I Give Thanks for You, and You

Not long ago, I read a sweet post over at Glynn Young's. He took this Thanksgiving season as a chance to celebrate some of his fellow bloggers.

I liked that idea— to use this season in celebration of others. So I thought to celebrate my two girls today by sharing their writing (and a drawing) with the world.

"I Love You, Mommy"

The crickets chirp, the
dog barks, the sounds
arise, the sounds of
dark.

— by Sonia, 10, for me on a day I was sad

• • •

The beginning of a story...

Thunder rolls in the distance. Lightning flashes. The sky is grey above the lands. On the mountains to the north is a stone fortress. Valleys of scrub and small trees, always seeming to be the same shade of dark green, sit between them and the last mountain— a tall hill in the land of forests and lakes.

A castle of grey stone sits upon it. To the west, where the mountains breathe fire, in an open plain surrounded by stones and burning rivers, a castle of obsidian mimics the mountains themselves.

And far, far, farther to the north— where freezing sleet and snow turn the ground polished and blind and white, where the whistling wind is never stopped, where the ice has lain since the beginning of the world itself, a towering fortress, almost a cathedral, spires and arches, domes and spikes, seems to grow out of the land itself— for the whole thing is made of ice.

— by Sara, 12

In the Tree Drawing, by Sara. Used with permission.

____

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When Morning Comes

The sun makes his way yet again, and I remember. I said I will write my gratitude into lines and breaks, pauses and still places of poems.

Where to keep these scribbles of awe? Maybe here. Even though I started there. All right then... the second of my "for" poems...

"When Morning Comes"

I open my mouth and breathe the day,
wish for a kiss like the one this golden
trumpet of jewelweed is getting full
on the mouth. Furry bumblebee embraces

her like there's no tomorrow. And I remember
to hold the day because it's true, there may not
be a morning after. And this is why I pause when
rusty shovel unearths rotted pit, peach long gone,

her hope for progeny emptied but now home to
red ants, tiny thousands pouring forth like honey,
spilling onto cocoa shells newly lain beneath
the hyssop, soft pink and pungent. Now I trouble

the bronze-suited honeybee who is fumbling Russian
Sage, tickling her purply-blue tongues, riding her
shining silver leaves that curl and sweat in rainbowed
mist. Shall I forget the three-leafed red maple fragment

on the stair, its green seeds like outstretched arms
now blushing dusty rose? Let me not forget these
seeds, nor the catbird who delights to echo each
whine of my clipping shears, nor the Bible leaf

relieved of yellow flower but fragrant still when I
break a spear and press it to my face. Let me not forget
the white carnation, purple aster, and the stars who
shut their eyes and sleep when morning comes.

Jewelweed and Russian Sage photos by L.L. Barkat.

Wordless Wednesday: Simple Things

I love simple things, like pine needles that make little tracks in the snow. And sun that pokes through clouds to warm their path.


Needles in the Snow photo, by L.L. Barkat.

Wordless Wednesday: Provision

I come around
a leafy bend
only to discover
red. Tart red,
bursting red
provision...
guarded ever so
cleverly by thorns.

As the scratches on my arms will attest, I reached for this beautiful provision despite the risks. And these three containers were my reward.

Photo by L.L. Barkat.

Wordless Wednesday: Even

Even the thorn bush
blossoms ivory bells,
bleeds a pearl of nectar.


Thorn Bush in Bloom photo, by L.L. Barkat.

Wordless Wednesday: Divine Sound

Forsythia flowers
are golden bells,
ringing, ringing
peace, over the cares
of my morning.


Forsythia bloom photo, by L.L. Barkat.

Re-Vision

Wendell Berry has a lot to say about our visions for life. In The Gift of Good Land, he discusses the destruction of prairie and forest, saying this...

"As we felled and burned the forests, so we burned, plowed, and overgrazed the prairies. We came with visions but not with sight. We did not see or understand where we were or what was there, but destroyed what was there for the sake of what we desired. And the desire was always native to the place we left behind." p.82

In saying this, Berry urges me to know my own land, to understand where I am, and what is here. I'm compelled not to simply destroy what exists, for the vision of "perfection" handed down to me. (In my county, that would be the vision of a pristine lawn with narry a "weed" in sight.)

So I am learning, and I am trying to participate in a "re-visioning."

As part of the process, I went on a wild edibles hike this past Saturday, with Steve Brill. And I came home to a weekend of discovery... that on my own property I have garlic mustard (pic above) with a "horseradish" root, and edible violets, and day lilies (don't confuse with inedible Tiger Lilies), dandelions, and wild onions.

I felt a fresh vision of the gift I hold right here, on my own small parcel of land. My ten-year-old daughter expressed it well on Sunday night. She gave this blessing before the meal...

"Thank you, Lord for this day when we could be together. And thank you for all this wonderful food, that we didn't even have to pay for! Amen."

For a related post on my other blog, visit Discerning the Violet


Here's a recipe using dandelion greens. Pick them young, before the flowers come, for milder greens. If you've already got flowers, you could also eat those instead. Just pluck the green part off the bottom.



Caldo Gallego

Saute in a bit of oil 'til brown:

- 1 onion, chopped


Add and saute briefly:

- 1 garlic, minced
- 1 TB "bacuns"
- 1/2 tsp. smoke spice (if using Liquid Smoke, add at next step)
- 1/2 tsp. fennel seed
- 1/4 tsp. red pepper
- 1/2 tsp. ground cumin


Add and boil about 15 minutes (til potatoes tender):

- 2 potatoes, large dice
- 1 to 1 1/2 cups cooked red beans or chickpeas
- large tomato, chopped, or small can diced tomatoes
- water, to cover all (put more or less for thicker or thinner soup)


Finish:

- good pour olive oil
- salt and pepper to taste
- bunch of dandelion greens, chopped (let wilt in soup before serving); if dandelions are out of season, substitute spinach

Serve with crusty whole wheat bread or rice and a salad.

Caldo Gallego photo by L.L. Barkat.