Joy with a Tinge of Sorrow

Ornament On Our Tree 

We are deep into the Holiday Season. Hanukkah, also known as the Festival of Lights, ended on December 15th. Kwanzaa, the  celebration of African-American culture begins on December 26 and ends with a communal feast (Karamu)  on January 1st.  Christmas arrives on the 25th.These three Holidays have many differences while all share elements of celebration and joy. 

At the same time, these three Holidays are tinged with sorrow. The Maccabees, the Jewish Clan that recaptured their temple, suffered years of persecution before experiencing the miracle of eight days of a lighted temple lantern, African Americans suffered centuries of slavery and the after effects continue. The Christmas story is about a poor pregnant Jewish girl (Mary) and her older partner (Joseph) finding shelter while on a trip to pay taxes to a despotic emperor. 

Biblical scholars are unsure if the couple was married when Jesus, according to Christian doctrine, was conceived by his mother, Mary, through the power of the Holy Spirit. Some scholars say that Joseph before marrying Mary, considered charging her with adultery, a sin with grave consequences (stoning) for Mary. For further details see The Forgotten Tragedies of the Christmas Story 

This year's Holiday season includes several brutal wars, one being raged in Gaza which is near the historical setting for Hanukkah and the story of Jesus's birth. So what to make of this all?  What's the point? The following Jack Gilbert poem tells us why we must celebrate joy while acknowledging sorrow. 

 A Brief for the Defense (Jack Gilbert)

Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies

are not starving someplace, they are starving

somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.

But we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants.

Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not

be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not

be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women

at the fountain are laughing together between

the suffering they have known and the awfulness

in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody

in the village is very sick. There is laughter

every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,

and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.

If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,

we lessen the importance of their deprivation.

We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,

but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have

the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless

furnace of this world. To make injustice the only

measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.

If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,

we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.

We must admit there will be music despite everything.

We stand at the prow again of a small ship

anchored late at night in the tiny port

looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront

is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.

To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat

comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth

all the years of sorrow that are to come.

So here I am on this December day experiencing the joy of the Holiday season tinged with sorrow. 

Those of you who live in my neighborhood will recognize this 20 foot Santa, one of 35 along Monroe Street. This is just one of the delights of the 2023 season while I walk along Monroe Street to drop Christmas cards into the mailbox in front of Neuhauser Pharmacy. A few days ago, I stopped into the pharmacy. Once again, Peg, the senior pharmacist and owner, put out several boxes of cookies with a hand written sign of "Happy Holidays." I could not resist the the delight of having a chocolate chip cookie even though it was 9:30 a.m. 

Another recent Monroe Street delight was shopping at the new " I'm Board! Games & Family Fun " store, a short walk from Neuhauser.  A current special education teacher helped me pick out a game and a puzzle for Ann's six year old nephew, Parker and his sister, Reagan. We will see them on Christmas Day, along with 14 other relatives from Ann's family. We will gather at my brother-in -law's (Chuck) home in Fox Point. More delight and joy awaits as I experience being the elderly uncle.

2023 Capitol Tree

On Tuesday, the 19th, my brother, Lou and his wife, Corine visited from Appleton.. Each year we celebrate the Holiday with lunch out, lots of talk and laughter, exchanging presents, and a visit to the state Capitol Holiday tree. 

This year, Lou who celebrated his 78th birthday on December 15th, was unable to trek to the Capitol. Lou awaits treatment for an arthritic hip joint, scheduled for January 3rd. Walking causes pain so Lou rested in our apartment. 

We were delighted to see the nearly 30 foot tree with ornaments made by Wisconsin children. We agreed that this tree may be the best one we have seen over the many years. I made a video that I shared with Lou. Later I sent a text and the video to our daughter, Emily who lives in Oakland, California.    

This Holiday Season evokes several childhood memories. During the mid 1950s, flocked Christmas trees, like the one in the picture, were the rage. My sister, Angie and I were attuned to what was popular. Popular mass culture via television was making its way into our rural, agricultural life. 

I convinced my Mother that we needed a flocked tree. Ma tolerated my urges to be modern. 

Usually, we had a tinsel decorated tree, cut from the woods near our farm. But that year we bought a small tree from Liss' Standard service station, located in Pulaski. Using an old brown tank vacuum cleaner, I attempted to cover the tree with a mixture of pink cellulose, water, and adhesive that came in a kit. Ma must have had extra money to buy this luxury item.

The kit had a spray bottle that I attached to the hose of our vacuum cleaner and plugged the hose into the exhaust hole. If all went well, the tree would be covered with fine layers of pink-like snow. Unfortunately, the diminished power of the aging vacuum cleaner's motor meant that pink globs hung onto the branches. I was disappointed with the final uneven look. I carried the pink tree up the basement steps, through the kitchen, the dining room, and into the living room. Ma said nothing, but we never had another flocked tree.

   

Here's our 2023 tree. Once again as in past years, I delighted in carefully placing the lights. Ann and I hang the ornaments with Ann usually handing me each one. For some, we recalled who gave us the ornament or named the city (Portland, Oregon; Bloomington, Indiana; Andover, Massachusetts;  or Madison) in which we purchased the ornament. Several ornaments are very old and from Ann's great Uncle John's collection. 

The last to be hung were the eight glass birds purchased over the years from Orange Tree Imports on Monroe Street, another delightful place. Afterwards, I often rearrange some of the ornaments. I am rather fussy about the placement of ornaments. I like to buy a new ornament each year, but it's unlikely I will do so this year. Maybe one on sale after the season?

 

Another of my favorite Holiday memories is of my sister, Theresa. She died in May.  

Theresa was the baker in our family while sister Barbara cleaned the house. Theresa was also a gardener. Theresa learned gardening from my Grandma Julia as both tended the large vegetable garden that fed our family. Theresa took over the garden after Grandma Julia died in 1951. Theresa told me that she taught our Mother how to garden after Grandma died. Theresa also supervised the pickle patch and made sure her brothers, like me, picked clean. She would let us know if we did not meet her standards. 

Sometime in the late 1950s, for Christmas (reflecting the influence of mass culture on our rural life) Theresa made the 1950 Betty Crocker award winning Cherry Winks cookie. Some of the main ingredients besides flour are shortening (not butter), milk, eggs, sugar, chopped pecans and dates. Each ball of dough is wrapped in crushed corn flakes and topped with a maraschino cherry. Here's the link  if you want the recipe for this nostalgic cookie. 

Theresa, besides the Cherry Winks, made other cookies well before Christmas. She filled a large can that once held Door County cherries, which Ma would can. Theresa hid the can in the attic to ensure that there would be plenty of cookies for Christmas. I and another brother (was it Lou?) found the can and filled our bellies with Cherry Winks. Theresa discovered this transgression and in an angry voice asked me if I ate the cookies. Theresa had the ability to look at you in ways that made you admit your misdeeds. My guilty look gave me away.

Prospect Gardens, even in December, provides delight for those who can see beyond the dry brown remains of the once blooming plants. On a recent walk through the Gardens, I noticed the structural beauty of five plants. Their pictures follow along with statements about joy.

"The feeling of well-being I am calling joy comes in many different flavors. And it can look very different from person to person, from quiet sense of contentment to bubbly enthusiasm. For some people it's an energetic radiance; for others it's a quiet feeling of connection. Joy can arise as a belly laugh , or as a serenely contented smile that accepts life just as it is."

* James Baraz, Buddhist teacher and author of "Awakening Joy, 10 Steps That Will Put You on the Road to Real Happiness." 

“Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.” But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.”

* Kahlil Gibran, (1883-1931), Lebanese-American writer, poet and visual artist; he was also considered a philosopher, although he himself rejected the title.

“Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.”

* Pope John Paul II (Karol Wojtyła) 

“There are random moments - tossing a salad, coming up the driveway to the house, ironing the seams flat on a quilt square, standing at the kitchen window and looking out at the delphiniums, hearing a burst of laughter from one of my children's rooms - when I feel a wavelike rush of joy. This is my true religion: arbitrary moments of of nearly painful happiness for a life I feel privileged to lead.”

* Elizabeth Berg ,American novelist. From her book The Art of Mending,  

 

“The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.”

* Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) poet, writer, playwright, composer, philosopher, social reformer, and painter from the Bengal Region, India.  Earned a Nobel Prize in literature in 1913 which he refused  as a protest against the Jallianwala Bagh massacre by the British in Amritsar in 1919. At least 350 unarmed individuals were killed and 1200 were injured. 

Prospect Gardens awaits the protective cover of snow as I do. According to weather forecasts, we will not have a white Christmas. As 2023 ends and  facing the unpredictable 2024, my wish for you is expressed in the following Carl Sandburg poem. 

   

   FOR YOU

The peace of great doors be for you.

Wait at the knobs, at the panel oblongs.
Wait for the great hinges.

The peace of great churches be for you,
Where the players of loft pipe organs
Practice old lovely fragments, alone.

The peace of great books be for you,
Stains of pressed clover leaves on pages,
Bleach of the light of years held in leather.

The peace of great prairies be for you.
Listen among windplayers in cornfields,
The wind learning over its oldest music.

The peace of great seas be for you.
Wait on a hook of land, a rock footing
For you, wait in the salt wash.

The peace of great mountains be for you,
The sleep and the eyesight of eagles,
Sheet mist shadows and the long look across.

The peace of great hearts be for you,
Valves of the blood of the sun,
Pumps of the strongest wants we cry.

The peace of great silhouettes be for you,
Shadow dancers alive in your blood now,
Alive and crying, "Let us out, let us out."

The peace of great changes be for you.
Whisper, Oh beginners in the hills.
Tumble, Oh cubs-tomorrow belongs to you.

The peace of great loves be for you.
Rain, soak these roots; wind, shatter the dry rot.
Bars of sunlight, grips of the earth, hug these.

The peace of great ghosts be for you,
Phantoms of night-gray eyes, ready to go
To the fog-star dumps, to the fire-white doors.

Yes, the peace of great phantoms be for you,
Phantom iron men, mothers of bronze,
Keepers of the lean clean breeds.

 

 

 

Solace and Refuge.

Japanese Sumac 

The Japanese Sumac in Prospect Gardens has turned a golden yellow, a reminder that autumn continues to unfold and winter is nearby. Meanwhile recent events caused me to reflect about  solace and refuge. Oxford dictionary defines the noun of solace as "comfort or consolation in a time of distress or sadness."  It can also be a verb. Refuge is "a condition of being safe or sheltered from pursuit, danger, or trouble."

I often feel intense sadness while watching PBS News Hour's coverage of Hamas’s vicious Oct. 7 attack that brutally killed at least 1400 Israelis and the footage of Palestinians of all ages killed or injured by Israel's intense air raids. Four of the 200 plus hostages held by Hamas have been released. Daily the number of Palestinians die as the world waits for the ground invasion of Gaza. Meanwhile the aftermath of the February 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine continues but with less coverage. 

President Biden's prime-time Oval Office address linked the two wars. He also argued that we are at an "inflection point" in the fight for democracy throughout the world while chaos reigned in the House of Representatives. Republicans, after three tumultuous weeks, selected Mike Johnson, as Speaker.

A few days ago my friend Linda sent me an email offering an opportunity for another set of voices about the Israeli-Hamas War. She participated in a October 20th Zoom sponsored by Mediator Beyond Border International. 700 hundred from throughout the world participated in Holding on to Humanity & Hope - Combatants for Peace. The conversation was led by two Palestinian activists, Mai Shahin and Jamil Qassas, and two Israeli activists, Ayala Shalev and Chen Alon, from Combatants for Peace.

The 90 minute gathering stressing peace and humanity provided Linda solace and a refuge. Here's access to the YouTube . I intend to watch it before the week is over.  

I could mention other current events such as the continuous climate crisis. Instead, I share Wendell Barry's popular poem that provides me with some solace while suggesting a refuge for these dark times. 

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.

Prospect Gardens, a bit of nature along the Southwest Path, continues to provide solace and a refuge. This was especially so during the October 21st work session. Peace, chats, good fellowship, and laughter accompanied our work of preparing the Gardens for winter. We cut back plants while leaving some for their seeds or they were still blooming. The orange snow fences went up again in anticipation of winter snows .

Pictured are most of the crew. In the back row are members of the West High Leo Club: starting on the left is Gaon, Evan, Jerry and Rajeev. Vasu, a fifth Club member, is not in the picture. Rajeev is the Leo Club President and was instrumental in recruiting and convincing Leo Club members to show up on a Saturday morning at 9am. Thanks Rajeev for your leadership. 

Laura and Becky are behind me, followed by Joyce and Ann N. on the last row.  Ann B., my wife, took the picture, supplied the treats, and made sure we took a break. Thank you all for your generosity.   

Some of you know that I had to cancel the September 16th work session, which would have been three days after a week long visit with our daughter, Emily, in Oakland, CA. On the first day there, before going to her apartment, we went to check into our hotel. The cab from the San Francisco Airport pulled into the hotel's valet area. I stepped out of the cab and a passing car hit my right forearm. The car's mirror probably hit my arm resulting in a deep abrasion. No broken bones. The wound was in the early stages of healing at the time of the intended September session. The wound is still healing and there will be another scar on this aging body. 

Ann and I are grateful for the medical care provided by EMTs during the ambulance ride to Sutter Hospital's emergency room and by the emergency room staff.  We are also grateful for the positive interactions with the investigating Oakland Police Officer and for the actions of a hotel valet. She saw the entire incident and was one of the first on the scene. She assisted me with others to get off off the street, got me into the lobby and she called for the EMTs and the police. Oh yes, the fire department also arrived. I still can see all those faces around me.  Ann and I felt protected and cared for.  

In late September my email asked potential volunteers to clear the Gardens of white snakeweed. Ann N, Joyce, and Laura responded. On September 29 and 30 Joyce removed all the snakeweed, and Ann N joined her on 9/30 also to tackle the weed. After later arriving at the Gardens, Laura found no snakeweed. Undaunted, Laura found other weeds to remove on 10/1. Thank you Joyce, Ann N, and Laura.     

I was relieved and happy to join the October 21st crew.  Here are  a few pictures of some crew members in action.

Rajeev, Evan and Gaon pounding metal stakes that support the fences which prevent snow from being plowed into the Gardens. I watched, happy not to be lifting the heavy maul. 

  

 

Gaon enjoyed being the hammer man. Somebody dubbed him "strong man."  Gaon, like the other four Leo Club members are juniors and will be selecting universities to visit with their parents.  

Gaon wants to ultimately attend Wharton School of Business, University of Pennsylvania while being well aware of the intense competition. I wish him well. 

Most of my high school classmates, including me, who planned to attend college never visited a campus. We applied and if accepted showed up on the first day of registration. 

Jerry and Vasu teaming up to cut back a section on the Regent side of the Gardens. Vasu insisted on working until noon. Both worked diligently preparing the section for winter. 

Leo Club members and their youthful teenage energy added so much to my experience of solace and refuge. Furthermore, I was pleased when Rajeev, before leaving, asked about the next work session. That will be in April 2024. He said that Leo Club members will be available and they will be welcomed.

In Spring 2024 the five young men, will be completing their junior year and onto the next phase of their lives. I overheard them discussing universities on their list of choices to visit. I have a feeling that the five will accomplish their dreams and continue contributing well  to our society.  

Becky pausing briefly from her labors. Meanwhile Laura ducked behind the plants. 

Sorry, no pictures of Ann B, Ann N, and Joyce working. They too contributed to preparing the Gardens for winter. 

 Here's a few Prospect Garden scenes along with quotations and a poem. They are offered in the spirit of prompting your reflections about your sources of solace and refuge. 

“Solace can be measured in the quiet silence between heartbeats.”  Anthony T. Hincks, American author 

I found the stone with the heart and "You Matter" text on a recent walk. The gray sculpture was donated by Marcia who once lived next to the Gardens. Marcia's sister created the piece. Marcia and her  husband, Jim moved to Appleton to be closer to their son.

"I always see gardening as escape, as peace really. If you are angry or troubled, nothing provides the same solace as nurturing the soil."  Monty Don, British horticulturist, broadcaster, and writer who is best known as the lead presenter of the BBC gardening television series Gardeners' World.

For Warmth: Thich Nhat Hanh

I hold my face in my two hands.

No, I am not crying.

I hold my face in my two hands

to keep the loneliness warm—

two hands protecting,

two hands nourishing,

two hands preventing

my soul from leaving me

in anger.

Written after the American bombing of  the village of Ben Tre, Vietnam. Source: Call Me By My True Names (Berkeley: Parallax Press, 1999)

"I find solace in animals. I have got a stray dog at home called Candy. I picked it up while I was waiting at the airport one day. I always wanted to have a 'macho' dog but got this sweet little thing instead."  Randeep Hooda, actor from India.

"There is such solace in the mere sight of water. It clothes us delicately in its blowing salt and scent, gossamer items that medicate the poor soul "  Sebastian Barry, Irish novelist and playwright

I end with with a Clarissa Scott Delany's poem. She was an African-American poet, essayist, educator and social worker associated with the Harlem Renaissance. Born in 1901 she died in 1927 from kidney disease. 

Wingra Park Tree 

Solace

My window opens out into the trees

And in that small space 

Of branches and of sky 

I see the seasons pass 

Behold the tender green 

Give way to darker heavier leaves. 

The glory of the autumn comes 

When steeped in mellow sunlight 

The fragile, golden leaves

Against a clear blue sky 

Linger in the magic of the afternoon 

And then reluctantly break off

And filter down to pave

A street with gold. 

Then bare, gray branches 

Lift themselves against the 

Cold December sky 

Sometimes weaving a web 

Across the rose and dusk of late sunset 

Sometimes against a frail new moon

And one bright star riding

A sky of that dark, living blue 

Which comes before the heaviness

Of night descends, or the stars

Have powdered the heavens. 

Winds beat against these trees; 

The cold, but gentle rain of spring 

Touches them lightly

The summer torrents strive 

To lash them into a fury 

And seek to break them—

But they stand. 

My life is fevered

And a restlessness at times

An agony—again a vague 

And baffling discontent 

Possesses me. 

I am thankful for my bit of sky

And trees, and for the shifting 

Pageant of the seasons. 

Such beauty lays upon the heart 

A quiet. 

Such eternal change and permanence

Take meaning from all turmoil

And leave serenity 

Which knows no pain. 

Staying Put and Sense of Place

Mural Half Block From Our Apartment

Caring for Prospect Gardens evokes reflections on "staying put" and sense of place. In chapter 4 of his 2009 book Making the Good Life Last, Michael Schuler, now the retired senior minister of First Unitarian Society presents four keys to sustainable living and the good life. One key is "staying put."

 Michael builds a case for resisting strong cultural messages about the benefits of change, the desire for novelty, emphasis on career, and our urges to "explore new terrain."  Michael writes about the advantages of stable neighborhoods with strong human connections, long lasting businesses, and having deep roots in one place; in short staying put. Michael gives several examples of staying put: districts such as the Boston's North End and Manhattan's Greenwich Village, Shorewood Hills and my neighborhood, Dudgeon-Monroe, and nearby Mickey's Dairy Bar. Mickey's sure does make those good old fashioned malts and on many days there is a waiting line down the block. 

Related to staying put is the construct of sense of place. The construct, often cited in research about cities, has several different dimensions depending on the research focus. Here I adapt the definition cited in an article by Adams, Greenwood, and Thomashow.  Sense of place refers to how we perceive and describe our relationship with "with places, expressed in different dimensions of human life: emotions, biographies, imagination, stories, and personal experiences."  Follow this link to the article

Wendell Berry's life, poetry and writings are prime examples of staying put and sense of place. In 2011 Berry created a non-profit center with his daughter Mary as Executive Director. The Center is dedicated to "changing our ruinous industrial agricultural system into a system and culture that uses nature as the standard, accepts no permanent damage to the ecosphere, and takes into consideration human health in local communities." Follow this link to learn more about the Berry Center

Here's just one example of Wendell Berry poems grounded in staying put and sense of place.

STAY HOME 

I will wait here in the fields
to see how well the rain
brings on the grass.
In the labor of the fields
longer than a man's life
I am at home. Don't come with me.
You stay home too.

I will be standing in the woods
where the old trees
move only with the wind
and then with gravity.
In the stillness of the trees
I am at home.
Don't come with me.
You stay home too.

According to the latest census data, the average American moves eleven times during a lifetime. So far I made nine moves. Besides Wisconsin (Pulaski, Madison, West Bend and Milwaukee) I have lived in Oregon, Indiana and Massachusetts, indicating that I was not exacting "staying put." However, in 1996, Ann and I intentionally decided to remain in Madison. Following Barry's advice we would stay home. Here's the short story of our commitment to Madison.

In 1996, and living in Madison since 1986, I  was on the job market and at a juncture in my educational career. I was offered an executive directorship of an educational reform center in Lorain, Ohio. I spent several days with the Center's staff before accepting the offer while damping down my inner feelings that the geographical place just didn't feel right. Yet I felt the need to accept the job and move the family to Ohio. Our Keyes Avenue home was up for sale by owner. Ann, eleven year old Emily and I made a house hunting trip and a visit to the school Emily could attend in Ohio. We looked at one home in a subdivision with immaculate lawns; not a weed in sight. I dislike well-manicured, highly fertilized lawns. Fortunately, we made no offer on this house.  

A young man from the Center gave me a ride to the Cleveland airport for a flight to Madison. On the way, he asked me where we intended to live. I said Avon Lake, an upscale suburban community about 10 miles from the Center. He paused and said something like "oh." I followed up asking what he meant by "oh"; in retrospect a life changing question. He answered that Avon Lake was featured in a series of articles in the Cleveland Plain Dealer as one of the most chemically polluted areas in Ohio, and that's saying a lot for industrial Ohio. The young man advised me to get several soil tests before buying, including one for residue of chemicals used to grow grapes. Many subdivisions, he said, are on former vineyards in which pesticides were heavily used. On my return to Madison, I went to the Historical Society, read the articles, and following my strong visceral reactions decided against moving.  

Ann and I took down the for sale sign while Emily and her good friend cheered. Career became a lower priority. A year later I accepted a UW temporary academic staff position in the then UW Center on Education and Work. The position became permanent as an educational researcher. The rest is history. We stayed put until 2016 when we sold the1926 home that we had lived in for 30 years. We intentionally decided to remain in the Dudgeon- Monroe Neighborhood for several reasons including wanting to remain crew chief of Prospect Gardens.

 Here are three pictures of special places near our apartment and which I enjoy as I stay put.   

Wingra Park, Lake Wingra, and the southern sections of the UW Arboretum are across the street from our Monroe Street apartment. Tranquil, snapshot of nature, family-friendly, and peaceful are words that describe my sense of these places.

During the summer months a small group and I do Qigong on the shores of Lake Wingra. Often I will sit quietly on one of the park benches, just doing nothing or enjoying a dish of ice cream from The Chocolate Shoppe, adjacent to Wingra Park .  

On the lake individuals of all ages are kayaking, canoeing, paddle boarding, or slowly making their way on one of the two large duck paddle boats. Warblers pause along the Arboretum's paths during their spring migration. Sandhill Cranes stay for the season. Swallows nest and raise their young in the eves of a shelter. Hurons visit and this spring pelicans arrived for a brief stay. 

A short hike west along an Arboretum trail is the Kenneth Jensen Wheeler Memorial council ring, another peaceful place. I often sit quietly within the ring listening to the sounds of birds and on a breezy day feel the wind on my face.

Kenneth Jensen Wheeler was a graduate student who died from a brain aneurism in 1934 on the eve of his graduation. Kenneth’s grandfather, Jens Jensen, a famous landscape architect, designed the limestone ring. Kenneth's father built most of the ring during 1938.

Just below the steps to the Council Ring, is Council Springs, one of the few remaining springs along Lake Wingra. Once there was 38 springs feeding Lake Wingra. These springs were water sources for Indigenous people living nearby and for early white settlers. Apple trees a short distance from the Springs suggests that a farm house once was nearby.

A boardwalk leads to the eastern edge of  the Spring, just before several stepping stones across the rushing water and onto more boardwalk through the Arboretum. On one of those last July hot days, I sat at the edge of boardwalk, listening to the rushing water. After several minutes a Gold Finch landed in the water for a cooling bath. I watched in awe.   

 

Here's the old passage way under the railroad bed that is now the Southwest Path. Note the metal peace sign that somebody added to the wooden railings. According to Wikipedia the peace sign was designed in 1958 by Gerald Holtom as the logo for the British Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, a group at the forefront of the peace movement in the UK. As many members of my generation know the peace sign was adopted by anti-Vietnam protesters. The peace sign continues to be relevant today as a symbol against violence, hatred and oppression.   

The Path is part of a major thoroughfare for bike commuters and a place with multiple users. On any day you will see walkers like me, joggers of all ages, dads, mothers or grandparents pushing baby strollers, skateboarders, roller bladers, regular, recumbent and electric bikes, electric one wheelers, and young children riding their bikes with parents saying "stay to the right."  

During my walks on the Path, I try quieting and calming the mind while being aware of the natural environment and the passersby, may they be on a bike or on foot. Passersby and I often exchange quiet "hellos" or a wave. I may meet neighbors walking or on a bike. We exchange greetings or step to the side for a chat. 

Prospect Gardens is another place dear to my heart. My relationship (sense of place) with the Gardens includes practicing stewardship, experiencing generosity, feeling connected with others, joy, and discovery, i.e., learning about native plants, storm water management, and about myself. 

On August 26th, volunteers once again cared for this special place. Joining Ann and me, were Becky (first step), Sandy P. to my right, and Joyce to my left. Rajeev and Laura are on the back steps.  Thank you for your good work and for the fun we had. 

  

Here's Becky pausing from tackling weeds. She and Sandy P. are graduates of the Wisconsin Naturalist Program. 

Rajeev, with his pleasant smile, is the President of the West High Leo Club. Club members, during the school year, regularly volunteer.  

Rajeev quickly mastered weeding. Incidentally he is also a baker. The day before he made a key lime pie. 

Rajeev gave me a few tips (for example, repeating key words) to increase readership of this blog after asking what was my primary purpose. I never really thought about that question until he asked. I quickly responded, I suppose recruiting and supporting volunteers and advertising the Gardens. Now that I think further of the purpose, I would add providing opportunities for reflection and keeping in touch with friends and acquaintances. A large audience is not a goal.

Gregory, who has volunteered several times this season, sent his regards from Egypt and this picture. I don't see any weeds. Both the camel and Gregory look content. 

As autumn approaches, blooms are peaking and turning into seeds.  Here's one of the remaining Purple Poppy Mellow blooms. Poppy Mellow covers a substantial area to the left as you climb to the top of the Regent stairs. On their own they have spread to other nearby areas. May the spread continue.

One garden that I visit regularly is the UW Botany Garden on University Avenue, across from Luther Memorial Church. The Gardens have mostly perennials and annuals along with a pond with water lilies. This picture is from a visit, and along with the following poem, a good ending to my reflections.

How to Live Like a Water Lily

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.

—Annette L. Grunseth

May we all live like water lilies as our lives unfold. 

    

 

     

Wise Hope

Hope is a mind state embedded in our culture.  A prime example of its place in our culture is how Hope was one of President Obama's key slogans during his 2008 campaign. Shepard Fairey, a famous American artist and activist, created a campaign poster featuring a graphic portrait of Obama with the solitary word, HOPE. On May 19, 2022 one of the originals sold for a record breaking $735,000.  For more about the sale hit this link

A more recent example of hope's status is the recent Wisconsin State Journal headline: "Wisconsin hopes millions in opioid-settlement money will save lives."  Another example is an email I recently received entitled "Change the Narrative from Despair to Hope" from Tricycle, an American Buddhist website and magazine.  Large red letters proclaimed "The Earth Needs Our Hope" as an introduction to an interview with Rebecca Solnit, author of  "Not Too Late: Changing the Climate Story from Despair to Possibility." 

The Oxford dictionary defines hope as a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen. Often the word is used casually to offer support such as "Here's hoping your are well. Underlying the Wisconsin Journal headline, stated above, are some other attributes of hope, as it's commonly used. We expect or desire a certain future outcome. Hope is also commonly associated with optimism; things will turn out alright. Furthermore, hope is often evoked when faced with unpleasant situations such as the opioid crisis, climate crisis, or when faced with debilitating illness. Sometimes if the outcome does not happen, we become discouraged, telling ourselves "what's the use." 

Roshi Joan Halifax

Another perspective on hope that I learned from Buddhism and from tending Prospect Gardens is wise hope. With the pandemic and climate change in mind, Roshi Joan Halifax, Head Teacher, Upaya Zen Center, Santa Fe, New Mexico, discussed wise hope in a post dated April 14, 2020. Here's the link to the post  Wise hope has the following qualities:

• Acceptance of uncertainty. We never know what is really going to happen.
• Openness to being surprised or as Roshi Halifax states being "perpetually surprised."
• Accepting reality or in the Roshi's words "seeing things as they are, including the truth of impermanence…. as well as the truth of suffering—both its existence and the possibility of its transformation, for better or for worse."
• Understanding that what we do matters, while never knowing when and if what we do will have an impact beforehand.  
• Trusting that things change; they always do, but we don't know the specifics.
• Confidence to take action in the face of uncertainty, unpredictability, and constant change.

In short, wise hope is not grounded in expected outcomes, in a desire for certain things to happen, or in naïve optimism that things will change. Neither is wise hope a passive acceptance of what is. Instead, wise hope rests on the belief that we have the agency to create change or at least take the next wise step forward. 

Wendell Barry's poem reflects several aspects of wise hope. The following are excerpts from the poem. Here's the link to the complete poem 

  It is Hard to Have Hope  

It is hard to have hope. It is harder as you grow old,
for hope must not depend on feeling good
and there’s the dream of loneliness at absolute midnight.
You also have withdrawn belief in the present reality
of the future, which surely will surprise us,
and hope is harder when it cannot come by prediction
anymore than by wishing. But stop dithering.
The young ask the old to hope. What will you tell them?
Tell them at least what you say to yourself.

Because we have not made our lives to fit
our places, the forests are ruined, the fields, eroded,
the streams polluted, the mountains, overturned. Hope
then to belong to your place by your own knowledge
of what it is that no other place is, and by
your caring for it, as you care for no other place, this
knowledge cannot be taken from you by power or by wealth.
It will stop your ears to the powerful when they ask
for your faith, and to the wealthy when they ask for your land
and your work.  Be still and listen to the voices that belong
to the stream banks and the trees and the open fields.

Find your hope, then, on the ground under your feet.
Your hope of Heaven, let it rest on the ground underfoot.
The world is no better than its places. Its places at last
are no better than their people while their people
continue in them. When the people make
dark the light within them, the world darkens.

Caring for Prospect Gardens continues to offer lessons about wise hope while echoing the wisdom of Wendell Barry's poem. Thirteen years ago we began creating the Gardens. Our history has been a journey rather than implementing a plan with stated goals and expected outcomes. As the journey unfolded, my hopes for the Gardens were influenced by the realities of the site; to paraphrase Berry's poem, hope was "grounded under my feet." 

We started with a short plan that included shrubs as the Garden's backbone and these remain. Our aspirations were to transform the site into a small prairie. Now the site looks like a fusion of prairie remnants and an English garden: prairie plants, perennials, two cherry trees, a raspberry patch, a few small sculptures, birdhouses, and some chimes, like the one in the above picture.   

The Gardens' journey continued with July 29th work session. Joining Ann B., my wife, and I were Percy (first step), Joyce on the left of the second step, and Ann N. on the right. We are on break  enjoying almond cookies from Whole Foods. Ann B., my wife, also affectionately known as the union boss, ensures we take breaks as I lose track of time. Thank you all for your hard work and for continuing on the journey. 

Our first task, and a testimony to unpredictability, was cleaning up after the previous night's storm that dumped at least 3 inches of rain on Madison (maybe more on the Gardens). There were some minor washouts. Nothing compared to the 2018 deluge that severely eroded a section of the Garden with few plants. Madison City Engineering repaired the damage. Since then grasses and other plants were installed and this time the section held, although some plants were flattened by the rushing water.

Ann N. and I staked plants that were toppled by the rain while Percy pruned the tall forsythia. The forsythia, now at least 10 feet tall, was once just a foot tall and the first to be planted in the Gardens. It marks the passage of time while holding earth in place during storms. 

Joyce 

Everybody weeded. Here's Joyce pausing as she removed clover and Bishops Weed from a section. The sedges and grasses within this section planted several years ago are now mature.   

Behind Joyce is the shade garden started at least ten years ago with a few hostas that a nearby neighbor left at the curb. I just couldn't accept the possibility that they would be garbage in the landfill. Over the years, neighbors and friends have donated more hostas. Jack-in-the pulpits, ferns, and jacob's ladder have been added.

Ann N.

 Ann N. weeded the upper section where Prospect Ave curves into Fox Ave. The columbine plants she donated last fall, failed. We will try again this fall. 

The bottlebrush blazing stars in front of Ann N. are thriving. About two years ago, I removed the ditch day lilies from this section and planted the blazing stars along with other native plants. A friend donated some of the blazing stars from her garden. 

There is a large patch of ditch day lilies on the Regent side. I almost removed them this season but the recent heat spell and poor air quality due to the Canadian wild fires intervened. Plus they hold the soil in place and they were there when trains passed by. I am somewhat reluctant to remove these first inhabitants. 

The Path has its own history which includes steam engine trains. When Emily was in fifth grade at Randall School, I led a project, along with students, to interview Randall graduates. Students did most of the interviews. A ninety year old woman, one of the first Randall school graduates, told a story about how as child she and her friends ran to the Spooner Street bridge once they heard the train approaching. They joyfully shouted as the steam from the train passing under the bridge engulfed them.  

The next six pictures show some current plants along with additional comments. They serve as markers of the Gardens' thirteen year history.

The cardinal plant that joined the Gardens several years before the pandemic. Initially, I planted four in a location at least fifteen feet east from this one. Seeds that resulted from those plants somehow moved west.  Birds?  Wind?  
 

Golden Rod, initially planted at least 10 years ago, and in the same location. The original one or two plants have expanded into a sizable patch. The brown spots are insects pollinating the blossoms to produce more seeds. 

Another pollinator, the bee, on a Joe Pye blossom. Years ago, friends Gary and Jane, gave me the first Joe Pye clump from their award winning West Bend home gardens. Both Jane and Gary are now in an apartment within a retirement community. Meanwhile, the clump grew and the patch of Joe Pye Weed expanded. I divided the Joe Pye and transplanted them in several other locations.  It's a hardy plant and as you can see, benefits bees. 

One of the four bird houses installed in 2016 and made by a nearby neighbor and his son. This one is surrounded by black- eye susan, phlox, and yellow cone flowers. Black-eyed susan is one of the first planted thirteen years ago. They have spread throughout the Garden and in recent years needed to be thinned out because of their aggressiveness.  

I am conflicted about these  colorful phlox. I planted a few at least ten years ago and they have now spread throughout the Garden. 

They add beautiful color.  Yet, they are not the native phlox found in a prairie. Sometimes, I feel like removing some. I hesitate because of their beauty and how they have staked a successful claim to the site. They remind me of thriving homesteaders that have a right to remain.

Several cup plants, like this one, have moved into the Garden, migrating on their own from a patch just across the Fox Avenue entrance to the Southwest Path. I first noticed this one on the Fox side, maybe three years ago. Ernie, who then owned the adjacent home, planted cup plants along the entrance to the Path. The current owners, Katie and Parker, have maintained the initial patch of cup plants. A few cup plants also migrated to a section adjacent to the north section of the bike path. 

Anna Blasczyk 

Reflecting about wise hope reminds me of my mother, Anna. Here she is in 1994 at the age of 88. She was a widow since 1949. She sold the family farm in 1962 and lived in Pulaski  until her death in 1998.  

My mother faced many challenges as she raised her family of 14, before and after the death of my father. Her life was not easy.  At our baby shower for Emily in 1984, a friend asked how she managed to raise so many children. My mother replied: "You just need to get up and do something." I never heard her complain about her life or say she hoped for something better. 

I end with this 1936 Carl Sandburg poem. Perhaps take time to reflect about what it says about hope.

Hope is a Tattered Flag

Hope is a tattered flag and a dream of time.

Hope is a heartspun word, the rainbow, the shadblow in white

The evening star inviolable over the coal mines,

The shimmer of northern lights across a bitter winter night,

The blue hills beyond the smoke of the steel works,

The birds who go on singing to their mates in peace, war, peace,

The ten-cent crocus bulb blooming in a used-car salesroom,

The horseshoe over the door, the luckpiece in the pocket,

The kiss and the comforting laugh and resolve—

Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder.

The spring grass showing itself where least expected,

The rolling fluff of white clouds on a changeable sky,

The broadcast of strings from Japan, bells from Moscow,
Of the voice of the prime minister of Sweden carried

Across the sea in behalf of a world family of nations

And children singing chorals of the Christ child

And Bach being broadcast from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania

And tall skyscrapers practically empty of tenants

And the hands of strong men groping for handholds

And the Salvation Army singing God loves us...

 

Published in 1936 collection The People,

Thank you. Enjoy the passing summer.