Golden Autumn

One day last week I spent some time harvesting the gold falling from the huge maple in front of my house. I cleared a path. The tree was still brimming.

The sun was shining; the temperature temperate. I was immersed in beauty. However messy, it was beauty nonetheless.

Later the same day I learned of horrific physical problems assaulting two dear friends. One, who, with her husband, has always been there when I needed help of any kind, was in excruciating pain and facing surgery, perhaps death. Another, whose gentleness had permeated my days, was in excruciating pain and facing possible paralysis. I was stunned – I sleepwalked through the evening – doing the things I routinely do -- feeding the cats, fixing dinner, eating, reading, watching the end of a Netflix movie – sort of present, sort of not.

I know it’s all part of the cycle of life – leaves falling, people dying. I know Thich Naht Hanh (and other Buddhists) affirm that there is no death, no birth – that everything is part of some great continuum. I even have days when I believe that/understand that.

Still.

It is so hard to see people you care about suffer. And you worry about the one friend's husband and the other friends new kitten. Who will take care of them?

By the next morning, the stunned-ness had melted into a gentle sorrow, floating on the edges of my day and I focused – as much as I could – on my routines – feeding the cats, fixing breakfast.

I was sitting at the table looking out my back window when a large bird flew at the birdfeeder hanging outside. My birdfeeder is designed to provide for small birds and to prevent squirrels from stealing the food. When a small bird perches on the ledge, it can access the seeds. When a squirrel tries it, its weight shuts the feeder.

The bird – a flicker – was almost as large as the feeder. It flew at the transparent portion of the feeder, banging at the inaccessible seeds. And flew away. A few moments later, it came back .. .and balancing below the feeder’s ledge it triggered the seed dispensing . . . and ate.

I had several moments to see the intricate patterns on its long slender body – the touch of crimson on its chest – the dark roundness of its eyes – before it flew away.

And I was back. I became aware that my egg, scrambled with mushrooms and a little cheese, was delicious. That the sun was magnifying the gold of my backyard tree. And the sky was perfectly blue and beautiful.

Now I could acknowledge both my fears and prayers for my friends. Now I could acknowledge the miracle of the every day.

And it is good.

believing poetry

Before I went to Nova Scotia, I read Longfellow's Evangeline. It was compelling, if a little melodramatic. I thought he was exaggerating, possibly to increase sales.

He was not.

The story of the "Great Expulsion" was all too true.

The Acadians had settled Nova Scotia in the mid-1600s. When the British conquered the province in 1710, they had no great affection for the French-speaking farmers. Suspicion grew into contempt then distrust then intolerance.

From 1755 - 1764, they kicked the Acadians out -- 11,500 men, women, and children were forcibly deported -- scattered along the eastern seaboard of the United States (or some to France).  Families were separated. Farms and homes destroyed. One third of them died.

It was not until July 28, 2003 -- more than two centuries later -- that Canada's Governor General (representing the Queen of England) declared July 28 "A Day of Commemoration of the Great Upheaval."

Now there is a national park at Grand Pre, Nova Scotia.

In the park, there is a statue of Evangeline -- a fictional character representing the thousands forced from the lands they had transformed into farms and homes.

 

And in the memorial chapel, there is a blue stained glass window depicting the people being separated from the land . . . and from each other.

Sometimes it is important to believe in poetry.

Acadian Story

Sometime in the early 1600s the people who would be known as Acadians had traveled across the Atlantic Ocean to new and unfamiliar land (Nova Scotia) on a huge bay (the Bay of Fundy). There were people there before them – the Mi’kmaq – friendly Native Americans who apparently felt there was room enough for all.

The Acadians looked around at the land – a mix of thick forests and sea marshes. And watched the tides. None of them had ever seen tides like these. Every 6 hours and 13 minutes the ocean rose or fell – often 30 feet or more. And when they rose, the tides flooded the sea marshes with salt water.

To survive, the settlers would have to either clear the forests or transform the marshes. The Acadians transformed the marshes. They created a system of drainage ditches combined with a one-way water gate called an aboiteau. The aboiteau was a hinged valve in the dike which allowed fresh water to run off the marshes at low tide but which prevented salt water from flowing onto the land as the tide rose. After letting snow and rain wash the salt from the marshes for between two and four years the Acadians were left with fertile soil which yielded abundant crops.

There were other ways to take advantage of the tides. Using branches, the Acadians built huge cages at the edge of the bay. These would be submerged when the tide came in. When the tide retreated, the Acadians would pluck fish (mostly cod) from the weir like picking apples from a tree.

They came, they paid attention, and found ways to create a comfortable life in the new land.

 

 

 

Personal Ad

My teeth are good.

I’m near-sighted, hard of hearing and overweight.

And short.

I also have diverticulitis – a condition, not a disease – that can slow (or basically, prolong) a necessary bodily function.

But my teeth are good and my hair is still okay.

Oh yes, I also have Reynaud Syndrome which affects circulation in my feet – they can get so cold or so hot that it is impossible to sleep.

And I am borderline diabetic which means I should limit my intake of carbohydrates.

I also have two cats who often sleep with me. And I talk to them.

And I am old.

But my teeth are good.

On days and evenings when I’ve had enough sleep, I can be amusing, sometimes even witty.

I can’t dance worth a damn (but I’m willing to try).

I do not like horror movies of any kind. Nor do I like movies whose main theme is violence. No to most film noir. And no to sappy romantic comedies.

I love good theater but have had enough Neil Simon for my particular lifetime. I actually enjoy Shakespeare and Ibsen and an occasional Samuel Beckett.

I go to church but am not holier than anyone. I’m a Unitarian Universalist which means that I am (most days) willing to learn from whatever religious, spiritual, agnostic or atheist path you may follow. I spent ten years studying and practicing Native American spirituality and I’ve also learned a lot about ancient goddess religions and find many parallels, and great value, in those two world views.

I do not tolerate intolerance. In my view, all people deserve respect (until they cease showing respect to others).

I like good food (and savor great food) red wine and dark chocolate. I am a pretty good (not gourmet) cook (I’ve never made a good pie crust).

I write stuff when I have time but volunteer for too many things so sometimes I go a long time without writing, which feels crappy.

I love to travel – to spend time in a completely different environment and learn other ways of looking at things. And I love to stay home (and play with my cats).

I live near mountains and visit them when I can. I am not a good hiker or really anything remotely athletic (which is a factor in my being overweight). Plus I am old so that’s probably not going to get any better.

I love great art and music – just for being what they are and also for what they can teach me.

I love beauty. It surrounds us all, all the time if we just pay attention. I have two grown sons (who live 1,000 miles away) and some amazing friends, all of whom I love.

I enjoy taking pictures and walks.

I subscribe to the New York Times – Monday through Friday only -- and to the local paper and PBS television.

I play some card games when there’s someone to play with and sometimes play too much computer solitaire.

I love to laugh.

And I love my cats.

So that’s it.

I’ve been divorced for 38 years so marriage isn’t a high priority but I’d be interested keeping company with someone -- if I could just be who I am and he could be just who he is. Someone I could have great conversations with, or a fine meal, or share a play or concert or walk in the woods. It would be nice to be held with affection. Even old people like those things.

And, as previously mentioned, my teeth are good.

The British are so very British

One of the places I went this fall was Lunenburg, Nova Scotia.

It is a UNESCO world heritage site, a fully functioning community, and a remarkably well-preserved town that retains most of the qualities of the original British model colonial settlement.

It was first settled in 1753, when German, Swiss and Montbéliardian French immigrants were brought to Nova Scotia under a British colonization plan. A rigid gridiron plan was superimposed on the slope of the steep hill rising up from the harbour. The new settlement was named Lunenburg after the Royal House of Brunswick-Luneberg, from which the Hanoverian kings of England were descended.

Lunenburg was the second British colonial 'model' town plan, after Halifax (1749). The model town was an important aspect of imperial policy for the British, to provide the functional space thought necessary for the smooth working of a colony. The Lunenburg plan (1753) incorporated all the principles of the model town: geometrically regular streets and blocks; the allocation of public spaces; an allowance for fortifications; and a distinction between urban and non-urban areas. Of these all but the fortifications survive in present-day Lunenburg.

So. Why the title: "The British are so very British?"

I remember once long ago hearing Jack Parr comment that he imagined that British women wore tweed nightgowns.

Please note: "A rigid gridiron plan was superimposed on the slope of the steep hill rising up from the harbor." -- An architectural version of a tweed nightgown.

It was not architecture adapted to the site but a site adapted to a gridiron plan.  Like, later, the British soldiers who marched in formation as the American rebels mowed them down from the bushes.

But it is beautiful.

Sometimes there is nothing whatsoever wrong about being very British.

Apologies

To the dozen or so people who follow my blog, I here relay reassurances.

I AM still alive. I am just stumbling out of a marathon of travel and guests and civic and church activities and will, this very afternoon, actually re-invigorate this particular form of communication to the cyberspace community.

I promise.

Mim

What Is Safe?

A group of citizens in our town is working to both celebrate Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. on Martin Luther King Day and to promote his values through other community activities throughout the year.

In this effort we have the wholehearted support of the school district and all its resources, including personnel. Or at least their support for the MLK Day celebration. When we sought to broaden our work, to address a major marginalized population – immigrants (both documented and undocumented), the school district pulled back.

It seems that Martin Luther King, Jr. is a ‘safe’ topic; immigration is not.

How ironic. It wasn’t ‘safe’ to advocate civil rights in the 1960s and 70s. The concept of Blacks and Whites drinking out of the same drinking fountain or eating in the same restaurant was beyond the comprehension of many. And voting, staying in a nice hotel? Unthinkable.

In discussing this recently, someone noted that given 50 or 100 years, attitudes change. No one thinks these things are revolutionary any more. Racism still exists (no question) but it is at least buffered by the appearance of tolerance.

When we look back at historical atrocities – slavery or the Holocaust or apartheid – no one speaks up on behalf of the oppressor. No one says slavery was a good thing or the Jews and gypsies should have been decimated or South African Blacks should have been cruelly denied access to hope.

It is entirely possible that in a few years, we will no longer find it acceptable to split up families through deportation or to send children back into life-threatening situations.

Maybe someday -- the sooner the better – immigration will be a ‘safe’ topic.