Reflections on Autumn

 Autumn continues with pleasant weather. The radiance of  Red Maples is a last flash of color among the many barren trees.  Yellow oak leaves still hang on waiting for the next strong wind or rain storm. 

Spiritually Autumn has a deep meaning centered on balance, release, harvest, and reflection as nature transitions from the expansive energy of summer into the stillness of winter. This period of transition raises existential questions as indicated by this poem by 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?

The poem's last phrase reminds me of a popular phrase from the 1990s, often said by me and my friends: "Go with the flow."  It's from the book Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience by Hungarian-American psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. Admittedly right now dancing in the wind and/or 'going with the flow" is challenging . Our lives are marked with worry about the effects of the climate crisis, continued political divisiveness as midterm elections approach, and uncertainty about the effects of artificial intelligence; just to name a few. Daily we are deluged with negative news from multiple sources and social media. Sometimes I take a break from this steady stream of news.

Dancing in the wind and going with the flow, plus a good dose of mindfulness, supports feeling the joys of this transitional season. Yes there is joy in these latter days of Autumn and as Halloween approaches. Here's a few recent examples from my life in the walkable Dudgeon Monroe Neighborhood. Living here provides close access to Lake Wingra, UW Arboretum, and the woods bordering Glenway Golf Course. During Autumn I am especially grateful for my close access to nature.  

On Sunday, October 25th after breakfast and my usually Qigong/meditation practices, I walked to the nearby Monroe Street Farmers Market, held in Edgewood High School's parking lot. The market runs from May to the last Sunday in October. I often make the walk and enjoy the opportunity to mingle with my neighbors.

I was disappointment that the Blooms Bakery truck was not present.  After buying microgreens, a squash, and broccoli, I turned back towards home and noticed this "Madison Street Poet." 

I asked if I could take his picture and he agreed while adding, maybe a video. I watched with joy and awe as his attention returned to the small portable typewriter and his two index fingers danced across the keyboard. He writes poems for individuals and for free. There is no container for a donation. 

 I often walk along this path that circles a storm water retention pond in the UW Arboretum, across the intersection of Monroe and Glenway Streets. Contentment, an often companion of joy, is what I feel as I watch the dried grasses sway in the gentle breezes of Autumn. 

The Canadian geese are long gone. During mid-spring,  I patiently waited watching the female sitting on the nest near the shoreline of the island in the middle of the pond. The gander is always nearby. Unlike past years, I didn't see any newly hatched gooselings huddled near the adults. I still wonder what happened. Did they leave earlier than usual? Or did I witness the aftermath of predators?  

Bordering Monroe Street and on the north side of the pond is a garden planted following Indigenous ways. Corn, tomatoes, squash, and peppers grow in narrow rows carved out from the grass. Recently I watched a crane enjoying the vegetables inside the fenced garden. Its mate paced back and forth on the other side of the fence, trying to find an opening in the fencing. I left as the crane continued the futile effort. I wondered why this one didn't fly over the fence. I could feel the crane's anxiety as I passed by.    

Here's a praying mantis resting on a zinnia that I  encountered as a result of my curiosity. I often walk through Wingra Park, across from our apartment. While crossing the park heading north, I noticed a woman intently looking at something in the patch of flowers growing in front of the Wingra apartments. As I approached her she excitedly said :"Look a praying mantis."  

Together we shared the joy and awe of watching this majestic insect. We watched as slowly the mantis moved into the brown grasses, using its thin legs and feeling the way forward with its antennae.  Once into the grasses, we could hardly tell the mantis from the grasses. Looking carefully we noticed the green under belly. As the mantis faded into the grasses, the woman informed me that she planted the zinnias and I told her that was a good choice. She lives in one of the first floor apartments.  

Like me, the woman is an observer and admirer of the crane family, which she mentioned before we parted. Here they are on Knickerbocker. Once again they successfully crossed busy Monroe Street.   

Soon the family and other cranes will migrate south. They will leave between October and December and eventually head to Florida, Tennessee, Indiana, Georgia, Kentucky, and Texas. Before heading South, Wisconsin cranes gather in large numbers at staging areas—such as Crex Meadows Wildlife Area, Horicon Marsh, and the Wisconsin River—to feed and build up energy. I  wonder how cranes decide what is their final destination. 

Another example of Autumn's pleasures was the October 17th Prospect Gardens work session. Each year select dried plants are cut back. Several other plants that are still blooming or have gone to seeds are left in tact in anticipation that seeds will spread, to provide feed for wintering birds, and to provide winter shelter for small animals, like the chipmunks  

Six generous souls joined me. Starting on the left is Laura, then Erica, Joyce (in her stocking cap), Dan, Peggy, and Astrid. Thank you. Your helping hands are so appreciated.

I so enjoyed your company and the feeling of community. As usual I lost track of time. We had a break as required by our absent union steward, my wife Ann. She purchased and packaged the refreshments. Thank you, Ann.

Preparing the Gardens inevitably risks small brown seeds sticking to clothes and in Joyce's case in her hair.  Here's Laura removing the seeds from Joyce's hair.  Ah, the spirit of neighborliness and care. 

Preparing Prospect Gardens reminded me of the Autumns of my childhood and young adulthood. For nearly 19 years, I felt Autumn on our farm as a critical transition to winter and to survive that pending onslaught, preparation was essential. Winters were much longer and intense than now. We coped with more snow storms.  Snow covered the ground from late November and to late April and sometimes into early May. Living at the end of a mile long dead end road meant we were stranded for several days during the most severe storms.

By October, the basement shelves were filled with canned fruits and vegetables, put up by my Mother during the heat of summer. Two crocks full of sauerkraut got us through the winter. Sauerkraut was often served with Polish sausage made by Martha from one of Pulaski's meat markets. Martha was well known for her sausage making. 

Near the crocks was a base of a butter churn crock filled with curing pickles. A plate with a brick on top covered the pickles. A  pile of potatoes along with some  pumpkins filled an area to the left of the stairs.

During October wood from the large pile near the chicken coop was moved into the basement of our house. The source of the wood  was dead trees from a nearby woods cut into small sized pieces. Once I helped my older brother harvest the wood and bring it home. Another brother and I loaded the cut up wood on a flatbed hay wagon, drove the wagon and tractor up next to the back of the house. We then unloaded the wood, tossing pieces through an open basement window, creating a large wood pile. 

Wood was carried upstairs and placed near a stove in the kitchen and another in the dinning/living rooms to be fed into each by my Mother. The kitchen stove was used for cooking until Mother had a gas stove. This same stove heated water in an attached large reservoir used for bathing. Sometime in early 1959 and before my 15th July birthday, an indoor bathroom and hot water heater were installed. 

Halloween was always celebrated with my fellow students in the one room school house we attended. On Halloween day those who could afford one wore their purchased outfits. I recall only having a farmer's cap while not trying to be envious of Nora's store brought sparkling green gown with matching face mask. Regardless, we all paraded around the room and enjoyed treats that the teacher purchased. 

The highlight was entering the haunted girls' cloak room. My sister Angie and her friend Theresa created the haunted chamber of horrors. One year we were blindfolded and led into the room. We were subjected to feeling scary imaginary objects, like the brains of a monster which were really the innards of a pumpkin along with some other slimy material.    

Today, the tradition of creating haunted places continues in my neighborhood. This haunted junk yard is a short walk up Commonwealth and in the house's backyard bordering Fox Avenue. Two sessions are offered: one at 5pm that is less scary and the other more scary one at 6:30pm.

   

Halloween is just one day to be enjoyed by all ages during this Autumn season. On this warm Autumn day, I end with a Mary Oliver's poem for your own reflection. Be well and enjoy the remaining Autumn days.

  Fall Song by Mary Oliver

Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,

the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back

from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere

except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle

of unobservable mysteries – roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This

I try to remember when time’s measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn

flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay – how everything lives, shifting

from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.

 

  

.

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  deserve special commendation and recognition that acknowledge their years of volunteering.  Also include Percy who worked in the Gardens on her own schedule.

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..