Potpourri

Buddha on our deck: snow beginning

Potpourri as used here refers to a miscellaneous collection of events and reflections. As winter settles in I begin with comments about the November 5th Zoom held Mindful Man retreat attended by 18 men and me. We have met for several times a year to study topics and practice mindfulness. This was the18th year and the final retreat. Thank you David and Hal for your energy, leadership, and teaching. 

Through talks by David and Hal, meditation, and guided activities, we focused on losses in our lives and how we use them to grow and move forward. Steve, the third leader, led us in Qigong, developed in China thousands of years ago as part of traditional Chinese medicine. Qigong involves slow movement exercises that optimize energy within the body and mind while connecting these with the energy of the earth. Thank you Steve.

During the open session as an introduction to the day, Steve shared the following poem.

Along Lake Wingra before the snow.

 Allow by Danna Faulds

There is no controlling life.
Try corralling a lightning bolt,
containing a tornado. Dam a
stream and it will create a new
channel. Resist, and the tide
will sweep you off your feet.
Allow, and grace will carry
you to higher ground. The only
safety lies in letting it all in –
the wild and the weak; fear,
fantasies, failures and success.
When loss rips off the doors of
the heart, or sadness veils your
vision with despair, practice
becomes simply bearing the truth.
In the choice to let go of your
known way of being, the whole
world is revealed to your new eyes.

While walking along Edgewood Drive bordering Lake Wingra, I noticed this note attached to wiring protecting an  oak sapling. The sapling replaced the fallen "towering oak sentinel."  Its "old limbs started to fall."

For me, the note and Faulds' poem provide cues for responding to losses. Both underscore accepting that life is unpredictable, acknowledging the truth of a loss, and letting go. The note adds another dimension to letting go; "we welcome this new-comer", whatever that may be. More may be required when we face deep grief after the death of a loved one, for example, support, patience and forbearance. 

 

The impact of the historic midterm elections is still unfolding and is an example of unpredictability or to quote Faulds, "There is no controlling life." I like this New Yorker cover titled "Low Tide", which tells what happened despite all the predications of a Republican "Red Wave."  Karen Tumulty's Washington Post opinion article entitled "The expected red wave looks more like a puddle" is another accurate assessment. 

I agree with the pundits who said that the election showed that many voters could think about other issues beyond the effects of high gas prices. To paraphrase one pundit, American voters were capable of chewing gum and walking at the same time. Other pundits noted that decency in politics may be returning because most losers from both parties conceded. 

More remarkable, despite heated rhetoric and implied threats, elections nationwide went smoothly and without predicted violence or massive protests. Problems were minor. Kari Lake, Republican candidate for Arizona governor, is the only loser who claims, without any evidence, that her defeat was the result of "disenfranchisement" of her supporters in Maricopa County.   

Personally, this election marked the passage of time. The first president I recall was Dwight Eisenhower. In 1952 as an eight year old I accidentally voted for him in the mock election held at our one room schoolhouse.  I tearfully asked the teacher if I could change my vote. My teacher refused; no election fraud here. My family was strongly Democratic. My older sister Barbara recalls our Dad praising Franklin Roosevelt and expressing great concerns about Hoover.  

I have always voted in all elections since reaching voting age. I worked on many elections after we moved to Wisconsin in 1986 until this one. While Ann and I contributed financially, I did not volunteer.  Mitigating factors included aging and still being cautious regarding COVID, which eliminated door-to-door canvasing. I once did phone and text banking but increasingly doubted the effectiveness. In 2020, Ann and I wrote many letters through Vote Forward but not this year. 

I don't look forward to the already unfolding 2024 presidential political season. The constant campaigning is tiresome. Sometimes I wish for a return to the time when extensive campaigning began  after Labor Day. The incessant television ads, text messages, and emails, all asking for money, are irritating. I recall when disinformation was not part of the political discourse. Supposedly we all trusted Walter Cronkite, that venerable CBC newscaster, with his infamous signoff: " And that's the way it is."  His sign off expresses my sentiments about our current politics.

The following poem embodies my aspirations for our political culture and our society. The frequent use of the word "vote" peaked my interest. A Google search revealed that "vote" is derived from the Latin word votum, meaning ‘a vow, wish’, and from vovere ‘to vow’. The verb dates from the mid -16th century.  You may want to change "vote" to "vow" or "wish" as you read and reflect on the poem.

Election By Alfred K. LaMotte  

I voted.

I voted for the rainbow.

I voted for the cry of a loon.

I voted for my grandfather’s bones
that feed beetles now.

I voted for a singing brook that sparkles
under a North Dakota bean field.

I voted for salty air through which the whimbrel flies
South along the shores of two continents.

I voted for melting snow that returns to the wellspring
of darkness, where the sky is born from the earth.

I voted for daemonic mushrooms in the loam,
and the old democracy of worms.

I voted for the wordless treaty that cannot be broken
by white men or brown, because it is made of star semen,
thistle sap, hieroglyphs of the weevil in prairie oak.

I voted for the local, the small, the brim
that does not spill over, the abolition of waste,
the luxury of enough.

I voted for the commonwealth of the ancient forest,
a larva for every beak, a wing-tinted flower
for every moth’s disguise, a well-fed mammal’s corpse
for every colony of maggots.

I voted for open borders between death and birth.

I voted on the ballot of a fallen leaf of sycamore
that cannot be erased, for it becomes the dust and rain,
and then a tree again.

I voted for more fallow time to cultivate wild flowers,
more recess in schools to cultivate play,
more leisure, tax free, more space between days.

I voted to increase the profit of evening silence
and the price of a thrush song.

I voted for ten million stars in your next inhalation.

My aspirations were exceeded, as Ann and I hosted a celebration on October 22nd of my brother Lou's and sister-in-law, Corine's 50th wedding anniversary. That day we also hosted the annual University of Wisconsin Homecoming gathering for the 36th year, attended by my older brother Tom, his wife Todd, Lester, a friend since 8th grade, and his friend, Eunice. My 2 brothers, Corine, and Todd went to the game, while Ann, Eunice and I watched on TV.

The couple exchanged vows on October 21, 1972  in our hometown church, The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Pulaski, WI. I am on the far right of the picture. A reception was held in the parish hall, starting in the evening. 500 hundred guest first enjoyed dinner, followed by dancing and an open bar until midnight. 

The dinner was prepared under the supervision of the head cook Mrs. Kabara and with assistance from her crew. Mrs. Kabara was booked well in advance because of her popularity. Corine peeled many potatoes before the wedding. Family and neighbors often assisted at these large Polish influenced weddings. However, I don't recall any other stories of brides peeling potatoes. 

Fifty years later, Ann prepared the same meal of chicken, ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans. The cake came from Metcalfe's, and of course, served with UW made Babcock ice cream. A four foot golden helium-filled number "50" balloon floated in the corner of the dining room as we sat around a 78 year old table purchased by Ann's Grandma, Anna, just before the 1944 wedding of Ann's parents, Ethel  and Charlie. Grandma Anna prepared and served a Hungarian dinner for the wedding party seated around the table. I imagine toasts were made in the honor of the happy couple.

We toasted Lou and Corine, wished them well, reminisced, and enjoyed the warmth of family and friends. Corine and Lou were delighted with the celebration. The Badger's win over Purdue added to the festivities. Lou and Corine are avid Badger and Packer fans.  

You may enjoy this novel by Quan Barry, the Lorraine Hansberry Professor of English at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. She was born in Saigon. The suspense filled and yet gently told tale involves two youthful twin brothers who become monks in the Tibetan Buddhism tradition. Both are capable of reading each other's minds.  

Chuluun is a novice monk awaiting his final vows while his brother, Mun, considered a reincarnation of a famous monk, has disrobed. Mun adopts a western lifestyle, has a cell phone, and an MP 3 player with ear buds. He also idolizes Genghis Khan, the founder and first Emperor of the Mongol Empire, which eventually became the largest contiguous empire in history. The Great Khan reigned from Spring 1206 – August 25, 1227.

The tale takes place in Mongolia and in 2015. Chuluun, along with two senior monks, go on a quest to find the child reincarnation of an important monk somewhere in the wilds of Mongolia.  Chuluun has deep doubts about his spiritual path, which he eventual resolves during the quest. His western seeking brother joins the quest. 

The two senior monks are also intriguing personalities, adding much to the story. The travel is dangerous, introducing the reader to the vastness and beauty of Mongolia while encountering the lives of the three possible child candidates. 

I especially liked the novel because of questions Chuluun wrestles with are for everyone and appropriate for the 21st century. For example, he asks, “Why do we need to believe that our lives add up to some grand narrative?”  For a review see  https://www.washingtonindependentreviewofbooks.com/index.php/bookreview/when-im-gone-look-for-me-in-the-east-a-novel

On October 29th,  Ann and I prepared Prospect Gardens for the winter with the help of Laura, a long time volunteer. Thank you Laura. This experience lacked the suspense and drama of Barry's tale. Instead, I felt contentment as the 13th season of caring for the Gardens was drawing to an end. This year, we left more plants intact, on the advice that doing so provides seeds for birds and shelter for small animals. About a week later, Ann and I put up the orange plastic snow fences that prevent city snowplows from pushing excessive snow into the Gardens and cleaned both ramps before winter sets in. 

Here are five pictures of the Gardens taken before we the current snow cover. Included are chapter titles from Barry's enchanting book.

"The Earth and Sky Never Meet"

      

 "There are Times When We Must Walk Towards the Darkest Dark"

  

" The Beautiful Arrives in Its Own Time"

"You Are Not Who You Believe Yourself to Be"

"We Rely on Nothing but What We Carry Inside Us"

Snow continues to cover the Gardens, offering protection against the elements. Thank you to the neighbors who volunteered this season, West High Leo Club members, and the Operation Fresh Start crew. What happens until spring is uncertain but we know that the Garden's future depends on the generosity of volunteers. 

Meanwhile, may you be well and have pleasant holidays as we continue on our collective and interconnected journey. I end with another poem that Steve shared at the end of the November 5th Mindful Man Retreat. 

Sonnet 2 from “The Autumn Sonnets”

by May Sarton

If I can let you go as trees let go
Their leaves, so casually, one by one;
If I can come to know what they do know,
That fall is the release, the consummation,
Then fear of time and the uncertain fruit
Would not distemper the great lucid skies
This strangest autumn, mellow and acute.
If I can take the dark with open eyes
And call it seasonal, not harsh or strange
(for love itself may need a time of sleep),
And treelike, stand unmoved before the change,
Lose what I lose to keep what I can keep,
The strong root still alive under the snow,
Love will endure—if I can let you go.

    

"The Good News" Plus Short Meditation

 Thich Nhat Hann, the immortal Vietnamese Buddhist monk, peace activist,  poet, teacher, and founder of the Plum Village Tradition reminds us to notice "the good news."  There is a good news story behind this picture from Prospect Gardens. 

While  working in the Gardens, I noticed a woman taking a picture of this bright flower (a sunflower?), which until that moment, I did not notice. The flower is a pleasant surprise  because nobody planted it. Perhaps a bird, an animal, or the wind carried the seeds from some unknown location. The busy bee by itself is "good news" for all of us. 

The woman turned toward me and after introductions, I learned she was from China. She had a warm and open smile. We had a pleasant chat which included her praise for the Gardens and Madison in general. She and her husband are in Madison for several months while her daughter attends the UW.  She took several other pictures before leaving and after I returned to the task at hand. 

I have had similar short pleasant interaction with so many other passersby while tending Prospect Gardens. The site is like a crossroads and the interactions are a reminder that we are all interconnected; one of Thich Nhat Hann's many important teachings.

Before sharing two newsy events, here's what Thich Nhat Hann says about paying attention to the "good news."  An opportunity for further reflection. 

Purple Aster: Prospect Gardens

The Good News

They don’t publish
the good news.
The good news is published
by us.
We have a special edition every moment,
and we need you to read it.
The good news is that you are alive,
and the linden tree is still there,
standing firm in the harsh Winter.
The good news is that you have wonderful eyes
to touch the blue sky.
The good news is that your child is there before you,
and your arms are available:
hugging is possible.
They only print what is wrong.
Look at each of our special editions.
We always offer the things that are not wrong.
We want you to benefit from them
and help protect them.
The dandelion is there by the sidewalk,
smiling its wondrous smile,
singing the song of eternity.
Listen! You have ears that can hear it.
Bow your head.
Listen to it.
Leave behind the world of sorrow
and preoccupation
and get free.
The latest good news
is that you can do it.

August 27th was a "good news day" as this crew spent the morning tending Prospect Gardens. Seated on the first step are Frosya, (on the left) and Olivia, who are West High School Leo Club members. On the second step, starting on the left, are Joyce, Laura, an Rebecca. This was Rebecca's first time volunteering. Please come again. 

Rounding out the crew are me and Percy with her trusty hand tool.  Ann B., my wife, took the picture. Ann, as usual provided treats, ensured that we took a break, and did her fair share of weeding and hauling the remains up the ramp to a pile that the city picks up . 

Thank you all for your good work. Leo Club members have been consistent volunteers throughout this season. A heartfelt thank you to Leo Club members. 

Here's Olivia and Frosya pausing from removing Bishops Weed in preparation for a major eradication effort on my part.  My intense focus - some would call it an obsession - on Bishops Weed involved removal of plants, covering the area with pieces of tarp, mulching, and replanting some of the affected area. The project is completed.

Here's Percy who helped remove Bishops Weed and then assisted in cutting and laying the tarp. Percy is a certified Master Gardener and dedicated volunteer who tends several sites. Percy gently reminded me that my efforts to rid the Gardens of Bishops Weed, should be considered an "experiment", with results known next spring. 

Thank you Percy for providing the tarp, your hard work, your skills, and for the reality check about the tenacity of Bishops Weed.  I await the results of our experiment. 

Meanwhile, if you are in Madison, come visit the Gardens. The Gardens now are a sea of yellow intermingled with fading pink phlox, faded Joe Pye blooms, fading Purple Cones and an assortment of other blooming plants. The scarlet red blooms of the Cardinal plants have turned into seeds, waiting for another season. Asters are beginning to bloom in shades of purple and pink, announcing the onset of autumn. 

While Percy, Frosya, Olivia, Rebecca, and I did the Bishops Weed project on the Fox side of the Gardens, Joyce and Laura weeded the Regent side of the Gardens, near the steps. Here's Joyce. Thank you Joyce for being part of a "good news day" and for your long term volunteering.

A report of "good news" would be incomplete without mentioning another long term volunteer, Laura. She dislikes pictures of herself. Laura tolerates my intrusion. 

Here's Laura with a ninja like poss. Laura is a warrior when it comes to weeding. Thank you, Laura. 

A blue sky enveloped  us while we worked. Another reminder from Thich Nhat Hanh's poem : "The good news is that you have wonderful eyes to touch the blue sky."  May you continue touching the blue skies as we move into autumn. 

September 3rd was another day to celebrate "good news". About a year earlier, under the auspices of  the Dudgeon Monroe Neighborhood Association's WATER Team, 1600 square feet of rain gardens were installed at the Dudgeon (Wingra) school park. Twenty-seven volunteers, totaling 63 person hours, planted 1200 native prairie plants. Sandy Stark and I co-chaired the WATER Team responsible for planning and conducting neighborhood level storm water related educational activities. The rain gardens were one of several activities we planned and conducted. The  plants were paid from funds under a UW Arboretum sub grant we received. Our sub grant was one of  five covered by an Arboretum agreement funded by the Environmental Protection Agency.  

 

Sandy and I planned a celebration of the rain gardens to be held at the site. We tried for several dates and finally settled on September 3rd. Plans changed because of heavy rain, thunder and lightening;  quite a contrast from the August 27th Prospect Gardens work session. Undaunted, we started the celebration at Sandy's nearby home rather than at the site. Fourteen individuals from four different neighborhoods gathered in Sandy's living room. Seated in a circle we introduced ourselves and talked while enjoying pastries and beverages. One of Sandy's two cats made a short visit.

About mid-morning, the storm ended and we made our way to the rain gardens. We celebrated how during this first season after being planted the rain gardens were thriving. The red cardinal blooms are especially stunning and the grasses are tall and lush. The special engineered soil that includes sand and organic material contributes to these healthy plants. 

 

The rain gardens with their deep rooted native plants retain water on site while filtering out pollutants. The result is considerably less polluted storm water runoff from the school's playground reaches nearby Lake Wingra. "Good news" for Lake Wingra and for  all of us.

Madison's City Division of Engineering has a goal of encouraging residents to install rain gardens as a way to manage and reduce harmful storm water from reaching our precious lakes.  The targeted goal is 1000 rain gardens. For more information about rain gardens see https://www.ripple-effects.com/Rain-Gardens

The rain gardens are "good news" for the threatened monarch butterflies. They are a feeding station for the migrating monarchs.  Here's a monarch that I saw on a sunny day a few weeks ago. Watching monarchs always gives me great pleasure. Helping them survive extinction makes these rain gardens special places. This one is feeding on a Meadow Blazing Star. The monarchs and other pollinators feed on several other native plants that are in the rain gardens.  

 If possible, during these waning days of summer, with autumn on the horizon, consider visiting the rain gardens. The Monarchs have most likely left on their way west, with some going to Mexico. The site is a public park located between Gilmore and Western Avenue, on the near West side, just off of Monroe Street. Wingra school owns the building and under an  agreement with the city is responsible for maintaining the grounds, including now the the rain gardens, with over 1200 native plants. 

That's the "good news" for now.  I end with a short guided meditation in the Thich Nhat Hann tradition. I don't know the author and this was one of the first meditations that I did. Try it, if the spirit moves you. Sit comfortably in a relaxed way, yet alert and slowly say each phrase while paying gentle attention to your breath. Enjoy.

Mindful Sitting

Breathing in, I know I am breathing in. 

Breathing out, I know I am breathing out.

Breathing in, I notice that my in-breath is deep.

Breathing out, I notice that my out-breath goes slowly.

Breathing in, I calm my whole body.

Breathing out, I feel ease.

Breathing in, I smile (at everything — including my worries!)

Breathing out, I release (everything including all tension)

Breathing in, I am aware that I am dwelling in the present moment.

Breathing out, I know this is a moment of happiness, a wonderful moment.

Breathing in, I see myself as a flower.

Breathing out, I feel fresh.

Breathing in, I see myself as a mountain.

Breathing out, I feel solid.

Breathing in, I see myself as still water.

Breathing out, I reflect things as they truly are.

Breathing in, I see myself as space.

Breathing out, I feel free.

  

Generations Meet and a Poem

It's not easy classifying me according to the usual generations illustrated in the graphic. My July 22, 1944 birth technically makes me a  member of the silent generation, those born between 1928 and 1945. Time magazine popularized the term in a November 5, 1951, article describing the cohort as:  

The most startling fact about the younger generation is its silence. With some rare exceptions, youth is nowhere near the rostrum. By comparison with the Flaming Youth of their fathers & mothers, today's younger generation is a still, small flame. It does not issue manifestoes, make speeches or carry posters.(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silent_Generation)

On the other hand, I identify with the baby boomer generation while sharing traits of the silent generation. The onset of television, Chubby Checkers, the Kennedys, the Vietnam War, the Beatles, and the turbulent 1960s, when I was a UW Madison student, are just a few of the influential events marking my journey into adulthood. I did not join the Vietnam war protests while being very aware of its impact on me and my fellow students. My deep need to climb into the middle class and away from what I then considered my rural impoverished background, influenced me to remain focused on completing a Master Degree in Political Science and afterwards, teacher certification.  

I don't recall any of my fellow Political Science graduate students being involved in the protests. My major professors were members of the silent generation. Several years ago, while reading David Marniss' book : "They Marched Into Sunlight, War and Peace, Vietnam and America", I learned that Dick Cheney was a Political Science teaching assistant when I was a graduate student. I suspect he was a TA for undergraduate courses. Liz Cheney was born on July 28th, 1966 in Madison when both of her parents were UW students.

Neither can I remember any substantial discussion of the Vietnam war in my classes, even though we were tear gassed on the way to those classes. Yes indeed, we were rather silent.  

My life experiences since my UW graduate school days are those more aligned with the boomer generation. I have been involved in political campaigns for years, including canvasing, active at the neighborhood level, active in our church, and joined protests such as the huge 2011 one against Act 10. The Act eliminated collective bargaining for Wisconsin teacher unions.  

So what does all this have to do with Prospect Gardens, other than perhaps that I continue gardening despite my advancing age? I choose not to dwell on that.  Instead, I celebrate my recent pleasant experiences while tending Prospect Gardens with individuals from Generation Z, those born between 1996 and 2010. I then look back in time in this entry and comment on my family's lineage.

 

On June 30th four members of West High School's  Leo Club joined Ann, my wife, and me. Misha, far right, arrived at 8:15am ready to work as did Sydney( next to Misha).  Annabelle, and Charlotte arrived later. 

Misha, Sydney, Annabelle and Charlotte became a team that removed  several different species of weeds. Misha with her quiet and cheerful demeanor, was in actuality the team leader. The early spring heat and rain helped create an explosion of weeds plus supported the rapid spread of an aggressive broad leaf daisy, which the team also thinned out. 

At least a decade ago, I planted one or two of the broad leaf daisies which now have spread throughout the Regent side. Unless thinned out they will become the dominant species and reduce the Garden's diversity, which I value.

By 11am, the team cleared the Regent section of the Gardens. Once again passersby can see the beauty of native plants such as the yet to bloom, golden rod, the red cardinal flower, and red-purple Joe Pye Weed. 

Here we are during a well deserved break. I so enjoyed working near them and listening to their laughter and conversations, some focused on being a high school student in 2022. These members of Generation Z can work, talk and enjoy each other all as the same time.  

Being with them on a warm late June morning gives me hope for the future. I wish them well and look forward to perhaps another work session with them before winter returns to Prospect Gardens. 

Thank you for your hard work and joyful spirits. May you all enjoy the remaining summer season. Keep enjoying your high school years. Those are precious years.

Nearly a month later, on a sunny mild July 25th, another older contingent of Generation Z tended the Gardens. Once again I welcomed a crew from  Operation Fresh Start (OFS) led by Taylor, seated in the center. To her left is Kobea, Manny on the top left, Donte to my left, and Don lower right, leaning against the rail. Not pictured is Colty. The five young men joined Operation Fresh Start as a step towards self-sufficiency and achieving their their life goals.  See https://www.operationfreshstart.org 

Colty, who I nicknamed "Rock Man", is interested in geology.  Colty was immediately attracted to the rocks after he arrived. He pointed out several types of different rocks. His enthusiasm for  rocks reminded me that the rocks of Prospects Gardens, which I often consider a nuisance, are loaded with  information and have their rightful place in the universe.   

Thank you Taylor, Colty, Manny, Kobea, Donte and Don for your hard work. Special thanks to Maddie Dumas, from City Engineering, for providing access to OFS crews. 

Working with Taylor and the OFS crew was like having my birthday celebration of July 22nd extended.  The energy level was high and spirited. Thanks for sending some of the pictures, Don.  I enjoyed our chatter and high humor with all as we all tackled the infamous Bishops Weed on the Fox Avenue side of the Gardens. 

While working with the crew my interests in Tai Chi and Qi Gong somehow came up. Somebody asked if I could show them how and one thing led to another.  So after enjoying a break of chocolate chip cookies and grapes, I led a short session for those who wanted to join in.  Peace and quiet descended while we went through a few gentle Qi Gong movements. 

We returned to work and finished just before noon. One of the young men suggested that I post a before and after picture. Sorry, I don't have a "before" one.  Here's an "after." 

Unfortunately Bishops Weed, as most gardeners know, returns. More drastic measures may be needed. Removing all rocks from some of the affected areas, digging to remove as much of the roots as possible, and then replanting is one option.  Smothering Bishops Weed by covering the now denuded areas is another option. The nuclear option is Round Up, which I am reluctant to do. Then, I just may accept Bishops Weeds. Right now, I am uncertain about which option I will take. 

After finishing work, we hung together on the steps before the crew left. I noticed Donte's flip phone, an artifact from another generation. He received the phone from his Grandmother and I asked if I could see it. 

As the picture with Donte indicates, I did a short commentary about the phone. The picture does not capture the humor and laughter we shared as a result of my little act involving a flip phone.    

We said our goodbyes and several of us shook hands. Ann and I are very grateful for your help. We wish the very best to Manny, Colty, Don, Donte, and Kobea as they complete OFS programs and move into the next phase of their lives. You all have much to contribute to our world. May our paths cross again. 

Last May 30, Dominic Wayne, my great grand nephew joined my family. I think he is the youngest member of my family tree that now spans from the silent generation to the current alpha generation. The proud parents are Brian and Trisha, and the proud grandparents are Steve, my nephew, and his wife, Karen. Dominic's picture is from a Facebook posting.  

According to my millennial daughter, Emily, Facebook is no longer widely used by her generation. It's now for old folks like me. Emily and I don't subscribe to TikTok, the latest social media platform.  Neither am I a frequent user of Twitter. 

Dominic's lineage goes back to Jozefa Blaszczyk Konieczka.  Note the extra "Z" in the last name, which for unknown reason dropped out by the mid 1920s . In the picture Jozefa is the women in the head scarf. Jozefa (Josephine in English) is next to her second husband, Thomas Konieczka. My Grandfather, Leo is next to his Mother. The women next to him is unknown.  Perhaps is sister Josephine? The event is the 1894 marriage of my Great Aunt, Mary, sitting on the left and next to her husband, Stanley Holwinski. 

Jozefa's first husband and my Great Grandfather Michael Blaszczyk, with the title of Vogt, died on January 16, 1880. The title of "vogt" refers to Michael's position as the overseer and manager of all laborers on a large manor owned by a German noble near Ciosna, Poland, which was then part of the Prussian Empire. Poland was divided in the late 18th century and did not exist again until after World War 1. 

Michael's job put him in the unenviable position of being between the owner (a noble) and workers who were often dissatisfied.  In short, he was the enforcer. According to Michael's death certificate, discovered by a Polish genealogist from Poznan that I hired, Michael died from being crushed in a machine.  My older sister Jenny was told that Michael was murdered by his workers, which suggests Michael was pushed into the machine. The Polish genealogist was unable to verify if it was a murder. You could say we have a family murder mystery waiting to be solved.

The story continues and becomes equally important. Jozefa, with six living children, on February 28th, 1881, just a year after Michael's death, marries Thomas, a bachelor.  He is 20 years younger than Jozefa.  About three or four years later, (1884 or 1885 depending on which record) Jozefa, Thomas and three Blaszczyk children (Mary, Josephine, and Frank) leave Ciosna and eventually settle on an farm near Angelica, which is near Pulaski.  Two of her other sons (my Grandfather Leo and Peter) arrived in the early 1890s.

Travel costs to emigrate to America, according to my research, were reasonable. Major obstacles were psychological and emotional in nature. How did Jozefa and others like her summon the courage to leave family behind, knowing that they may never see them again? Her oldest son apparently remained in Poland. Community leaders, including influential Catholic priests, often opposed immigration. How did Jozefa  and others respond to the charge that they were abandoning the centuries of efforts of keeping the Polish culture alive in the face of constant pressure to totally assimilate into the German culture?  

I tell this family history to underscore that many ancestors of Dominic's generation are immigrants with lives that required courage, tenacity, and overcoming adversity; along with a good dose of adventure. 

With courage and optimism, Jozefa and her family left Cisona in a cart, made their way west to either the ports of Hamburg or Bremen (at least 450 miles), boarded a ship, and eventually reached Wisconsin.

My family is grateful Jozefa's journey succeeded. She and her second husband successfully established a base that allowed my Grandfather Leo and his brother Peter to join her.  Grandfather Leo and Grandma Julia bought 40 acres in WI in June 1899 from Julia's father, a month after they were married and eight years after Leo emigrated. Both cleared the land and established a farm and in 1913 bought another 40 acres. In 1923, my Father, Anton bought the 80 acre farm, less than a year after he married my Mother, Anna. He expanded it to 120 acres. Grandma Julia and Grandpa Leo lived with my family until their deaths; he in 1943 and she in 1951. Grandma Julia worked in the fields throughout her life. My Mother sold the farm in 1962 and moved into Pulaski. Incidentally, Jozefa lived to be 93 years old.

I end these reflections about generations and family linage with Carl Sandburg's poem, a favorite of mine.  

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.

 

  

 

What Sustains You?

 Emotionally these last few weeks feels like a roller-coaster ride. The highs were a pleasant May 21st Lake Wingra Watershed Gathering, the installation of our two co-senior Unitarian Universalist ministers, Kelly Crocker and Kelly Asprooth-Jackson, our 43 wedding anniversary, and the May 28th work session at Prospect Gardens. Besides the continued brutal Russian invasion of Ukraine, we experienced these breath taking loops: the Buffalo massacre of ten Black Americans, the Uvalde school massacre of 19 fourth graders and two teachers, and the continued political paralysis about the need for gun control. 

The need for refuge led me to Sharon Salzberg's forty-five minute virtual Metta: A Community Vigil. Sharon is a noted Buddhist meditation teacher from Insight Meditation Society, Barre, Massachusetts. Sharon is widely known for teaching about metta.  Metta, also called loving-kindness, refers to a mental state of unselfish and unconditional kindness to all beings.  

Sharon shared the following two poems as answers to the question she suggested we ask ourselves: “What sustains you?” Knowing what sustains you helps getting through these wrenching times. We ended the 45 minute session extending metta to ourselves and others.

Everything Falls Away | Parker J. Palmer

“There's a thread you follow. It goes among

things that change. But it doesn't change.

-William Stafford

Sooner or later, everything falls away

You, the work you've done, your successes,

large and small, your failures, too. Those

moments when you were light, along-

side the times you became one with the

night. The friends, the people you loved

who loved you, those who might have

wished you ill, none of this is forever. All

of it is soon to go, or going, or long gone.

Everything falls away, except the thread

you've followed, unknowing, all along.

The thread that strings together all you've

been and done, the thread you didn't know

you were tracking until, toward the end,

you see that the thread is what stays

as everything else falls away.

Follow that thread as far as you can and

you'll find that it does not end, but weaves

into the unimaginable vastness of life. Your

life never was the solo turn it seemed to be.

It was always part of the great weave of

nature and humanity, an immensity we

come to know only as we follow our own

small threads to the place where they

merge with the boundless whole.

Each of our threads runs its course, then

joins in life together. This magnificent tapestry-

this masterpiece in which we live forever.

The World Has Need of You | Ellen Bass

everything here seems to need us…
—Rilke

I can hardly imagine it
as I walk to the lighthouse, feeling the ancient
prayer of my arms swinging
in counterpoint to my feet.
Here I am, suspended
between the sidewalk and twilight,
the sky dimming so fast it seems alive.
What if you felt the invisible
tug between you and everything?
A boy on a bicycle rides by,
his white shirt open, flaring
behind him like wings.
It’s a hard time to be human. We know too much
and too little. Does the breeze need us?
The cliffs? The gulls?
If you’ve managed to do one good thing,
the ocean doesn’t care.
But when Newton’s apple fell toward the earth,
the earth, ever so slightly, fell
toward the apple as well.

Sharon Salzberg's question and the two poems reminded me of my fundamental beliefs. These sustain me during these difficult times. Nearly a year ago, I shared these during a church service. Here's a recap. 

Life is a flow of joys and sorrows. The Buddha is reported to say that life is filled with 10,000 joys and 10,000 sorrows.  In the midst of this flow, joy, peace and contentment are possible through metta, gratitude, mindfulness, and meditation.

Life is Impermanent. Echoing Parker Palmer's message,-- Everything Falls Away-- life is transitory, in constant flux, with everything arising and passing away moment by moment. The common phrase, And this too shall pass, is another expression of the impermanent nature of our experiences. 

Take care of those in the “Corner of  your Universe”, a phrase used by my friend, Dave.  In my nearest corner are neighbors who help tend Prospect Gardens, friends, and family members; especially Ann, my wife and Emily, my daughter. My church, First Unitarian Society, is there and eight individuals in my Chalice Group. Also in my corner are those in two Buddhist associated groups that I meet with monthly. And then there is Chris, a man without a permanent home. He once provided the newspaper Street Pulse while standing in front of Trader Joes in exchange for an offering. Chris is still in his usual Trader Joes spot but without the newspaper.  My chats with Chris and offering of a few dollars continue. 

Our lives are imbedded in an interdependent web of existence.  In an October 2021 blog entry I commented on Thich Nhat Hahn interbeing which underscores the deep interrelationships between all things.  Ellen Bass has a similar perspective on life because in her poem she asks the question: What if you felt the invisible tug between you and everything?

Not Knowing. Many times in life we just don’t know. Right now, it's okay if we can't figure it all out (it may be impossible) even though our hearts are breaking. This doesn't mean we lapse into apathy and indifference. We spend our energy doing what we can while offering compassion to all those who are suffering. 

On a warm and somber Memorial day, I remembered these beliefs while noticing other facets of my life which sustains me. Ann and I, for the sixth year, planted the six pots on our deck; adding beauty to the otherwise bland deck of our third floor apartment. We finished just before the light rain dampened the flowers. Here's one of two large planters. 

I often do Qigong early in the morning and have breakfast on the deck. Sometimes the swopping swallows entertain me or a hawk glides by. Early in spring geese fly by. The sandhill cranes may call from the nearby arboretum or a brilliant Gold Finch may flash by. This daily routine filled with snapshots of nature sustains me.     

Readers of this blog know that Prospect Gardens serves as a refuge. Periodically for a few hours I feel close to the earth while experiencing the companionship of fellow volunteers. We are a community maintaining a beautiful site in our neighborhood.

Saturday, May 28th, was another opportunity to feel the benefits of tending the Gardens. Ann and I arrived before the other two volunteers, Joyce and Frosya. Joyce is a frequent volunteer and this was Frosya's second time. She is a West High Leo Club member and is completing her sophomore year. Ann, the fourth volunteer, took the picture.

We accomplished a lot. A few more Leo Cub members were expected. While we missed them, Frosya is such a diligent gardener, that she made up for the two or three absent Leo Club members.  

Thank you Frosya, Joyce and Ann. Frosya and I  weeded and mulched an area near the raspberry patch. Joyce weeded the east side of the Regent side stairs. Frosya also joined Joyce in the perpetual struggle with Bishops Weed. Ann weeded and hauled away much of the uprooted weeds.  

I planted sixteen free native plants received from Argecol Native Plant Nursery during the May 21st Lake Wingra Watershed Gathering. Agrecol was one of the 27 hosts at tables with native prairie plants as prizes. See my last blog for details about the Gathering.  I stopped by their table and asked how to enter a drawing for the plants. The young man said he didn't know because nobody set up the rules. I introduced myself as one of the Gathering's organizers. The young man smiled, said "you qualify," and handed me the tray. Thank you Agrecol. 

Here's Frosya mulching. This area was once part of the raspberry patch and for unknow reasons, the plants disappeared. I planted some of the free Agrecol plants with hopes that they will survive.  Note the little yellow and blue Ukrainian flag.  We could use a larger flag.  

Joyce pausing from her labors. Joyce removed Bishops Weed as she worked her way up the slope starting near the base. Bishops Weed may very well be an exception to my belief that all things are impermanent. The rocky slopes are a perfect environment for Bishops Weed.  Every season, if the offsprings could talk, they would shout "We are back."  

I end by returning to Sharon Salzaberg's question: What sustains you? If you wish, reflect on this question and hold what you learn close to your heart. The next two weeks will be challenging, as funerals continue in Uvalde for the nineteen children and two teachers. A return to Prospect Gardens and removing Bishops Weed may be needed.     

"Be an egg. Be a mockingbird. Be a weed"

 

April 23rd, 2022, the opening day of the thirteenth year for tending Prospect Gardens, arrived with mild temperatures that reached 80 degrees. Ann B. had already retrieved the bag of gardening stuff, which we refer as "the garage", from our apartment's closet. As I laced up my Fleet and Farm purchased boots, I felt tired and reluctant about going to the Gardens, a rare feeling. 

Shortly after arriving and opening up the garden shed, my weariness began to lift. All of us are feeling the weight of the world including the heart wrenching war in Ukraine. Friend Jody gave me the Ukrainian flag shortly after she arrived and following our  chat. Jody then began removing jewel weed. It's a good ground cover but tends to be aggressive. The flag is near the untitled sculpture, which reminds me of a heart. It's one that Marcia, a former neighbor, donated. She and Jim moved to Appleton to be nearer to a son and grandchildren. Left in the Gardens is this one and several other sculptures created by Marcia's sister.

Once again Prospect Gardens provided a refuge. As the morning unfolded, I increasingly felt the message of Margaret Renkl's poem.  

Be a Weed

Sometimes, when I haven’t slept or the news of the world,
already bad, suddenly becomes much worse, the weight of
belonging here is a heaviness I can’t shake. But then I think of
the glister of a particular morning in springtime. I think of
standing in the sunshine and watering the butterfly garden,
which is mostly cultivated weeds punctuated by the uncultivated
kind that come back despite my pinching and tugging. I think of
the caterpillars on the milkweed plants, unperturbed by the
overspray, and the resident red-tailed hawk gliding overhead,
chased by a mockingbird and three angry crows,
and the bluebird standing on the top of the nest box protecting his mate,
who is inside laying an egg. I think of that morning—not even a morning,
not even an hour—and I say to myself,
Be an egg. Be a mockingbird. Be a weed.

Yes indeed, be an egg, a mockingbird and/or a weed as 2022  unfolds. Say "Hello" to spring as the  painted window of the frame shop on Monroe Street proclaims to all passersby.

Spring, as those of you who live in Wisconsin know, is reluctant to stay. Our balmy 80 degrees will drop into the 50s by the middle of this week. Yet we can continue to be an egg, a mockingbird and/or a weed.

Since April 2021 another project has consumed many hours. I am the co-chair of the Dudgeon-Monroe Neighborhood Association WATER Team. We are doing activities funded by contributions and a sub grant from the UW Arboretum under its agreement with the Environmental Protection Agency. Our efforts involve engaging neighborhood residents on stormwater issues, which we have reframed as water stewardship.  In late September, we finished installing, at nearby Dudgeon Wingra School park, two rain gardens and a swale totaling 1600 square feet and with 1200 prairie plants. The deep roots of the prairie plants will filter and hold stormwater flowing from Wingra School's playground which is also part of a city park. The rain gardens reduce the amount of polluted stormwater from reaching nearby Lake Wingra while adding beauty to the park. The rain gardens are also an outdoor classroom for Wingra students. 

We are now putting the final touches on the Saturday, May 21st (1 to 4 pm) event entitled Lake Wingra Watershed Gathering. It's a family friendly event to be held in the shelter of Vilas Park and nearby tents. Our target audiences are residents from neighborhoods within or bordering the Lake Wingra Watershed. 

People from 30 organizations committed to clean water will share their knowledge about water stewardship and practices. Included are special activities for kids and a unique art exhibit with fourteen pieces depicting water projects.  Andi Cloud, member of the Ho Chunk nation, will be telling stories and leading other activities. We hope all ages will leave with new ideas to collectively ensure healthy lakes, streams, and the lands in-between. 

Here's a special invitation to all those in the Madison area. It will be a great celebration with opportunities to learn more about water stewardship from different perspectives. The presenters include individuals who have have put in rain gardens, plant vegetable gardens, turned their lawns into small prairies, and who have restored public spaces, like Prospect Gardens.  For more information see linktr.ee/lakewingrawatershedgathering

My return to Prospect Gardens, as I already indicated, reminded me to "Be an egg. Be a mockingbird. Be a weed"; another way of saying be grateful for the joys of spring. Joining Ann B., Jody, and I were three members of West High School's Leo Club and a friend of one of the members.  Next to me is Maddie, then Caden (the friend), Jody, and Elodie. Misha arrived later. My wife Ann B. took the picture.

Our major task was removing the dried plant remnants that during the winter provided seeds for birds and shelter for small animals. Although I did not see the chipmunks that dart on top of and between the rocks.  

Here's a few pictures of these hard working youth.  

Maddie was the first to arrive. Maddie came prepared for gardening, including her own gloves, and quickly understood the task. She cleared out one section by herself. 

Here's Caden  undaunted by the rocks and the steep slope as he removes the dried remnants of last year's plants. The cycles of renewal once again repeat themselves, aided by Caden's efforts.  

Likewise Elodie is undaunted by the steep slopes as she cuts back dried plants. Afterwards she along with her fellow high school students dug out jewel weed along the Regent side of the Gardens. The ground was moist from Friday's rain which made weeding easier. 

  

 

Misha and Caden at the end of our work session.  Misha's shorts and Caden's short sleeve shirt show that temperatures were reaching the high 70s. Misha was wearing a runners t-shirt. I asked her if she was a runner. We laughed when she told me in was her Grandfather's t-shirt from a 1987 event. I failed to read the line with that information. 

1987.... one year after Ann B., Emily  and I moved to Madison from Andover, Massachusetts. Thirteen years before the opening of the Southwest Path. Sixteen years before Emily graduated from West High School. So much living and so many memories.     

Thank you Leo Club members and Caden for your hard work and youthful energy.  Here's hoping that we can together tend the Gardens again.

Here's Jody, certainly not one of the Leo Club members.  Nevertheless another individual, along with Ann B., that contributed to my sense of well being as we tended Prospect Gardens. Thank you.

Before closing, I would be remiss if I didn't share a few pictures of spring Prospect Garden plants. Here's first season pussy willows. A few years ago, Marcia left a plastic pot with them. I planted them only to have the rabbits chew the branches down to a few inches. To my great surprise, green shoots appeared last season and now magical pussy willows; a symbol of renewal and associated with the Easter season. 

These remind me of the pussy willows in the swampy areas near the entrance of the mile long dead-end road to the farm on which I was born and lived until I was nearly 18. They were the first sign that the long and sometimes brutal winter was ending. Along that same road, red wing blackbirds appeared in early spring.  During the nesting seasons they  aggressively dive bombed my head as I walked to or returned from the mailbox, at the juncture of Highway 29 and our dead-end road. 

 Trilliums are another early signal of  spring.  These are special because they seeded themselves. They are the progeny of trilliums located in another section of the Garden, a good distance away from these newbies. 

  

Once again brown grasses are sending out new green shoots. These are in a steep area that once flooded during heavy rains. Water would pour through from the dead-end section of Prospect Avenue on the Regent side of the Gardens. The grasses' deep roots now hold the soil, greatly reducing washouts. 

Yes, these bleeding hearts are not a prairie plant. Yet it is special because it was given by Ann N., a volunteer. The plant is a symbol of our friendship and of Ann's generosity.

 Like the pussy willow, bleeding hearts remind me of those on our family farm and in particular, of my Grandma Julia. Bleeding hearts were part of her flower gardens while her vegetable gardens were her true passion. For years the bounty of her gardening labors fed our large family of fourteen children.

 I end with these Virginia Blue Bells, a native woodland wildflower.  Another early spring bloomer that easily spreads. This one is a "self starter" and has reappeared yearly. Bluebell flowers symbolize gratitude and humility or to reflect the last few sentence of Margaret Renkl's poem. 

"I think of that morning—not even a morning,
not even an hour—and I say to myself,
Be an egg. Be a mockingbird. Be a weed."