Time

The lapse in time since I last posted, June and  August Prospect  Gardens work sessions, and an 82nd July birthday prompts these reflections about time. As I proceed through the eighth decade of life I am aware of time while not being overly preoccupied with its passage. However, I find myself more often incorporating the Buddhist "Five Subjects for Frequent Recollection" into my daily meditations.

I am subject to aging, Aging is unavoidable.

I am subject to illness. Illness is unavoidable.

I am subject to death. Death is unavoidable.

I will grow different, separated from all that

is dear and appealing to me.

I am the owner of my actions, heir to my actions,

born of my actions, and live dependent on my actions.

What ever I do for good or for evil, to that I will fall heir.

We should often reflect on this.

We are still responsible for our actions despite the passage of time and the realities of aging, illness, and death. Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931) informs us to view time passing in his essay on time. Below is a relevant portion by this Lebanese-American writer, poet, visual artist and considered by many as a philosopher. For the complete essay follow this link.

And an astronomer said, Master, what of Time?
And he answered:
You would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable.
You would adjust your conduct and even direct the course of your spirit according to hours and seasons.
Of time you would make a stream upon whose bank you would sit and watch its flowing.
Yet the timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness,
And knows that yesterday is but today’s memory and tomorrow is today’s dream.

Gibran's essay reflects Buddhist teachings about time as well as how to respond. As I understand the teachings about time, its not a fixed, objective entity flowing outside of us, but is a cyclical, relative, and mental construct. Time, then, is a phenomena of our minds and what it is depends upon our moment to moment experiences. Being mindful of those passing momentary experiences often leads to feeling the flow of time. Yet there is a cyclical nature of time as we experience life and as the universes themselves expand, dissolve, and reform over immeasurable eons, repeating in vast cosmic cycles. For more details about Buddhist's perspective of time follow this link .

Sometimes during my daily meditations I experience time flowing according to Gibran's message of " make a stream upon whose bank you would sit and watch its flowing."  Other times, if my mind is preoccupied with thoughts and the body is restless, I catch myself glancing at the Insight Timer, fully aware of the passing seconds. Calm  returns after I return to my breath or if needed, I imagine my thoughts are floating on a gentle river as I sit on the banks and watch them go by.  

Jim Croce's popular 1972 song "Time in a Bottle" exemplifies our tendency to want to hold onto and capture time. Croce wrote the song shortly after his son's birth in 1970. It was included in a 1972 album. The song was again published as a single in 1973 after Croce's death in a plane crash. The Recording Industry Association of America certified the single as Gold for selling over a million physical copies in the United States. According to his son's October 9, 2005 Instagram (which I found as a result of an AI based Google search)  the song ultimately came to define his father as an artist, still known and loved today. Those of us who were young in 1973 may recall these lyrics. 

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day
'Til eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I'd save every day like a treasure and then
Again, I would spend them with you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with

If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with

The spirit of  "Time in the Bottle" and Gibran's message of timelessness are echoed in a book I am now reading: Custodians of Wonder: Ancient Customs, Profound Traditions, and the Last People Keeping Them Alive. This non-fiction travelogue and anthropology book by BBC Travel journalist and editor Eliot Stein explores ten remarkable individuals around the world who are single-handedly preserving some of the rarest and oldest vanishing cultural rites and traditions.

Jenny, a friend and the daughter of long time friends Gary and Jane, recommended this delightful book. Chapter two and the second wonder is entitled : "Scandinavia's Last Night Watchman."  Stein chronicles the life of Roland Borg from Ystad, Sweden while telling the history of clocks and time. Roland is the  region's last traditional night watchman carrying on a medieval occupation as the town's watchman. 

According to Stein watchmen in some form have existed "since the dawn of time."  He also reports a researcher's finding that "there were probably tens of thousands of night watchman all across Europe."  Today there are many watchmen re-enactors but few actual watchmen like Roland. 

For the last 57 years, the stout 74 year old Roland, climbs the 14 stories of  Saint Mary's, a 13th century church, to his cramped office above the belfry. Bells toll each hour, and as bells soften to a hum, Roland thrusts a handmade trumpet through open window panes and loudly cries out across the city, reassuring the 29,000 residents that all is well. He repeats this reassurance every 15 minutes from the towers four windows, in each direction, between 9:00 P.M. and 1:00 A.M. 

Roland also watches for fires and any suspicious events that may indicate a crime is underway. He uses a telephone connected to the fire department and the police. A phone in all its iterations has been used since 1884. Roland's role is considered important in efforts to apprehend a notable criminal within the region who sets fires to buildings.   

Nearly every night  for the last 500 years a watchman has climbed the stairs of Ystad's St. Mary's church to watch over the town. For the last 103 years, the individual has been a Borg. Roland learned the role from his father.

Ystad's watchman is in doubt as Roland ages. His son Robert is an unlikely successor and Roland is reluctant to ask him. A man and two women who substitute for when Roland is away are also unlikely candidates. A technological solution is possible but community leaders don't favor this option. In the meantime, many residents value Roland's nightly assurances; leaving their windows cracked open so they can hear Roland's bellowing voice that all is well.

 

Clocks in church towers peeling the time are in many older churches. This one is in the huge and magnificent Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary church in my hometown of Pulaski, WI. The red-brick, modified Romanesque Revival church was constructed between 1923 and 1931. In 1934 Parishioner John Peplinski initially proposed and began collecting funds to install clocks within the distinctive135 foot church towers. In 1958, his son, Norbert Peplinski, raised enough money for two clocks installed in the west tower. 

 As I researched my family roots, I learned that standard time, a construct we take for granted, is relatively recent. Railroads pushed for uniform time zones starting in 1876 because local solar time caused confusion in scheduling and sometimes caused railroad accidents. Prior to 1880 there were over 144 different local times in North America with clocks in church towers often sounding out the local time.

On November 18, 1883, U.S. and Canadian railroads synchronized their operations into four standard continental time zones, moving away from local solar time. While railways initiated the change, standard time zones did not become official United States national law until Congress passed the Standard Time Act on March 19, 1918. 

As I mention in past postings I often experience timelessness while caring for Prospect Gardens with other volunteers. Perhaps this sense is deep within me and from my farm upbringing, when time followed the natural rhythms of the day and the seasons. This was especially true during the summer months when we were free from the schedule of school but not free from chores and harvesting crops. I, with my brothers and sisters, would wake up at sunrise, do the necessary chores, harvest crops, break for meals announced by my mother, and end the day with barn chores and milking the cows. 

Pictured is the June 20th crew. On the second step sitting with her hands folded are Joyce and then Laura in her floppy hat. Me in my usual hat, then Astrid and  Rajeev. Taking the picture was my wife Ann B., also part of the crew. Thank you all for your helping hands, your generosity, and for a pleasant Saturday morning.

 

A special thank you to Rajeev, now a sophomore at UW-Madison. I greatly appreciated that you took time from your busy schedule of jobs, other volunteering, and from family time. I so enjoyed talking with you while we mulched and weeded. 

August 22nd Crew

 

Here's the August 22nd crew: Ann B., Joyce and Laura. If we had awards, the three would deserve special commendation and recognition. Maybe something that acknowledge their years of volunteering.

The yellows of August blooms have once again spread throughout the Gardens. The brilliant red Cardinal plants  stand out. Milkweed blossoms attract the migrating butterfly.  

Meanwhile the asters are starting to bloom while the purple cone flowers and the bee balm have gone to seed. The goldfinches are feeding on early Hyssop seeds. The cycles of nature and life continue.    

I end with one of my favorite Carl Sandberg's poems about time and its antidote of love, if time becomes a burden as it surely can and will. He published the poem in his 1920 collection "Smoke and Steel." 

Let Love Go On

Let it go on; let the love of this hour be poured out till all the answers are made, the last dollar spent and the last blood gone.
 
Time runs with an ax and a hammer, time slides down the hallways with a pass-key and a master-key, and time gets by, time wins.
 
Let the love of this hour go on; let all the oaths and children and people of this love be clean as a washed stone under a waterfall in the sun.
 
Time is a young man with ballplayer legs, time runs a winning race against life and the clocks, time tickles with rust and spots.
 
Let love go on; the heartbeats are measured out with a measuring glass, so many apiece to gamble with, to use and spend and reckon; let love go on.

 

P.S.: The young Sandhill cranes continue to thrive, as shown in this August 3rd picture, and are almost fully grown. A neighbor reports seeing them fly which I anticipate as time continues to flow by. 
. 

Be well. Enjoy the fading summer and the approaching autumn. 

Messages For Our Times

Rainbow over Lake Wingra, Rick Neiss photo

Ann and I often say that we live in a great neighborhood (Dudgeon-Monroe) here on the near West side of Madison. Our apartment is on busy Monroe Street across the street from Lake Wingra and a section of the University of Wisconsin- Madison Arboretum.

Dudgeon-Monroe is walkable with many restaurants, two coffee shops, our bank, a drug store, library, and Trader Joe's. Trader Joe's is a destination for out-of-towners including my brother Lou and sister-in-law, Corine when they are visiting. Prospect Gardens is a twenty minute walk from our apartment and is an integral part of our neighborhood.

On recent walks to Neuhauser Pharmacy, caring for Madison since 1914 and my family since 1986, five things caught my attention.  I consider these as messages that say much about my neighborhood while helping me cope with our current times, marked with rapid change, polarization, and divineness.  I share the five for your reflection with one that includes comments on two recent Prospect Gardens work sessions.

This statement is near the door on the sidewalk of Colectivo Coffee Shop. Initially I thought it was a clever reference to the flower breaking through the crack of the sidewalk plus the need for courage during these challenging times. Then I noticed a second similar statement further down the sidewalk:  "It takes courage to see the light."  This peaked my curiosity. The QR code led me to the Milwaukee based Courageplus.org.  Their mission-like statement reads: 

We give LGBTQ+ youth a sense of community centered around care, safety, and acceptance – while bringing about real systemic change.

The following poem by Less Herrick calls for courage and love given other societal forces besides those directly impacting the LGBTQ+ community. The poem refers to the implementation of Federal Immigration policies in Minneapolis and the killings of Renee Good and Alex Pretti.  

Courage

I almost stopped believing in the ocean.
Imagine that. I almost stopped believing
in the music of such massive natural splendor.
I had lost sight of it, lost sight of hope
because innocent people were killed
by people in masks, hiding their faces,
their shame parading as providence,
their weakness posing as policy.
But then, I remembered the tides.
I was restored by the courage of poets
whose songs sounded like ocean waves
guided by the moon. Even now, there is music.
Children laughing on the swings, a student
learning the saxophone, a woman reading
her rough draft by the lake, a father whistling
a love song in his native language.
Courage is from the Latin word  cor,
which means heart, which means we are a heart of poets.
As in, take courage, take heart. As in, the widow
was grateful for your encouragement, your giving heart.
As in, the heart of your convictions.
What I mean is: we are made of love
and therefore larger than their terror.
As a great poet said, they can cut back all of the flowers,
but they cannot hold back spring.
We are a massive natural splendor, too.
In the end, all we are is love and love and love.
In the end, the ocean and the music might save us.
Meet me at the beach. Bring your light.
Bring your songs. I’ll wait for you.

Love as an antidote to the suffering of our times is suggested by this mural. It's on the outside of  the building housing Strictly Discs, known for its selections of vinyl records. The wish is attributed to John Prine (1946-2020), American singer-songwriter and guitarist who blended folk, blues, and country music. His music is often viewed as social commentary and protest. 

A few years ago I purchased from Strictly Discs several vinyl records for our daughter Emily, who has her own collection. I once had a collection.  

A reminder from one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, is on the back of a newly painted bench. Another bench and a small bench-like table with "All You Need is Love, Love" are in a shady area near the Harrison entrance to the Southwest Path. I often rest sitting on one of the benches.

"Pay attention" + "Be astonished" +  "Tell about it": wise affirmations for our lives and for our times.  

Across from Strictly Discuss on the window of  Monroe Street Framing is this beautiful painting that includes "Grow with the Flow."  There is a different painting for each season. 

Many neighbors have flower gardens in their front and back yards. Some have replaced their lawns with native plants as recommended by Homegrown National Park ((URL for more information). Rain Gardens are plentiful. Throughout Madison there are community vegetable gardens with individual plots such the eastside Atwood Gardens and the University Heights Gardens.

Madison has many public gardens. Some of my favorites are Olbrich Gardens, UW Botany Garden (off of University Avenue) and UW's Allen Centennial Gardens on Babcock Drive. When I worked on campus, I often had my packed lunch in Allen Gardens.  

Prospect Gardens continues to "grow with the flow." We are now beginning the seventeenth year. This year "growing with the flow" has meant restoration of some areas and replanting. 

On May 16th, Laura, Astrid, and Sheila joined me to finish removing weeds and installing native plants in the Regent side section. Here's Shelia and Astrid weeding and digging up a section. 

That was a long day for me starting about 9 am with buying the plants at the annual UW Arboretum plant sale. We ended at about five o'clock with Laura and I  fencing the planted areas. 

My plans to retire as crew chief are on hold. Unfortunately Becky can no longer be co-chair with Ryan, who manages the list server of volunteers. I am more involved with the Gardens than expected;  spending many hours besides scheduled work days. Meanwhile Ann, my wife, wishes to announce that she has "come out of retirement" from being a volunteer.  She was especially helpful while I pruned  two overgrown forsythias. She cut down the large branches for easy transport. Thank you, Ann 

Here's Laura weeding near the pottery bells mobile. The pottery mobile has been in the Gardens for several years; way before the Pandemic. I noticed a man carrying it while I was working at another Garden along the bike path. I commented on the mobile's uniqueness and he replied that it was for sale. I offered ten dollars which he accepted. 

Thank you Laura, Astrid and Sheila. Your generosity and helping hands are so appreciated. 

Rabbits are now a major challenge. Without fencing, as recently learned, new plants are the rabbits choice. Rabbits ate three of the six purple poppy mallows that I recently planted. I fenced the remaining three on a hot sticky day. 

Once again staff and enrollees of Operation Fresh Start helped tend the Gardens on June 3rd. Accompanying Conservation Supervisor Taylor were Avi and Makei. In the picture, next to Taylor (in the yellow T-shirt) is Avi and next to me is Makei.  Ann took the picture, provided the treats and helped with weeding.

Thank you, Ann, Taylor, Avi, and Makei.  You all worked diligently. 

We accomplished our goal of  removing blooming Bishops weed throughout the Gardens and which we never planted. A few days later Laura, in disbelief, shared an article favoring the plant while misidentifying variegated snow on the mountain for regular bishop's weed. Furthermore, according to the article, despite "vigorous growth and invasive tendencies" bishop’s weed is "useful in the right setting." I whole heartedly disagree-- its a tenacious plant that outcompetes other plants.  

Along Monroe Street are poems engraved in the sidewalks. This one gives passersby a brief history of Monroe Street by identifying what no longer exists. Four of the six  (Ken Kopp's grocery, Dardanelles, Edgefest , and Mallatt's)  disappeared since we moved into the neighborhood in 1986. I recall all. 

Ken Kopp's meat counter was a favorite. His grandson now has a small restaurant across the street from Camp Randall. When our daughter was a child, we enjoyed Edgefest on the Edgewood High School campus, with games, rides, and food carts. Such good memories.   

The poem reminds me that Prospect Gardens and our neighborhood is constantly changing and that impermanence is a reality of life. All phenomena and life itself are constantly changing. 

Faced with dizzying change exacerbated with the unfolding of artificial intelligence, messages like the five help keep me balanced and moving forward. Some commentators consider artificial intelligence as being the second industrial revolution, fundamentally altering our society and way of life. 

John O'Donohue's poem, "For Presence" provides  additional helpful messages as we experience these rapid societal changes.

For Presence  

Awaken to the mystery of being here 

and enter the quiet immensity of your own presence.    

Have joy and peace in the temple of your senses.

Receive encouragement when new frontiers beckon.       

Respond to the call of your gift and the courage to follow 

its path.

Let the flame of anger free you of all falsity.

May warmth of heart keep your presence aflame.

May anxiety never linger about you.

May your outer dignity mirror an inner dignity of

soul.

Take time to celebrate the quiet miracles that seek 

no attention.

Be consoled in the secret symmetry of your soul.

May you experience each day as a sacred gift woven 

around the heart of wonder.

I end with an update of the young cranes (colts) who are a sacred gift and that add wonder to my days. Here they are on the shore of Lake Wingra. It is June 3rd on a warm, gentle evening.

I'm amazed at how fast they grow. These two were hatched in early May. Feathers are appearing. The length of their legs and necks have significantly increased. They now look like miniature cranes.

  

Here's one on June 12th. The day before on my way home from Lake Wingra, I joined the family as they made their way from the park down Knickerbocker. They leisurely walked in front of me, a few feet away. We approached the intersection of busy Monroe. 

They seemed to wait for me to push the button that stops the traffic, which I did. Afterward, the family, walking in a straight line, with the colts in the middle between the parents, leisurely crossed busy Monroe. I and other passersby on the sidewalk looked in wonder as cars waited for the family to pass. The family was heading to a bird feeder in a backyard at the intersection of Knickerbocker and Gregory. They will feast on the seeds on the ground under the birdfeeder.  

Glory be and halleluiah!  

  

 

   

 

 

    

Renewal and Nourishment

Easter, Passover, and Ramadan with their elements of renewal and spiritual nourishment have past. May has arrived and Spring continues offering opportunities for feeling renewed and nourished. Spring is widely recognized as a time of transition from winter’s dormancy to new life, growth, and hope. 

Over the years volunteers and I have sown seeds in Prospect Gardens. This poem by Wendell Berry, farmer, philosopher, poet and conservationist, expresses how being mindful of sowing seeds generates feelings of renewal and nourishment.  

Sowing the seed,

my hand is one with the earth

Wanting the seed to grow,

my hands are one with the rain

Having cared for the plants,

my mind is one with the air

Hungry and thrusting

my mind is one with the earth

Eating the fruit,

my body is one with the earth. 

Feeling renewed and nourished by Spring can be challenging given the negativity surrounding us and notably politically related events. Yet once again, the Redbud trees within our neighborhood are at their peak including those located along a path in the UW Arboretum which I often take on my walks. Now I check on the Canadian goose sitting patiently on her nest on the west side of a small island in the middle of a storm water pond  across from Gates and Brovi. Nearby, the gander stoically sits, usually in the water or in the grass bordering the pond. He will become very involved in raising the goslings. Hopefully, I will see the goslings. The eggs will hatch any day.

 Further down the path and on the west side of the Spring Trail Pond (commonly referred to as the "Duck Pond")  a Sandhill Crane is nesting while her mate stands guard. He too will co-parent the colt. I observe them from a safe distance through my binoculars. The female hardly moves while blending into the dry reeds surrounding the nest. The male occasionally preens himself, bending his long neck to reach the back of his under-belly.   

The “Duck Pond” is also in the University of Wisconsin-Madison Arboretum and a short walk from our apartment. Large numbers of native mallard ducks inhabit the pond year ’round.  Water from a spring flows into the pond and makes it way into Lake Wingra just beyond the tree line. The water is warm enough year-round to remain unfrozen during our winters. Sometimes steam rises above the water as the ducks enjoy the warmth and call out to each other. 

The Duck Pond was dredged and created in the 1930s, with much of construction done by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). The nearby stone walls, associated with the site, were also built by the CCC. I often during a walk pause and sit on these walls; resting while being nourished by the Spring sunshine and warm breezes.

Patches of delicate trout lilies are another indicator of  Spring's renewal.  Once again they break through the underlying layer of brown leaves and spread across the both sides of the path I walk on. Their return and beauty nourish my spirit.  

These reflections remind me of childhood Spring time on the farm where I was born on and reached young adulthood. A creek leading to a large size pond were easily seen from windows of our four square farm house.  As a result of Spring rain, the creek and pond often flooded and overflowed. I can still hear the pleasant sounding rushing water as I watched from our house porch, just off the kitchen. 

The rushing water and returning Red Winged Blackbirds near the pond contributed to a sense of peace. However, male birds were very protective when their mates were nesting. Our farm was at the dead end of a mile long gravel road which had a patch of swamp after you entered the road from Highway 29.  During nesting season when my siblings and I walked down the road, as we often did to get the mail from the mailbox at the other side of Highway 29, the males squawked and dived-bombed towards our heads. Walking fast and waving your hands above your head helped prevent actual head contact by the defending males.   

Polandi: Early 1950s, I'm 2nd on right side, first row  

A Spring ritual at our one room school house was to track signs of Spring and create a written record.  Among my entries, along with the Red Wind Black Birds, were Robins, Swallows, and Killdeer. Robins did not remain during winter as they now do here in the Madison area.

Robins were the first to return followed by the Red Wing Blackbirds. The Killdeer and the Barn Swallows arrived later. Flocks of Barn Swallows built new or returned to old nests under the eves of the barn. Their nests went from one end to the other, covering the eves on both sides of the barn. The Swallows' chirping and callings were music to my young ears and brain. 

Killdeer were fewer in number and more solitary. They nested on flat open spaces in our pastures or along the roadside to our farm.  Killdeer when startled made a sharp sound and scampered away at a quick pace. 

During Spring my siblings and I enjoyed the birth of animals: goslings, calves, piglets, kittens, and puppies. Chicks were ordered and delivered to the Pulaski Post Office.  After being picked up, several boxes of peeping chicks were released in a special building known as a 'brooder."  An electric heating bulb along with heat from a wood stove kept the brooder warm during cold Spring nights. My Mother religiously tended the fire, sometimes during the night. I helped my Mother feed the chicks while she watched over them as they matured. We did not consider the chicks as pets. Eventually, the chickens and geese were slaughtered and sold. 

My early positive feelings about Spring laid the foundation for appreciating the season as an adult. On April 25th, we began the 17th year of tending Prospect Gardens, a continual experience of renewal and nourishment.

Ten volunteers joined me on a day with puffy white clouds, blue sky and warm temperatures. In front and to the right is Erica. Sitting on the third step is me, then Alice, Astrid, and Ann N in her stylish sun hat. Near the right handrail is Dan. In the back row are  Clara, Kaylee, and Peggy. 

Shelia and Laura are not pictured. Thank you all. Your generosity and warm spirits made for a nourishing day.  Removing stinging nettles was the major task. This year they had spread throughout the Gardens. Some day lilies were removed and will be replaced with native plants.  Plant stalks were cut back and the orange snow fences taken down. 

We accomplished a lot while enjoying each others' company. Break was especially enjoyable. Astrid read a poem she wrote about her Westmoreland neighbors. She mentioned people, plants, pets, and unique things like a woven tapestry around a tree. To me, the poem is another example of being nourished by the daily extraordinariness of neighborhoods. Thank you, Astrid, for sharing a result of your mindfulness and your love of your neighborhood. 

 Here's Clara and Kaylee, two West High School's Leo Club members. Your youthful energy and hard work really made a difference. Good luck with those AP exams you mentioned. Thank you for taking time from your busy schedules. 

Dan and Astrid spent a lot of time removing Stinging Nettles. Dan was a first time volunteer while Astrid is now a veteran. Thank you both. Dan, here's hoping to see you again. 

Last week I talked to a couple harvesting young Stinging Nettles and young Bishops Weed. They were just off the Southwest Path and in the Westmoreland neighborhood. The young women praised both plants as tasty food and said they were excellent in salads.

  

Alice and Shelia removed day lilies commonly known as "ditch lilies."  They have been in this section for years, predating the Southwest Path. Day lilies  are aggressive, spreading and claiming new territory. Perhaps the mild winter was a contributing factor. Thank you Alice and Shelia for once again volunteering.

Erica getting ready to cross the path in search of more Stinging Nettles on the Fox side of the Gardens. A few were found. She also found and pulled a few garlic mustards which several years ago were prevalent throughout the Gardens. Last season we had none. Thank you Erica for once again volunteering after a hiatus. Welcome back. 

Thank you to Laura also (not pictured) but a very long time loyal volunteer.

May you too feel Spring's power of renewal and capacity to nourish your mind and body. I end with this Mary Oliver's poem that underscores the power of nature and ends with reminding us we are all embedded in the web of life.  

Wild Geese  

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things. 

  

Praise the Ordinary

Banner: Knickerbocker 

Banners across the street from our apartment and leading to Lake Wingra celebrate winter. The Lake is  now frozen over but ice is not thick enough for walking. A few more cold days the ice will be thick enough for walking and one or two ice fishing shanties will return. 

A few days of bright sunshine has somewhat reduced the nearly ten inches of snow received the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Yet plenty covers my neighborhood reminding me of the long winters of my childhood when we hurdled in the farm house warmed by wood stoves in the kitchen and dining rooms. My mother fed wood into the stoves and just knew how to keep the embers alive during the night. On nights when temperatures dropped below zero, she got up and replenished the wood in each stove. My sibs and I slept upstairs. Every morning the downstairs kitchen was toasty warm as we pulled on hats, coats and boots, before leaving to do the farm chores. We then cleaned up and left for school.  

My older sisters and brothers recall trudging across the snow covered fields to Polandi, the one room school house, about two miles from our home. My sister Theresa, when in first grade, told me that she was  often carried back home by her older brother Joe because of the deep snow. I have no memories of such walks but do recall taking the car to Polandi when my older brother Tom learned how to drive when he was 14. This was before mandatory drivers licenses. He parked the car next to the building. A new teacher on her first day asked: "Who's car is parked outside?" and Tom proudly acknowledged that it was ours. 

        

Rev. Kelly AJ 

My family and I did not consider those winter days as being extraordinary, instead they were the ordinary experienced by us and our neighbors. The Rev. Kelly Asprooth-Jackson's  November 30th pulpit message at our church (First Unitarian Society, FUS) entitled, `Every Common Bush Afire with God', reminds me to be grateful for the ordinariness of our daily lives and to be in "... awe of the small and common-place: a blade of grass, a honey bee, a single stone from the lakeshore."

Six years ago we called Rev. Kelly AJ (as he is referred to) as one of our senior ministers, forming a team with Rev. Kelly Crocker. She was already our minister. Among Rev. Kelly AJ 's   many skills is being an exceptional story teller, drawing from many sources and spiritual traditions. He often steps in front of   the entire congregation to tell a story or tells a story surrounded by children during a segment entitled "Message for All Ages." He always tells a story without notes. When his audience are children, he warmly relates with them and often invites and incorporates their questions which many are very eager to ask.

Brow of FUS
Frank Lloyd Wright Design 

I am grateful that he is one of our ministers with so many skills to lead, along with Rev. Kelly Crocker, a large congregation like FUS. They make a good team.

Olivia Montgomery and Linda Warren played piano and organ duets during the November 30th FUS service. Olivia is a member of FUS. Linda is our Assistant Music Director and gifted playing the harp, piano and organ. They played a rendition of the Quaker hymn, "Simple Gifts."  Elder Joseph Brackett in 1848 wrote the hymn that begins with the line, "Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free". The melody was popularized by composer Aaron Copland in his 1944 ballad Appalachian Spring and is now a well-known American folk song 

This poem by Richard Gilbert is another reminder to praise the ordinary. The ordinary can inspire awe and gratitude just like sunsets, views of the ocean, or mountains. 

In Praise of the Ordinary 

I lift my voice this day in praise of the ordinary:
The endless routines of living:
Life's everyday rituals;
The boring things we do to exist;
The monotonous getting up in the morning;
Eating, working, going to bed at night;
Moving to and fro to make a living;
Enjoying a life.

I celebrate the simple things,
The things to which we give not a second thought:
The miracle of breathing;
The act of eating;
The cadences of daily speech;
The sounds of nature as a simple backdrop
To our complicated lives.

I celebrate leaves falling from the trees
And snow falling from the skies;
The brave persistence of the grass,
And the sleeping flowers of the fields.

Enough, I say, of big things and great things,
And extraordinary things, and ultimate things.
I celebrate the ordinary.
I lift my voice in praise.

As I write, the warm air from the overhead furnace vent gently flows over me while causing the nearby prayer flags to flutter. Above the flags are four framed needle point pictures depicting the four seasons, crafted by my dear Mother-in-law, Ethel. I especially think of her now as Christmas approaches. She often spent Christmas Day until January 1st with us. She always brought a canister full of  Christmas cookies (she made 15 different kinds) and a loaf of fruit cake made by the Mount Mary Sisters of Milwaukee.  When the cookies and fruit cake were gone, she would laugh and say "now it's time to go home."  I lift up my voice in praise of Ethel's beautiful needle point pictures, the prayer flags, the warm furnace air, and this lovely apartment with its spacious windows which allows sun to stream into our apartment. 

Here's another item worthy of praise. The tag is from a 43" X 53" inch red, white, and blue knitted wool afghan handmade by the  "Telephone Pioneers."  It is at least 50 years old. My wife's great Aunt Gertie owned the afghan. She was a Bell telephone operator for many years. I suspect the "Telephone Pioneers" was a group and Gertie was a member.

As winter sets in, and before using our heavy store bought quilt, I spread the afghan over my side of the bed; covering myself with just the right weight with the result being warmth and coziness. Before falling asleep, I often offer gratitude for having the afghan and to its maker.    

Ann and I acquired the afghan as we helped my Mother-in-law, Ethel clean out Gertie and Uncle Johnnie's Milwaukee flat, after both died. We also have two of their lamps, a library table, and an ornate 6 leg table which now holds our TV.

Worthy of praise is this simple tea pot. Many mornings for at least 25 years tea brewed in this pot has nourished my body and soul. We bought it from Orange Tree Imports, now celebrating 50 years in business on Monroe Street. I enjoy herbal teas: chamomile, decaf sencha, and papaya peach.

Prospect Gardens is once again covered with a blanket of snow protecting the plants' roots and revealing the simplicity of the Gardens. Here's three pictures as a testimony to the Gardens' praise worthiness even in the dead of  winter. Each is accompanied with a comment about the value of the ordinary. 

"I have learned that what I have not drawn I have never really seen, and that when I start drawing an ordinary thing, I realize how extraordinary it is, sheer miracle." - Georgia O'Keeffe.

"Your ordinary acts of love and hope point to the extraordinary promise that every human life is of inestimable value."-  Desmond Tutu 

"And then there’s — he reminded me of ordinary time, or pastoral time. Anyone who’s a farmer knows there’s sowing and reaping time. And I was always, the more I was into tragic time, the more I was a little judgmental about that. I was like: It sounds very boring; it sounds very commonplace. But that’s the — who’s picking up your mom on Tuesday? Did you send that email? Have you made that phone call? It’s all the wonderful, stupid, ordinary stuff of day-to-day life. And like, that is also necessary and good." - Kate Bowler

As I embrace and celebrate ordinary time, the large inflatable Santas are again appearing along Monroe Street and several side streets. One on our apartment's deck has again joined the display. My fellow Madisonians, but not all, consider the Santa collection as the ordinary being the extraordinary. A neighbor considered the collection as another example of the over commercialization of Christmas. 

Here's a Rev. Max Coots' poem in praise of friendship which to me goes beyond the ordinary. Until the November 30th church service, my copy lacked the first stanza. The service began with a reading of the poem by Rev. Kelly AJ and Worship Associate Bryan Rainey.  Rev. Coots is Minister Emeritus at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Canton, New York.

A HARVEST OF PEOPLE

Let us give thanks for a bounty of people.

For children who are our second planting, and though they
grow like weeds and the wind too soon blows them away, may
they forgive us our cultivation and fondly remember where
their roots are.

Let us give thanks;

For generous friends with hearts and smiles as bright
as their blossoms;

For feisty friends, as tart as apples;

For continuous friends, who, like scallions and cucumbers,
keep reminding us that we’ve had them;

For crotchety friends, sour as rhubarb and as indestructible;

For handsome friends, who are as gorgeous as eggplants and
as elegant as a row of corn, and the others, as plain as
potatoes and so good for you;

For funny friends, who are as silly as Brussels sprouts and
as amusing as Jerusalem artichokes;

And serious friends as unpretentious as cabbages, as subtle
as summer squash, as persistent as parsley, as delightful as
dill, as endless as zucchini and who, like parsnips, can be
counted on to see you through the winter;

For old friends, nodding like sunflowers in the evening-time,
and young friends coming on as fast as radishes;

For loving friends, who wind around us like tendrils and hold
us, despite our blights, wilts and witherings;

And finally, for those friends now gone, like gardens past
that have been harvested, but who fed us in their times that
we might have life thereafter.

For all these we give thanks.

May you enjoy both the grandeur and the ordinary during this Holiday Season. I'm looking forward to a visit from my brother Lou and his wife Corine. We exchange gifts, go out for lunch, and visit the Capitol Holiday Tree. This year's theme is "The Learning Tree" and as usual the elementary students from throughout Wisconsin made the ornaments.. 

 

 

Impermanence

October 16, 2025
 Near Edgewood High School

 As autumn settles in, I again reflect about the truth of impermanence. In Buddhism, impermanence is a fundamental teaching that all phenomena, including our bodies, thoughts, and emotions, are in a constant state of flux and change. 

Seeing and deeply accepting impermanence reduces the inevitable suffering that is part of  life. Suffering encompasses more than just physical pain; it includes all forms of unsatisfactoriness, unease, and stress in life.

The Buddha throughout his long life emphasized the need to understand and embrace impermanence at a deep heartfelt level. The Buddha lived for about 80 years and died around 483 BCE.  He achieved enlightenment at age 35 and spent the next 45 years teaching his followers. It is said that while dying from food poisonings, his final teaching included : "Everything vanishes. Therefore there is nothing more important than continuing the path with diligence". 

Embracing impermanence is a lifelong practice cultivated through direct experience, meditation, and reflection on the constant, moment-by-moment changes in life. Autumn, a season of transitions, especially offers many opportunities to be mindful of  impermanence. 

Deeply accepting impermanence has several benefits besides reducing suffering and these include:

Living in the present: Cultivating an awareness of impermanence encourages mindfulness and a deeper appreciation for each fleeting moment. We shift from worrying about the future or dwelling on the past to living fully in the present.

Supports compassion and non-clinging: By acknowledging that all people and relationships are temporary, we can appreciate each other more deeply while learning to hold each other with compassion while reducing the pain of inevitable separation. 

Provides wise hope: The flip side of impermanence is that difficult times will also pass. Knowing that no situation is permanent provides resilience and wise hope in the face of adversity. Wise hope, according to Joan Halifax, is seeing and acting on things as they are rather than seeing things unrealistically. Rev. Joan Halifax is the current Abbot and Founder of Upaya Zen Center,  a socially engaged Buddhist center in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  To learn more about wise hope see my August 9, 2023 blog post.

Impermanence is not a pessimistic idea or one that means passively accepting the status quo. Instead, it can be a liberating and profoundly motivating practice that transforms one's relationship with life and how to act accordingly in the face of constant and continuous change. For more about impermanence here's a link  https://www.lionsroar.com/impermanence-is-buddha-nature/

Mary Oliver's poem In Blackwater Woods teaches us to embrace impermanence (in her words "love what is mortal") during this season of transitions. 

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
 
of the ponds.
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
 
is salvation
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
 
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

Caring for Prospect Gardens during September, October and November offered opportunities for letting go while being mindful of impermanence. 

In September, I noticed Kudzu covering plants in a section of the Gardens near the Japanese Sumac, whose green color was turning into a bright shade of gold. Kudzu had grown into the Japanese Sumac. Kudzu is a fast-growing and climbing vine native to Asia, known for its aggressive spread. It has been used for food, fiber, and traditional medicine, with parts of the plant being edible, with a mild, spinach-like flavor. A few years ago on my walk through the Gardens I noticed a women with heritage from one of the Eastern Asian countries harvesting the Kudzu blossoms. 

As I tugged on the Kudzu, while forgetting how it spread over the Japanese Sumac, I heard a loud snap. Inadvertently, I broke off a major branch of the Japanese Sumac. The aging shrub now has a new shape, a reminder of impermanence.   

Meg and Laura V. on a Break

Another reminder of impermanence: removing the Kudzu revealed a weed infested area that once had native plants.  On September 27th,  Meg, Laura V. and I weeded and replanted the area with plants that I purchased from K&A Nursery in Verona. The nursery was having a sale before closing for the season. I spent $30 for six plants: Four yellow cone flowers, one white cone flower, and a species of  goldenrod. Shortly after planting the goldenrod, three honey bees began pollinating the blooms. We fenced the area, protection from the rabbits that have recently claimed the Gardens as their home. 

Thank you Meg and Laura V. Your continued volunteering is appreciated. We worked very well as a team.

Temperatures in the 80's and 90's required me to frequently water the newly installed plants. Thank you Patricia and Jim, neighbors near the Gardens, for access to your water.  

Laura 

Laura stopped by while we planted. She often bikes the Path. Laura is a volunteer extraordinaire. She, with help of her husband, developed and now maintain huge areas of native plants along sections of the Path  that pass through the Midvale neighborhood. The area near where the Path and the Beltline intersect is especially impressive. Thank you Laura for your continued dedication to beautifying areas along the Path that provide benefits to passersby, small animals, and insects. 

We talked about the cone flowers and a species of goldenrod  (Solidago Rugosa/Fireworks) being planted. She didn't recognize the species of our goldenrod. Later, after a Google search, I learned that this one is a native and found from Newfoundland to Ontario and Michigan, south to Missouri, Texas and Georgia. Wisconsin was not mentioned. Like other goldenrod already in the Garden this one attracts bees and butterflies. I also learned that physicians in ancient times believed that goldenrod had healing powers and that it's not the culprit for allergies, as commonly believed. 

Online Photo

Here's what Mary Oliver says we can learn from goldenrod. Please note she incorrectly suggests you can have an allergic reaction to goldenrod.  

Goldenrod                            

 On roadsides,
  in fall fields,
      in rumpy bunches,
          saffron and orange and pale gold, 

in little towers,
  soft as mash,
      sneeze-bringers and seed-bearers,
          full of bees sand yellow beads and perfect flowerlets

and orange butterflies.
  I don’t suppose
      much notice comes of it, except for honey,
           and how it heartens the heart with its

blank blaze.
  I don’t suppose anything loves it, except, perhaps,
      the rocky voids
          filled by its dumb dazzle.

For myself,
  I was just passing by, when the wind flared
      and the blossoms rustled,
          and the glittering pandemonium

leaned on me.
  I was just minding my own business
      when I found myself on their straw hillsides,
          citron and butter-colored,

and was happy, and why not?
  Are not the difficult labors of our lives
      full of dark hours?
          And what has consciousness come to anyway, so far,

that is better than these light-filled bodies?
  All day
       on their airy backbones
           they toss in the wind,

they bend as though it was natural and godly to bend,
  they rise in a stiff sweetness,
      in the pure peace of giving
           one’s gold away.

Solidago Rugosa/Fireworks.

September quietly slipped into October. By the October 25th work session, the blossoms of the solidago rugosa/fireworks planted in September had given away their gold. The brownish seeds wait to be dispersed in anticipation of renewal and rebirth.

Likewise the once colorful aster blossoms, rustling in the breeze, are now brown and fuzzy to the touch. A new cycle of life awaits in the midst of impermanence and for winter to settle in. Some of the seeds will be nourishment for wintering birds, like the sparrows.

Cresa, Joyce & Kaia

Impermanence and life cycles were some of the hallmark of the October 25th work session.  Joyce, a long time volunteer, and two West High School Leo Club members, Gresa (on the left) and Kaia thinned out, cut and removed the abundant Jerusalem artichokes from a large section on the Regent side of the Gardens. Their efforts in the sporadic light rain resulted in a larger than usual pile of plant material that the city picked up. Thank you city crew members. 

Kaia is a Freshman at West and likes science and math. Gresa is an international exchange student, a Senior, and from Kosovo. Next year she will take some time off and then attend college in one of the European countries. Hopefully, I will have the pleasure of once again gardening with both of them as they continue their journeys. 

Thank you Joyce for once again tending the Gardens. Joyce is one of the original volunteers who joined our collective efforts 16 years ago. And thank you Kaia and Gresa. 

June

This is June with her trusted baby chain saw. She has another one, referred to as the mother chair saw. With some sadness and a recognition of reality, June expertly removed the dead cherry tree. Thank you June. I helped carry away the branches and cut many to a length required for pick up by the city.

The tree was one of three planted in April 2014 and now one cherry tree remains. The cherry tree was damaged several years ago and until this season bore fruit. June picked cherries for a pie. I enjoyed picking and eating handfuls of cherries. Birds also enjoyed the berries.

The tree was covered with algae and cutting revealed a space within the trunk full of large black ants. The cherry tree even in death provided sustenance and shelter while exemplifying the interdepency of life and nature. Perhaps next spring we will decide on a replacement.    

Michael, Jake, & Madeleine

November 1st arrived, after a festive Halloween, with cloudy skies and light rain shortly after we began the work session. Joining me were Laura V., and two West High School Leo Club members: Madeleine, and Michael. Camera shy Laura took the picture. Michael and I were enjoying a chocolate chip cookie during a short break.

 Initially, Laura and Madeleine began cutting back and removing cup plants while Michael and I tackled putting up the orange snow fences. Madeleine and Laura also collected wind chimes and other objects to be stored for the winter in the little shed. 

The cold rain increased and we decided to focus just on putting up the fences. Michael and I hammered in the steel poles and afterwards Laura and Madeleine fastened the plastic fences to the poles. In no time, the task was completed. Hopefully the orange fences will prevent the city snow plowing crew from pushing snow into the Gardens. 

Laura and I put away the tools, wheelbarrow and objects in the little shed. I closed the door, fastened the lock and declared that the 2025 Prospect Gardens season ended. Thank you all who volunteered this season. Please note, while impermanence is a reality, hopefully there will be a 2026 season and enough volunteers to care for the ever changing Prospect Gardens.     

 

Before ending with another poem, I am happy to report that the family of Sandhill Cranes are, as of
this date, still with us. Here they are the day before Halloween, in the afternoon, strolling down the sidewalk across from the entrance to the garage of our apartment building. The smaller crane is the youngster. I saw them again on Halloween, in the afternoon, leisurely strolling past the lobby window of our apartment. Both times the family looked like they were carefree and certainly not busy planning their upcoming migration.

Blessings to these three and the other Sandhill Cranes as they gather to make their way to southern United States and Mexico, including Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and California. Some may also stop in areas like the Platte River in Nebraska to rest and refuel before continuing their journey.

The poem for your further reflection is by the Unitarian Universalist minister Rev. David Bumbaugh.

 Dancing in the Wind

Except for a few stubborn holdouts

the tree outside my window

is bare of leaves.

The wind,

this October morning,

worries those few remaining leaves,

pulling them this way,

twisting them that way,

tugging at them

until, one by one,

exhausted by the ceaseless effort to hang on,

they go dancing with the wind.

As they waltz past my window,

the stubbornness has left them

and they are finally free.

What is it about living things

that we expend so much energy resisting the inevitable,

hanging on to that which is already gone,

hoping to sustain a season

into times that are unseasonable,

clinging to old habits

despite the pain and the discomfort?

Why are we so afraid to dance in the wind?

November 2, 2025
Edgewood Drive

May we all continue dancing in the wind and have the wisdom to know when to let go.