That’s what this post should be: an excuse for not blogging that includes all my excuses for not blogging. Spring came… gardening… a chum from Toronto was here on a genealogy hunt… the horses broke the pasture fence… the pile on my desk got so high it blocked my view of the computer screen… and each of those things sub-divides into a bunch of tasks.

So, friends, I must catch up on some responsibilities around here. I hope to be back real soon.

What's In a Word...

Have you noticed what animists young kids are?

When I was little, there were mice and ducks and dogs that talked. We took for granted that a certain yellow canary was verbally sassy: "I tawt I taw a puddy tat! I did! I did taw a puddy tat! Bad old puddy tat! " and that Sylvester would answer with a salivating, "Sufferin’ succotash!" These days, cars are anthropomorphic.

And so it is that my four-year-old grandson is terrified of ... THE BOILER... The boiler "lives" in our mudroom, making vague firing noises when water needs to be heated or if the woodstove goes out. Grandson is absolutely scared to death of the thing. Luckily, there is a door between the "play room" and that mudroom, apparently making the play space safe for four-year-olds (when the door is closed).

Saturday the little guy was here and headed for the play room when he saw that someone had left the protective boiler shield open. I was busy in the kitchen and didn't notice his distress as he asked - more than once - "Gramma, will you shut the door?"

Finally, in desperation he yelled, "Shut the damned door!!!" which launched me to explain to him that "shut the damned door" isn't a good way for little boys to talk. He listened, looked at me sweetly and said, "Gramma, please shut the damned door."
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Walking Iris
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joyful occasion
return of prodigal sun
surprised buds bursting

This houseplant flowers only in the spring, perhaps about eight flowers per year. Each blossom begins in the evening as a swollen green bud, appears as a large white "cone" in the early morning, opens by 10 AM, and has shriveled and died by evening.

This plant makes me think of the story about the sexuality seminar: The facilitator begins by asking the group how many have sex at least once a week. Several hands are raised somewhat proudly. Next he asks, “How many of you have sex at least once a month?” and a few shy hands are raised. He then asks, “Is there anyone here who only has sex say, only once a year?” and one guy excitedly jumps up, waving his hand and shouting, “Me! Me!” Everyone in the room is a bit shocked at this guy's enthusiasm, and the facilitator cautiously inquires, “You seem rather happy about your sex life. This is a bit surprising.” The once-a-year guy excitedly answers, “Tonight’s the night!!!”

Ta-da!!!

I know I shouldn't do this... the toilet is still in the hall...*...but I can't resist showing off the new floor.

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Tomorrow I'll get the "Sta-put" putty that I just realized I need, and (if the stars are in proper allignment), the throne will be returned to its proper place... (please pray, offer up sacrifices, do hocus-pocus or whatever else might assist).

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This wizard is pooped!

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* For anyone who's wondering how it got there, see my previous post

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