Old Shed, Reminiscing and Gratitude

This old shed, bordering Prospect Gardens, has sheltered the Garden's tools since we sold our nearby home nearly four years ago. It's perched on public land adjacent to Ernie and Jeanne's former home. Ernie and Jeanne sold the house last November. They moved to an independent living retirement community.

Ernie built the shed for storing wood used to heat their home which they purchased in November 1976.  According to Ernie, "back then my back was strong & shoulders were up to hefting & swinging a 10 lb splitting ax."  I will miss Ernie's and Jeanne's presence in the neighborhood and those pleasant chats with Ernie when we met along the Southwest Path.

Katie and her husband purchased the home and will be moving in, along with their three children, in the spring.  I met Katie and after some pleasant chit-chat we turned our attention to the old shed.  We decided that the dilapidated shed, covered with lead paint, must be removed. So sometime in the near future the old shed will be history. It's replacement will be a new metal shed. In the meantime, tools, hoses and a wheelbarrow are in Laura's basement. Thank you Laura, for providing this temporary shelter.

The old shed and the Holiday season caused me to reminisce about past Holiday seasons. Here's the decorated sanctuary of Pulaski's Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary (BVM) church. BVM was once the world headquarters of the Franciscan Order. Besides the large Gothic church, the complex once included a monastery, a print shop and a farm.

The poor quality of the picture masks the beauty of the tall evergreen trees covered with  lights and shimmering tinsels. The Liss brothers, owners of a gas station across from BVM, would acquire and put up the trees. Others would help put on the lights and hang the tinsel. The Liss family also had a gas delivery service. Ed, one of the brothers, delivered gas to our family farm, about six miles south of Pulaski.

My family faithfully attended BVM, including midnight mass on Christmas Eve. We would pile into our car; always bought used. When I was a preteen, an older brother or sister, still in their teens and newly licensed, would be the driver.  My Mother and seven of her children still at home would be jammed into the car and all bundled up against the bitter cold. With great anticipation we made our way through the dark night. Chores were done and now it was time to celebrate Christmas Mass.

The church would be packed; standing room only. Lights would be turned off just before mass began; the church shimmering from the lights of the tinseled tall evergreen trees. Shortly, thereafter a large contingent of brown robed monks moved into the decorated sanctuary, while singing in Latin a Christmas hymn.  My young spirit soared as I felt the sense of community.

Earlier that evening my Mother prepared a special meatless meal.  On each of our plates would be an oplatki or wafer. We took turns passing our oplatki, broke off a piece and exchanged blessings.

Once as a teenager I went to the monastery to purchase the oplatki. I opened the heavy entrance door after ringing the bell. I can still sense the rush of hot air as I went down the hall to a cashier-like opening. A monk appeared and cheerfully sold me the oplatki. As I walked away, I heard the noise of the printing presses.

This ancient and sacred Polish tradition of sharing oplatki is still practiced. In 1989 when Emily was five, Ann, Emily and I shared oplatki. I still have the colorful envelope. The front of the envelope shows a wealthy Polish family of ten sharing oplatki.  All are dressed in their finest Polish clothes. It looks like they lived during the late 19th century. The family was more wealthy than mine. Polish art work hangs on all four walls of their dinning room. The family sits around a dinning room table on comfortable chairs. Our table was a long harvest table with two chairs for the adults and homemade benches for the kids.

 Another anticipated Holiday event was the community Christmas program at Polandi, the one room school I attended. Here's me and my three brothers in front of the stage's curtain. Can you guess which one is me? I'm next to my older brother Tom, then it's Lou and Ernie.

Preparations began right after Thanksgiving. Everybody had a singing part or a role in a short play.  Tom was a star of of most programs. His rendition of Silent Night still reverberates through my mind, along with the sustained applause from the audience packed into the one room school house. Tom still sings in his church's choir.

My sister Angie and her friend, Theresa, spent hours painting Christmas scenes on the large east facing windows. I was reminded of their artful skills as I passed the windows of our neighborhood book store, pictured here.

Hotel Red, at the corner of Regent and Monroe, also has large red and white ornaments painted on their front windows. I often stop at Hotel Red on my walks and rest awhile. The virtual burning logs on two televisions are slightly jarring. Oh well, the second decade of the 21st century is fast arriving.

I also reminisced about Emily's childhood.  Here's her first 1984 Christmas. We lived in Andover, MA. She is just over a month old. My sweet mother-in-law Ethel was with us.

Ethel's homemade Christmas cookies were always a hit. She made at least fifteen different kinds, sharing them with friends and family members. She often stayed with us from Christmas day to early January, after we moved to Madison in August 1986.

We would drive back from Milwaukee after having Christmas eve dinner with my brother-in-law Chuck, Kathy, his wife, and Steven and Andrea, their children. Ethel came with a tin of her cookies and with a fruit cake from the Sisters of Mount Mary in Milwaukee. The fruit cake was always the last to be eaten. Then Ethel would jokingly say that it was time to go home since the cookies and fruit cake were gone.

Emily visited Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus at the Hilldale Mall, which was enclosed then. I think the year is 1986. The Clauses slowly walked the long hallway connecting stores and gently approached and greeted children. No loud "Ho-Hos" were proclaimed. Emily found this routine less threatening than standing in line to crawl into Santa's lap. We sometimes forget that a big beaded man can be rather menacing to a child.

Here's one of my favorite childhood pictures of Emily from 1987. Her exuberance about the Holiday is obvious as she stands next to a plywood Santa.

Santa, made by Ann's Uncle Joe, is still with us. When Ann was a child, Santa was on the roof of their home, latched to the chimney. Now he has a corner in our apartment.

Below is Emily's beloved Sugar who lived to be 18 years old. I often refer to Sugar as Emily's sibling. Both grew up together. It's 1994 and Emily is ten years old. Sugar was Emily's constant companion who played with her and her friends. Emily sometimes put Sugar in her doll carriage along with her other dolls. Sugar would tolerate it for awhile.

If Sugar needed anything she never bothered Emily. She came to Ann or me. Sugar usually sneezed when she needed to go outdoors. Now an ornament with her picture is on our Christmas tree.

I have more memories of  Holidays with Emily, including recent ones. Emily now lives in Oakland. She has found her tribe, enjoys her friends and her work at Ancestry.com in San Francisco. Her forty-five minute BART commute is tolerable.

We visited Emily this last November and a week before Thanksgiving. We prepared and shared a Thanksgiving meal. The five days of sunshine with temperatures in the mid-60s were a special gift.

We enjoyed visiting the San Francisco Academy of Science and just hanging out with Emily. The Academy's aquarium, with its walk through passage when you are surrounded by fish, was especially enchanting.  Precious time together.

Christmas 2018 was spent with Emily in Oakland. Here's our little tree and presents. We attended Christmas Eve services at the historic First Unitarian Church near downtown Oakland. The church opened in 1891 and was built using only materials from California. Most notable are the sanctuary's dramatic redwood arches built of first growth redwood harvested from the Oakland/Berkeley hills. Renovation and retrofitting of  the East Wing and one of the halls was completed in 1998. The sanctuary was renovated and retrofitted in 2009.

The next day we, along with Naomi, Emily's roommate, prepared and shared Christmas dinner. They have been friends since middle school. Afterwards we squeezed into Naomi's Fiat and went to Redwood Regional Park on the north side of Oakland. Hugged a few Redwoods.

Two days after Christmas 2018 we flew to Los Angles on our way to Ojai where our long time friends, Darrel and Beth, now live. They picked us up at LAX and took as back for the return trip; a true sign of long term friendship. Darrel and Beth were witnesses at our 1979 Portland courthouse wedding. They were living in Bend, OR at that time.

Emily will not be home for this Christmas.We are planning to visit via "Facetime", another facet of 21st century living. Our 2019 tree is up and decorated. We most likely will attend the 7 o'clock Christmas Eve Contemplative Service at our church, First Unitarian Society. My need for a spiritual community is still strong. Christmas day will be quiet as Ann and I enjoy a peaceful day.

I am filled with gratitude as I look back on these past holidays. In the spirit of this season, I share this poem that I recently received from my friend, Claire. Thank you, Claire. The poem reminds me to be grateful for the Earth and that human beings have many of the same crucial elements for life as  the Earth and the stars. In other words we humans, like all beings, are tiny extensions of Earth and the Universe.

Peace to you and your loved ones.

Prayer for the Great Family

by Gary Snyder

Gratitude to Mother Earth, sailing through night and day—

    and to her soil: rich, rare and sweet 

        in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Plants, the sun-facing light-changing leaf

    and fine root-hairs; standing still through the wind

    and rain; their dance is in the flowing spiral grain

        in our mind so be it. 

Gratitude to Air, bearing the soaring Swift and the silent

    Owl at dawn. Breath of our song

    clear spirit breeze

        in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Wild Beings, our brothers, teaching secrets,

    freedoms, and ways; who share with us their milk;

    self-complete, brave, and aware

        in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Water: clouds, lakes, rivers, glaciers;

    holding or releasing; streaming through all

    our bodies salty seas

        in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to the Sun: blinding pulsing light through

    trunks of trees, through mists, warming caves where

    bears and snakes sleep—he who wakes us—

        in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to the Great Sky

    who holds billions of stars—and goes yet beyond that—

beyond all powers, and thoughts

and yet is within us—

Grandfather Space.

The Mind is his Wife.

      so be it.

                                                        A Mohawk prayer

Transitions and Letting Go

October 29th was a day of transition. I rolled out of bed at about 6:45 a.m. and quietly made my way to the office in the fading darkness. I glanced out the window before doing my Tai Chi routine and meditating. Fresh snow blanketed the deck and this container of petunias. For a few minutes I sat and reflected on how over night autumn transitioned into winter. Carl Sandburg's poem captures the moment.

Autumn Movement

I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.

As the day passed winter slowly transitioned back into autumn. The warm brilliant sun continued melting the snow as I walked in the afternoon under a brilliant blue sky. The contrasting red and white in this picture captures both seasons I experienced and enjoyed during my walk.

I also happened to notice the last of this Fall's raspberries as I passed a patch that spilled over the white picket fence near the sidewalk. The ripe berries caught my attention.

 As I finished enjoying the tart berries and returned to continue my walk,  a flock of migrating Robbins snacking on crab apples on a nearby tree caught my attention. Some were this year's off springs, perhaps on their first passage south.

Many Robbins scampered away only to return to the feast after I passed.They were not ready to move on. Yet I bet they understand the message meant for us in Walterrean Salley's poem.

Summer's passed already,

October’s nearing the end.

Trees are gently balding-

Leaves riding the wind.

On the great “fall” canvas,

Colors begin to change—

From plush green to red,

Yellow, brown and orange.

The sun will soon hide

As the chill settles in.

Then the cold will roar—

Nipping at the chin.

Unpack the boots and scarves,

The sweaters and the tights;

Prepare to “settle in”

For some long wintry nights.

Late October is also transition time for Prospect Gardens.  During the morning of October 18th, this small crew of Amy, to my left, and Ann R. to my right, along with my wife, Ann prepared the Gardens to "settle in for some long wintry nights."   After two hours we accomplished our goal with a break to enjoy Ann's homemade pumpkin bread. 

Thank you all for your help. Together we shared a beautiful autumn day.

I now wait for more snow to protect the Gardens from the inevitable freezing cold.  A few more sunny autumn days would be appreciated. Another walk in the arboretum or a stroll on  Picnic Point would be pleasant. Perhaps a Babcock ice cream cone?  I would favor a Michael's Custard, but unfortunately the one across from our apartment has permanently closed. Ann and I often lunched at Michael's after working in the Gardens. 

The large "For Lease" sign makes me sad as does the reason why Michael's closed. It's gone because of how immigration laws are now enforced. Owner Michael Dix's spouse, Sergio De La O Hernandez, is an undocumented immigrant in the United States for thirty years.They married in 2015.  Hernandez manged daily operations at the Monroe Street store. Dix sponsored Hernandez for a U.S. visa so Hernandez could obtain legal status in the country. When Hernandez returned to his home country of Mexico last August for a visa interview, he was denied the visa and denied re-entry into the United States.

And so Michael's Custard, a thirty year old Monroe Street fixture, transitions into the unknown, nothing compared to what Michael and Sergio face. Perhaps as this final poem on autumn suggests, letting go and facing the unknown are more of autumn's messages. The author, Rev. David Bumbaugh, is Unitarian Universalist minister who once served a Summit New Jersey congregation. 

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?

May you dance in the winds of all seasons. In the meantime, the orange fences, like this one that Ann and I put up last Friday, the 25th, await the snow and winds of winter. As in years past, they will signal city snow removal crews not to push snow into the Gardens. 

This year is the tenth anniversary for the Prospect Gardens. Forty seasons have passed.Winter, the season of solitude, is once again upon us.   

Peace be with you.

   

    

October and Impermanence

October for me is a time when impermanence, a reality of life, is keenly felt and experienced. Changes feel more rapid and constant before the solitude of winter settles in. In particular, I notice darkness rather than light as I do my early morning Tai Chi. Sometimes I remain in bed giving into the comfortable darkness. The flowers on our apartment's deck are now past their prime. The radiant marigolds dried up and are gone. The calibrachoa are facing the same fate. The zinnias are drooping while the blooms on the petunias are fading fast. However, the once diseased geranium, after shedding almost all its leaves, has taken on new life. Lush green leaves have returned and blooms are possible, if there is no early frost.

Impermanence is also evident as Prospect Gardens takes on October's features so well expressed in Wendell Barry's poem.

October 10

Now constantly there is the sound,

quieter than rain, of the leaves falling.

Under their loosening bright

gold, the sycamore limbs

bleach whiter.

Now the only flowers are

beeweed and aster, spray

of their white and lavender

over the brown leaves.

The calling of a crow sounds

loud —a landmark— now that  the life of summer falls

silent, and the nights grow.

October is when we prepare Prospect Gardens for the winter.  Cutting and removing wilted plants once blooming reminds me of our impermanence. We leave some plant ripe with seeds to support the cycle of rebirth while anticipating that birds will eat some seeds. There is plenty for everybody.

Here are the volunteers who worked on Saturday morning, September 28th. Jody and me are on the top row with Ann N on my left. Ann and I are attempting to make a "W" symbolizing the UW Badgers who were playing Northwestern. A fan in Badger red is about to descend the steps, one of many that streamed by while we worked. Jody, a fellow Unitarian, is cupping her hands in the shape of a Chalice, one of our few symbols. Laura and Joyce, in the lime green t-shirt, are on the bottom row. Laima, who arrived later, is not pictured.  We are enjoying my wife, Ann's homemade lemon bars while she snaps the picture.

Here's Laura in action. Laura is using her Fiskars hedge sheers, one of the best on the market. Maybe I will put these on my Christmas list in anticipation that since I have been a good gardener all this season and Santa will oblige. On second thought, I may go to Ace Hardware and buy the sheers now since more plants need to be cut and removed.

Ann N. is at it again. Plants and weeds gave way to her energy and will power. While pruning Ann uncovered an abandoned bike leaning against the old weathered picket fence. I will contact the police in the next week or so if the bike is still there. It's a good bike and the flat tire can be easily repaired. Wonder why it was abandoned?

Joyce removing tall Black Eyed Susan and Saw Tooth Daisies. The Day Lilies in the background were also cut back.

Laura, Joyce and Ann. N. are long time Prospect Garden volunteers, often heeding my call for volunteers. Thank you for your dedication, energy and hard work.

Jody, a second year volunteer, pauses and gives a shout out. Sorry Liama, no picture of you this time. Thank you both for your generous gift of time and hard work.

Special thanks goes out to June. June lives near the Prospect Gardens, and introduced herself as she was passing through on her way home. I learned that during the late summer she picks Prospect Gardens' elderberries and makes jam. She offered three jars as gifts that I immediately accepted, and shared with other gardeners. Elderberry jam on top of yogurt is beyond delicious.

Here's a wheelbarrow heaped with plant materials. Laima and Ann B. often picked up and hauled plants to the designated drop site. Thank you Ann B. for your dedication and support.  Your labors are appreciated and your treats are always a hit.

A city crew from the Department of Engineering picked up the plant material on Monday. Thank you Ryan and your crew for your support throughout the ten years of tending the Gardens. Yes, its been a decade since the first shrubs and seeds were planted.

A cleaned out section of the garden now prepared for winter.  The once hidden rocks are now exposed. The remaining green vegetation will disappear as frost and eventually winter settles in. Winter is inevitable within the cycles of life marked with impermanence.

The picket fence in the background and the butterfly house  have weathered with time. More evidence of impermanence.

Here's three pictures of plants that still grace the Gardens. They too will disappear as winter approaches. Their  offsprings will show up next season.

 This tall grass is less visible during the summer when neighboring tall plants obstruct a view. Now the grass is king of the hill, revealing its simple beauty against the blue of the neighbor's birdhouse.

Blooming Asters; the advance-team of Fall and the impending Winter. As Wendell Barry's poem suggests these are one of the last blooming plants of the season. The lavender flowers now nod in the Fall breezes while honeybees visit. Lavender will turn into brown seeds as Fall breezes change into chilly winds. We left some Asters standing so birds can enjoy the seeds.   Bon Appetit! 

Last but not least, the majestic Bottle Gentian with its gem-like blooms. Early in the season I was concerned that they were uprooted by the snowplow that pushed snow up to the Gardens. They survived the trauma to once again show off their beauty and splendor.

I close with this poem from Butch Decatoria who identifies as an Irish-Filipino. Decatoria immigrated from the Philippines, where he was born, to our country in 1981. His father was in the military and his mother was a maid, and they were never married. I share his background to underscore the contributions immigrants make to our county and culture.

Impermanence 

We reside in the monumental

Structures of our own making

These finite moments

We consume

Asleep in boxes

Homes for corpses...

The living in denial

Of the absolute truth

We are pilgrims of

Impermanence...

Flightless Birds perched

On the precipice

Home is for the living

We must let go

Ask the Earth for forgiveness

Thank creation

For each breath

Our very human presence

Our mortal minutes

For Another day

Residing in impermanence.

(Thank Goodness

And Goddess)

Come what may...

Impermanence 

August Lanes

Woke up early on Sunday morning, August 18th, to the rumbling of a thunderstorm. As I laid in bed among the lightening and the rain pelleting against the window, I recalled summer thunder storms when I was a child on my family's farm.  One was especially spectacular with a loud clap of thunder and a bolt of lightening that lit up the bedroom and shook the house. Afterwards, my mother discovered that the bolt split a nearby tree and injured a young heifer that took shelter under the tree. The heifer (immature cow) had an unsteady gait and appeared in a daze. The owner of a small slaughter house picked her up the next day. Several days later we had various cuts of beef stored in a walk-in locker at the local cheese factory. If at all possible nothing was wasted on that farm.

This unpleasant recollection contrasts with Edgar Albert Guest's poem praising August. Guest, an American poet, was popular in the first half of the 20th century and known as the People's Poet. I just noticed that he was born on August 20th, 1881 and died on August 5th, 1959. Perhaps his birth date influenced his praise of August in this poem.

Down The Lanes Of August

Down the lanes of August—and the bees upon the wing, 

All the world's in color now, and all the song birds sing;
Never reds will redder be, more golden be the gold,
Down the lanes of August, and the summer getting old.

Mother Nature's brushes now with paints are dripping wet,
Gorgeous is her canvas with the tints we can't forget;
Here's a yellow wheat field—purple asters there,
Riotous the colors that she's splashing everywhere.

Red the cheeks of apples and pink the peaches' bloom,
Redolent the breezes with the sweetness of perfume;
Everything is beauty crowned by skies of clearest blue,
Mother Earth is at her best once more for me and you.

Down the lanes of August with her blossoms at our feet,
Rich with gold and scarlet, dripping wet with honey sweet.
Rich or poor, no matter, here are splendors spread
Down the lanes of August, for all who wish to tread.

So far the lanes of August has been pleasant. On the 11th, Ann and I traveled to Pulaski and celebrated my sister Barbara's 80th birthday. A good friend made the cake.

Barb's immediate family (three sons and one daughter, their spouses and some of her grandchildren, and great grandchildren) attended along with my older brother Tom, his wife Todd, my older sister, Theresa, another older sister, Angie, her husband, Kirt, and my younger brother, Louie. His wife Corine was unable to attend. Ann and I missed her company.  

My oldest brother, 89 year old Mike, didn't attend because he is successfully recovering from risky intestinal surgery. A tough choice between surgery or hospice. I celebrate his fortitude and his good fortune. He has traveled many lanes of  Augusts.  

Like our Grandmother, Julia, Mike was a vegetable gardener. His specialty was pumpkins which he sold. As a youngster, I remember visiting his garden and those flat wagons full of pumpkins. Mike built most of his first home, as well as the one he currently hopes to return to after his stay at a Green Bay rehabilitation center.  

Mike and his wife, Betty, who died in 2017, are blessed with eight loving children. They along with their spouses have supported Mike through his life threatening ordeal. This Friday, we will attend one of Mike's grandson's wedding in Hilbert, Wisconsin. Grandpa Mike may be there, but I doubt if he will be dancing with his granddaughters, like he did at last year's wedding of a granddaughter, Katie.

Another pleasant lane was a visit to "The Three Sisters Garden," a short walk from our apartment and on UW Arboretum land. This traditional Native American Indian garden consisting of corn, beans and squash. Madison area tribal communities in coordination with UW-Madison Arboretum and Department of Horticulture, planted the garden. 

Native American Indians planted these types of gardens long before the arrival of colonists. They are unlike the neatly plowed rows and fields of  most vegetable gardens. In this one the seeds were planted in furrows plowed across a field of grasses.The grasses between rows are regularly mowed.  

The homemade scare crow is a nice touch. I assume that the bags covering some of the corn tassels support pollination.  

A tour of several prairies along or near the Southwest Path with Sandy was yet another pleasant August lane. Sandy and I co-chair the Dudgeon-Monroe Neighbor Association Garden Path Committee.  We had a perfect Wisconsin day with blue skies, gentle breezes and comfortable temperatures. The first visited site is a short distance off the Southwest Path and bordering the Odana Golf Course.  I was familiar with this prairie but never appreciated that it covered several acres.   

The second site, tended by Bonnie, was a short stroll heading West on the Southwest Path and surrounds the bike bridge that crosses the Beltline. Another beautiful and impressive prairie. While strolling down the Path between the two sites, I learned more about Sandy's Texas roots.  

We took the car to the Crawford-Marlboro-Nakoma Neighborhood Butterfly Garden which is near the Beltline, surrounded by a pedestrian bridge and not on the Southwest Path. I felt like I was in a sheltered and peaceful amphitheater with the busy Beltline just over the horizon. The kidney shaped prairie was ablaze with color and radiating serenity in the midst of urbanity.  

I met several volunteers who were busy weeding. Spray paint outlined a planned rain garden. This  last Sunday morning Sandy told me that installation began August 17th. We chatted while returning a bag of gloves which I thought I needed for our Saturday Prospect Gardens work session. 

The Saturday crew came with gloves. Here's most of the crew starting with Mary on the right (lower step), then me, Laura, Joyce; Erich and Jody are on the second step.On the back step are Loren (with the hat) and Steve. Hanns arrived later. We are on break enjoying Ann's homemade date bars. She's taking the picture.

Hanns had returned at 1:30 am from a trip to Hawaii, where he, his wife and daughter celebrated their daughter's college graduation. 

This black beauty sauntered into the gardens shortly after the break. After rubbing up against me, the cat rolled over on its back and requested belly rubs. I acquiesced. I asked if weeding was a possibility. The cat refused. Instead, the cat leisurely made its way into the garden and disappeared into the plants. Well at least, this black beauty did not beg for a date bar.   





Loren, Jody and Erich are enjoying the break and hopefully getting better acquainted. Erich previously tended the Gardens several times on his own schedule. Removing Bishops Weed was his specialty. Thanks Erich.

On Saturday, he along with other crew members,  removed many Black Eyed Susan plants. Erich also cleared away plants around the cherry tree to improve air circulation.

I am concerned about the two cherry trees. Time to consult with master gardener, Percy, or the UW plant disease center.

Here's Mary getting ready to take away a wheel barrel full of Black Eyed Susan plants. I think this is a great picture. Possible candidate for a volunteer recruitment poster?

You may be wondering why these blooming plants are being treated like weeds. Well in some respects they are weeds because they aggressively reseed themselves, crowding out other desirable plants. For example, we discovered the lovely red cardinal plant struggling to survive while surrounded with aggressive Black Eyed Susans.




Here's Steve during break and just before he and Jody tackled weeds along the Regent side of the Gardens. He looks a little like Clint Eastwood, but with more hair.... don't you think?

The "Go Ducks" t-shirt refers to the University of Oregon Ducks. Steve's daughter and son-in-law were on the faculty of Oregon State, Corvallis before moving to Ashland. They are now on the faculty of Northland College.

Hanns demonstrating one of the skills sometimes needed while gardening on a slope with rocks. Maintaining balance while holding onto a handful of weeds is sometimes required. However, there is plenty of flatland in Prospect Gardens that volunteers can choose. It is not necessary to have "goat like" abilities.

Hanns proved to be quite adapt. Not bad for a guy who was adjusting to Wisconsin time after a long trip from Hawaii.

Laura is removing plants including Black Eyed Susans.  Laura is accomplished at pulling weeds regardless of the angle of the slope. Here the terrain is relatively flat.

Here is Joyce working near Laura. Another accomplished Prospect Gardener and willing to work on any terrain.

Loren getting ready to leave on his electric bike.

A heartfelt thank you to Loren, Laura, Joyce, Erich, Steve, Hanns, Jody, and Mary for joining Ann and I. Together we journeyed down one of August's lanes on a day filled with the sentiments expressed in  Edgar Albert Guest's poem.

"All the world's in color now, and all the song birds sing;
Never reds will redder be, more golden be the gold,
Down the lanes of August, and the summer getting old."

Enjoy these aging days of summer.

Refuge and Summer Beauty

July is fading into August. As I reflect on the disappearing July and time at Prospect Gardens finding refuge during a rather turbulent month emerges into consciousness. We experienced stormy weather and the political world continued to be turbulent. Usually, I can navigate through the political chaos with some calmness. However, after watching fifteen minutes of the Mueller hearings, I got on my working shoes, and went to Prospect Gardens. There I found refuge while removing rocks and making space for Little Blue Stem grasses donated by a neighbor. Yes, planting in mid summer is atypical. Watering will be required and the hardiest will survive.

During Sunday's walk I meandered through the University of Wisconsin Botanical Garden, located at 1090 University Avenue. A magnificent perennial garden, all plants duly identified, and with a small pond. As I crossed the bridge this water lily caught my eye. Here's a poem telling us what we can learn from the Water Lily. It's from the 2017 Wisconsin Poets' Calendar, a present from Sandy. Sandy is a poet and  the crew chief of the Glenway Prairie, about a 20 minute walk west of Prospect Gardens.

How to Live Like a Water Lily (Annette L. Grunseth)
Wake up slowly, float in a dreamy world,

silky arms folded over your face until mid-morning,

then open wide, sun-warmed awake.

Breathe from more than one place, soft and supple.

Do not worry about today or tomorrow

or care what others think of you.

Your radiant center is tough, strong,

nourished by water and light.

Wind and wave may engulf you

but you can easily separate from submersion,

opening your face to the heavens.

Push back beads of wet darkness.

Move freely. Make white water circles until afternoon,

when you fold softly back into yourself,

 drowsing in the dimming daylight.

The poem's message is worthy of reflection as we move further into the dog days of summer. The poem also reminded me how Prospect Gardens is a refuge for me and I would hope for others. As I tend the Gardens with the help of volunteers, I also experience community and connections. Here's the July 26th crew. We are holding butterscotch oatmeal bars made by Ann, my wife, while toasting her as she took the picture.

Two UW Badger Volunteers returned: Joe sitting on the left side of the first step and Connie, in the middle of the back row. Two more Badger volunteers, Ethan and Sameer, were taking exams.

Accompanying the UW Badger Volunteers is Sam, an intern with Wisconsin Environmental Initiative, (WEI). He's sitting to Joe's left and on the first step. WEI, led by John Imes, is the sponsor of these particular Badger Volunteers. Blog readers will recognize Sam, Joe and Connie because they were part of the crew that tended the Gardens in June. Behind Sam is Steve and on the same step are Hanns and Joyce. In the back row, flanking Connie, are Ann N. and me.

The weather was quite pleasant and the afternoon quickly slipped by. Much was accomplished including thinning out a species of aggressive, overgrown Black Eye Susan plants.  Joyce, in the green t-shirt, Sam, and Ann N. without hesitation did the job. 










Here's Joe, Connie, and Steve in the background. They are clearing out an unknown weed that carpeted this section of the Garden.




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I had to include this one of Joe giving the "thumps up" to a productive afternoon as well as one filled with conversation and humor.

This particular team of Badger Volunteers is finishing the summer term of working with John Imes' Wisconsin Environmental Initiative. Another team will join John as the Fall semester unfolds.

Thank you John for the opportunity to interact with these hard working and enthusiastic future UW alumni.

I bid farewell and send best wishes to Sam, Justine, Joe, Connie, Ethan and and Sameer as they finish their degrees and move forward with their lives.  May you be safe, may you be well, may you be strong and may you be happy.

I would be remiss if I didn't feature ten pictures showing the Gardens' summer beauty. This beauty contributes to the Gardens being a refuge for birds, insects and human beings.

Swamp Milkweed, a favorite of Monarch Butterflies. I wish I had more. Hopefully this clump will continue to flourish and spread.

Incidentally, the "Blooming Butterfly" show is still on through August 11th at Olbrich Gardens, here in Madison. A variety of free-flying butterflies, including the Monarchs, will dazzle you as you walk through the Bolz Conservatory. The domed tropical conservatory is another soothing refuge and especially during the winter months.

I can't recall the name of this stately lavender beauty.  Nate, the Oregon teacher and lead for the school district's gardens, donated these several years ago. Nate's daughter got married a few weeks ago in the small park that adjoins the family home. It rained heavily in the morning. The skies cleared in time for the afternoon wedding. A good omen for a long and happy married life for the young couple.

A species of Black Eye Susan and the ones I like. These are shorter, compact, have larger blooms and know how to live with their neighbors. They are the opposite of their aggressive taller cousins which many are now on the pile of plant material waiting to be picked up by the city.

A Purple Cone surrounded by cultivated Phlox. Perennials and natives living together in beautiful harmony. The name is from the Greek word phlox meaning flame in reference to the intense flower colors of some varieties. Easy to grow while being subject to powder mildew.

The brilliant Coreopsis, maybe "Early Sunrise" species, spilling out of its bed. Sunshine at your finger tips. These also attract butterflies.

The delicate, yet hardy, Yellow Coneflower, a native that returns and spreads. This one's ancestors were in the gardens of our former home on Keyes Avenue. I planted them well before we sold and moved into our apartment, three years ago in August. Time is certainly slipping by. 

Here's the white spikes of Culver's Root. This year this hardy plant has migrated from it's original location on the flat Regent Neighborhood section of the Gardens down the slope to a site a few feet from the bike path.

As the years pass, plants migrate with the result being constant changes in the appearance of the Gardens. These migrations remind me that change and impermanence is a constant of life.

Prospect Gardens and other prairie gardens along the Southwest Path provide refuge for the generations of migrating Monarchs. Here the magnificent Purple Cone is providing nourishment for the majestic Monarch.

This White Cone flower, sometimes referred to as the "White Swan," is a cultivar rather than a native. Like the Purple Cone, butterflies and bees flock to the blooms. Songbirds love the seeds of both the white and purple cone flowers. This bee didn't mind at all as I closed in and snapped the picture.

Ah, the regal Queen of the Prairie, one of my favorites. I celebrate the return of these pink, airy blooms. Last year an unknown fungus purged most of the Queens. Apparently cutting down and removing the infected plants helped. Sometimes the fungus can linger in the soil.  Long live the Queen!

I invite you to visit Prospect Gardens. Experience its beauty while taking refuge from the divisiveness of our era. Meanwhile I leave you with one of my favorite Wendell Berry poems extolling nature as a refuge.

 The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethoughts

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.