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HeartWood
A blog about cultivating
creativity, connection and contentment
wherever you are

A Time to Heal - A Photography Project by Gail Howarth

9/2/2020

7 Comments

 
These challenging times can be both stimulating and stifling to creative types. Some writers and artists I know have found comfort in their work; others have been unable to summon their muses and have turned to other activities for solace. I say, whatever works! These times are exceptional, and as I recently read in an article a friend sent me, “During this extraordinary time, we have to realize that everyone now has an additional part-time job that might be called Citizen of the Covid-19 Pandemic,” and we need to give ourselves credit for the time and energy that extra work takes.
PictureGail Howarth
One artist who's managed to do inspired and inspiring creative work while coping with the pandemic is photographer Gail Howarth. Regular readers of HeartWood may remember seeing Gail featured here a couple of years ago. At that time, she was working on a photography/writing project with Mel Trotter Ministries, a Grand Rapids nonprofit organization that works with homeless people. Now, she is once again combining photography and writing to call attention to today's pressing issues, which include but are not limited to COVID-19, essential workers, race and racism, and LGBTQIA community concerns.


​What led you to undertake this project?
City Center Arts in Muskegon offered me the opportunity to be the featured artist there  from September 1 to October 10. The gallery has been very supportive of me, my nature and landscape photography, as well as another project I am working on called The Gratitude Project By Lakehouse Photo. Originally we were going to feature The Gratitude Project. However, the rest of the exhibit will honor essential workers. We felt that gratitude, while a worthy topic, might seem insensitive to those that have sacrificed so much. We thought about postponing the featured artist wall or displaying my landscapes. But I felt like we were missing the opportunity to do something meaningful. The year 2020 has been challenging. The pandemic, racial tension and rioting, and a divide that grows deeper daily in our nation weigh heavily on my heart. I just kept thinking, this is a time to heal, not to fight amongst one another. When I proposed A Time To Heal to the folks at City Center Arts, they quickly agreed to the project.
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Christina - One Voice
Christina once asked herself, Am I Black Enough? Later in life, as she experienced racism in many forms, the answer became clear. Christina expresses her concerns, her anger, and her wisdom by blogging and through dance.
How did you find people to participate? Were most readily willing, or did you have to persuade some?
​I asked everyone I knew if they would participate, and then they asked everyone they knew. I posted requests for participants on my Facebook and Instagram pages and even contacted local social justice organizations.

Most of the participants were referred through the gallery or Facebook friends. Of the 17 participants, I knew less than one-third personally.

I received a lot of non-responses to emails and phone calls. However, those that expressed an interest in the project showed no hesitation about participating. Everyone felt like it was an important project and wanted to be involved.
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Chauncey - Pomp and Circumstance
Like so many others 2020 grads, Chauncey lost the opportunity to complete his senior year of high school in person and to experience senior prom, skip-day, an actual graduation ceremony, and more. Read more about Chauncey here.
How do you think communicating these varied stories and images can promote healing, both for individuals and for our country and world?

In a nutshell, we need to get to know one another. The project gives folks from various backgrounds the opportunity to share their journey with people that are generally not a part of their community. Once we find common ground, it will become easier to communicate about and resolve tough issues.

One example from the project would be that there has been immeasurable conflict related to wearing a mask to keep COVID-19 from spreading. There are many reasons stated, but I believe the biggest factor is that folks don’t know anyone that has had it, and therefore, it does not seem real.

Three of the participants of the project have had COVID-19. Though all three have recovered, they struggle with ongoing health issues. One person caught the virus from a man that did not survive. Another worked in one of the hardest-hit hospitals in the Detroit area. She witnessed countless deaths every day. All three encourage everyone to wear a mask.
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Once you know someone that has had the virus, you will likely not question whether mask-wearing is right or wrong. 

Healing begins one person at a time. Hopefully, healing begins with one person, then a second and a third, and multiplies and impacts a whole community, a state, a nation, and beyond.

Healing can be hard work and take years. But it can also be quite magical. Have you ever had a rigid belief about a thing and then learn one new fact about it, and it shreds everything you ever believed? I do hope that folks will find a few magical moments from the exhibit and blog posts.
 
I don’t believe my project alone can make a profound change in the world. I do think that projects with the same or similar intentions are popping up all over as a reaction to the dysfunction we are currently experiencing. I hope that collectively change can and will happen.
 
Lastly, I will admit that there was a moment during the early part of the project that I became disillusioned. Not all of my friends or family felt the project had merit. They thought that the result might create greater divisiveness versus the desired outcome of healing. I shared with one of the participants that my heart was a bit broken by the response. I asked her earnestly, what if the only heart opened or healed was my own. Her response was: Well, then the whole project is worth it. I am grateful, and I cherish her words.  
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Cindy - Mask Up
Working as a respiratory therapist at one of the hospitals hardest hit during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, Cindy contracted COVID-19. Now recovering, she asks that everyone wear a mask.
In the introduction to “A Time to Heal” on your blog, you write about parallels between the present day and the 1960s. What similarities and differences do you see between the two times?
Now and then, social unrest led to demonstrations and rioting. In the ’60s, the issues were related to civil rights, the feminist movement, the Viet Nam War, and the gay liberation movement. Today, we face the same problems and more, but the war we are fighting is with one another.
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Also, in the ’60s, people still had faith in our government, that our voices would be heard, and that real change could happen. Today, we have lost faith in leadership and our government, that our voices, no matter how loudly we cry, fall on deaf ears, and there is little hope for change. 
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Kwame - The Sage
Kwame uses his sense of humor and insight to elevate awareness related to racism and the Black Lives Matter Movement. Kwame believes we are fundamentally bound together and that together we must find a way to get along.
In your interviews with this broad spectrum of people, have any common themes emerged? 
​The commonality would be the need or desire of the participant to tell their story or to be heard. All felt that in doing so that it might, in some small way, make a difference.
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Suzy - Doctor My Eyes
Susan Bishop, MD, is a pediatric doctor. As COVID-19 has significantly changed patient care, she misses children's hugs and unmasked smiles.
In an email, you wrote, “The creative process is funny for me. I never have a clear picture of what something will be in the beginning. It just morphs into what it becomes.” In what ways was that true for this project?
First, I had no idea if I could pull off this project. I had two months during a pandemic to find people willing to be photographed, to share their stories, and translate them into an exhibit of words and images.

Initially, I thought I would display one photograph and a few keywords of each person to convey the story. However, I could not come up with a smart way to show the words. In the end, I decided to label the images more traditionally. Each piece has a name and just a little information about the participant. Hopefully, viewers will become curious enough to read more about the participants on my blog.

Then, as I selected and edited photos, I realized that for most participants, a single image left the story incomplete. I began mounting three to five images into a template with a plain white background. The stories were coming together, but still, something was lacking. One day, I accidentally placed one of the photos behind the others. It was fabulous!! I reduced the grayscale of the background image (made it lighter), and it became part of the story. In some cases, I had to backtrack to find and photograph backdrops that would complete the story.
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Lastly, I initially had a narrow concept of who should participate. The expansion happened naturally and felt right. 
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Justin - PPE Provider
When Justin learned personal protection equipment was in short supply, he came up with a plan that included renting the second largest cargo plane in the world and having it flown to China, filled with supplies, and flown back to Ohio to begin distribution. He then purchased US-made mask-making equipment and started production in Ohio.
How has this project affected you personally?
Deeply and on so many levels.

There were many days that I felt hopeless. The division between people feels as if it grows larger every day, and I did not feel as though I was working fast enough or hard enough. But I came to believe that I am doing what I can to be a positive force for awareness and change. I will, in some way, continue the work that has begun with this project.

I am honored and humbled that complete strangers would take the time to share their life experiences with me. Their words forever change me.

The most life-changing aspect of the project is related to racism. I have never considered myself a racist. But, I have become more aware of the cultural bias that I carry with me. I listen with new eyes and ears, and feel with a heart more open. And, as those old untruths pop up, I look them over and toss them away.
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We have so very much to learn from one another. I am a forever student, and can barely wait for my next teacher.
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Siena - Illegal To Be Me
Siena is working toward awareness and social change as a member of the Sunrise Movement, an organization that seeks to remove oppressive and unsustainable systems to create a just future.
What is your hope for this project and its impact?
I hope that hearts and minds will be changed, that we will become a more unified people, even if we disagree, and as a result, create a better future for our children. That is a pretty big hope, isn’t it! I am not sure if it is realistic at all. But, in the words of John Lennon, “You may say I'm a dreamer, but I am not the only one.”

I hope others will be inspired to start projects that promote healing and unity.
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Pastor Sarah - The Whole World
Pastor Sarah believes it is time to put an end to our differences based upon race, learn to imitate the Kingdom of Heaven, and to live as one. ​Read more about Pastor Sarah here.

A Time To Heal will be on display at City Center Arts from September 1, 2020, until October 10, 2020. Hours are limited, so please check the website before traveling to the gallery. 
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Blog posts related to the participants are located at https://lakehousecc.com/living-at-the-lakehouse/
Not all blog posts related to the project are complete. Consider subscribing to be notified of new posts.
Find Gail and her work online:
  • Facebook – Lakehouse Photo
  • Blog – Living At The Lakehouse
  • Photography Website
  • Instagram – Living At The Lakehouse
  • Facebook – The Gratitude Project By Lakehouse Photo
7 Comments

Author Spotlight: Sharon Dukett - No Rules

8/19/2020

8 Comments

 
With in-person author events still on hold indefinitely, I'm devoting one blog post each month to an author interview.

This month's interview is with Sharon Dukett, author of the memoir No Rules. Desperate to escape the stultifying life she saw ahead for herself in the early 1970s, and entranced by the California hippie scene, Sharon ran away from home at sixteen. No Rules details her precarious journey through the counterculture, an experience that would  mold her into the strong woman she became. 
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Author Sharon Dukett
Every teenager who ever lived probably fantasized about running away from home and living on their own, but most of us lacked the courage and motivation to pull it off. What do you think made the difference for you?
PictureSharon in 1970
I was miserable with the prospect of what was ahead for me if I didn’t go. My mother seemed so unhappy, as did my older sister. Leaving wasn’t just for me. It was as though I was breaking out for them, too, demonstrating it was possible to live a different life. Plus I had my older sister with me when I left, which made me feel protected. The catalyst for that leap was being dumped by my first real boyfriend, which left me feeling empty and hopeless. 

It took a different kind of courage to decide to share your story—a story that you had kept to yourself for a long time. What gave you that courage?
​As I read writers like Mary Karr and Cheryl Strayed, I saw that what made their books shine was the honesty. They had great stories, and I knew I had a good story, too. But it would be empty if I didn’t share my deepest thoughts and feelings, good or bad. My success and sense of accomplishment in my career and my personal life as I grew older made me strong enough to share my story regardless of others' reactions.
In the Epilogue, you mention that you began writing as a way of healing from unresolved hurts. At what point did the book transition from personal writing to something you wanted to share with others?
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​It quickly transitioned as I got caught up in the memories of the times. I had always wanted to write a book, but when I was younger I never knew what to write about. Once I began writing about this, I didn’t want to stop. But until I had a personal computer, the idea of using a typewriter was overwhelming. If the personal computer had not been invented, I would have never been able to complete a book.

In No Rules, you write honestly about some difficult subjects. What parts of the book were most challenging to write? 
I found one of the most challenging subjects was writing about falling in love with someone that I later came to despise and recognize as a con artist. I had to recapture the naïve innocence I felt at the time and block out what I knew would come later. It was difficult remembering being attracted to him as he later repulsed me.
Were there parts you especially enjoyed writing?
PictureHitching across Canada


​There were some parts that just flowed out of me like they were already written, and I was just the conduit putting the words on paper. I cried through writing the scene with Cindy after she finds Jesus. And the trip across Canada could have been an entire book alone. It was much longer in the original draft. Reliving those memories were like re-experiencing the trip. 

What helped you access the memories that form the basis of No Rules?
PictureVenice Beach
Because this was such a momentous time of my life, much of this was deeply ingrained in my memory. I even believe I recall some exact dialog. I did write the entire first draft in the 1990’s when it was all fresher in my mind. I have some photographs from the time that I used for reference. For example, I have a group shot of those on the ride from Patterson, NJ to Ohio, and photos of our room at the A-House in Provincetown. I also found the more I wrote, the more the memories would overtake me. When you are writing memoir, you take up residence in that time and place and the images and experiences flood back at you. I also played music I listened to during that era, particularly if it was music I don’t often hear. 

I loved what you wrote in the Epilogue about the people from that time in your life being your “first tribe.” How did they function in that role?
PictureYurt building
Despite some of the bad things that happened, we were all part of a larger community. No matter where you went, you could easily connect with others because they looked like you. I learned so much from all these people because our backgrounds were highly diverse. It didn’t matter what socio-economic, ethnic or religious background you came from—no one cared, and no one typically asked. I don’t think that has ever happened in America before or since. You can’t live through a time like that and not recognize the common humanity in all of us. Once you’ve seen it, you can’t un-see it. 

In the acknowledgments you say the book is an accumulation of years of work. Take us through your journey from initial idea to publication. How long did you spend writing and revising the book? What avenues did you explore in pursuing publication? How did you come to be published by She Writes Press?
  • ​I started writing whatever I could remember that seemed important on a pad of lined paper. Most of these scenes were a list of memories – this happened, that happened, what I remembered someone doing. I had nothing about me in there, just what I saw around me. After some time, I put it in a drawer and forgot about it. Then I met another woman who was writing and we discussed it. I pulled out my pad of paper and she began reading it. By then I had a computer, so she convinced me to transfer it onto that device and keep writing. I took the first three chapters to a writer’s conference at a nearby college and signed up for a manuscript critique. The author who read it told me I should take some writing classes and start over. I was disappointed but I took her advice.
  • I attended a weeklong conference with the International Women’s Writing Guild and the sessions I attended opened up channels for me to dig deeper into memories and the senses. It was in one of these sessions given by June Gould that we were asked to recall sounds from our childhood, then write about one of them. What came to me was my mother playing the piano. Some lines I wrote in that session are still in the final version of the book. I attended these conferences for three years in a row and they were always valuable. At the last one, I connected with writers who lived near me and I joined their writers group. More about that below.
  • Not long after the year 2000, my daytime career became demanding. I was no longer consulting where I could take summers off and write, as well as spend time with my family. I was managing technology projects with tight deadlines and long work hours, so I put my writing aside. After awhile, it became hard to know how to start again, so I didn’t. I promised myself I would start again when I retired, which I did in 2017.
  • I knew I had to cut content and edit, but I felt overwhelmed. I decided to take a class and found one online focused on memoir that ran for six months and included review and feedback by the instructor on the work we turned in after each class. I took it twice. In this class I learned how to identify what I wanted the focus of the book to be, and that enabled me to cut and edit. I had to reduce 170,000 words down to 91,000. It took me a year and a half to do this, as I was also adding to what I was writing as well. The instructor for the class that reviewed my work and provided feedback to me was Brooke Warner, who was also the publisher of She Writes Press. As a result of working together for a year, my trust in her, and her knowledge of my work, it was a good fit to be published by them. Since I had spent so many years writing this book, I wanted to have control over its future, and She Writes Press could give me that control as a hybrid Indie press. 
You also mention that you belonged to a writer’s group. What did you find valuable about that experience? Were there any challenges?
PictureSharon with Ernie, 1972
​I spent several years in the writers group. I don’t think I was always open to the input from some of the members, probably because of how it was presented. But generally speaking, even those that came across as being overly critical had truth I could learn from. In time we modified our process for critique so we had to start out with three or more positive comments first before any negative comments. This was better for all of us because writers need positive reinforcement of what works along with knowing what to improve. It was fairly time consuming as there were four or five of us turning in lengthy chapters for review every two weeks. I know my chapters tended to be 7,000 or 8,000 words each. They were all cut a lot when I revised later on. I stayed in that group until I put the work aside in 2000.

What do you hope readers will take away from No Rules? 
PictureSharon with her older sister Anne


​I want readers to experience what it was like to live in those times, and the transformation that came about as a result of discovering feminism and growing my own strength. 

What did you gain by writing the book? 
By writing this book, I have completed a goal I had for years, and often wondered if I would ever reach. By doing so, I was able to preserve a unique time in history that no longer exists and will always be part of who I am.
What’s next for you as an author? 
I am currently working on a thriller novel that takes place in the near future when climate science has been declared to be illegal propaganda in the US, and activists are detained and disappear. 
Anything else you’d like to add?
​One of the greatest experiences of being a writer that I never expected, particularly now because of social media, are the wonderful writers I have met and connected with online. My new tribe is made up of writers who are supportive of one another and offer support and information. We inspire each other and help one another reach our goals. I have discovered I am once again part of a larger community. 
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The Art of Devotion

8/5/2020

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​The last installment of HeartWood—the story of a young writer’s devotion to his grandmother and her literary legacy—got me thinking about other stories of art and devotion, which took me back to a trip to Albuquerque three years ago.
PictureMosaic in Albuquerque's Old Town
​Albuquerque, nearby Santa Fe, and their surroundings are spilling over with creative people whose devotion to their art is evident. Painters, sculptors, mosaic artists, multi-media creators, jewelry designers—they're everywhere, and so are the fruits of their talents.

PicturePromoting the Santero Market


​​Evident, too, are signs of a different kind of devotion: works of art inspired by spirituality and religious faith. I learned about one type of this art from two women I chanced to meet on a Sunday morning in Albuquerque's Old Town. Felis Armijo and Ramona Garcia-Lovato were sitting at a table in front of San Felipe de Neri Church, signing up volunteers to help with the upcoming Santero Market. Santeros (and santeras) are artisans who craft religious icons called santos. Originally created for churches, these statuettes of saints, angels, Mary and Jesus, usually carved from wood and often decorated with home-made pigments, are now sold to tourists. 

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​My conversation with Felis and Ramona rambled from topic to topic, touching not only on art, but also on writing, life stories, geography, and human nature. From their curiosity and warmth, it was clear these two women were dedicated not just to the event they were promoting and the parish to which they belonged, but also to connecting with other people—an art in itself.

PicturePetroglyph
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​After our time in Old Town, Ray and I ventured out to Petroglyph National Monument, a short drive away. One of the largest petroglyph sites in North America, the monument features designs and symbols carved onto the surfaces of volcanic rocks by indigenous people and Spanish settlers 400 to 700 years ago. The site and its images still hold spiritual significance for the descendants of both groups of people.

PictureSignificant symbols
​The meanings of some symbols have been lost over the centuries; others are known by a few indigenous groups, but it is considered culturally insensitive to reveal the meaning of an image to others. For me, it's enough to know that the symbols meant something to the people who created them and to ponder the combination of location and inspiration that gave rise to their work. 

PictureLarry Schulte



​​Not all works of devotion have religious significance. They also can be inspired by a more secular kind of admiration. Case in point: my friend Larry Schulte, an artist who now lives in Albuquerque, created his own "Saints" series, featuring mortals who have made a difference in his life.

​“I was raised in a fairly strict Roman Catholic home, and I left that faith many years ago—mostly because of their stance on gay people, that we were sinful,” Larry reflects. “These saints in some way replace the saints I learned about in my childhood . . . They are all loving, sharing people who have made my world a better place. We all need something to believe in. For me it is love, art/creating, and people, rather than any organized religion.”
PictureSt. Lou



​​Some of the fifteen mixed media pieces, which Larry created at the Ragdale Foundation, an artist's colony north of Chicago, feature well-known figures—such as the innovative composer Lou Harrison and Harrison's life partner Bill Colvig, an instrument builder who collaborated with Harrison on gamelans and other percussion instruments. But they also include more personal choices: Larry’s undergraduate art instructors, St. Jack and St. Keith, for instance.

​​“Jack was particularly influential in my pursuing art,” Larry recalls.

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St. Jack
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St. Keith
PictureSt. Elvira



​​St. Elvira’s son Peter was Larry’s roommate and best friend during their days at the University of Kansas in the late 1970s to early 1980s. Elvira lived in New Jersey but had visited Peter and Larry in Kansas. “After I moved to New York City, she included me in holiday family gatherings when I wasn't able to get back to my own family in Nebraska. She adopted me as another son.”

PictureSt. Bill
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In 2016, Larry and his partner Alan Zimmerman, a percussionist, traveled to San Francisco for a concert of Harrison's music to celebrate what would have been his 100th birthday. Two of Larry's art works (St. Lou and St. Bill) were exhibited at the concert, which was sponsored by the non-profit organization 
Other Minds. ​

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Paper weaving, "Orange Flag"
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Paper weaving, "Full Moon, Peach"


​​​The saint series represents a significant departure from Larry’s other prints and paper weavings, he acknowledges. He began the series after learning a new process: making solvent transfer prints, which allowed him to transfer photographs to high-quality printmaking paper. 

​“That process certainly contributed to the possibility of making this series,” says Larry. So did the AIDS crisis, when many of his NYC friends were dying.

​“Circumstance, timing—who knows why we create what we create?”​
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Larry's father, St. Lawrence
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St. Eric, a composer who lives in New York City and Albuquerque
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St. Akemi, a composer friend of Alan's from when he lived in Japan
PictureSt. Andy, a New York City composer who always dressed as a cowboy at concerts

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Author Spotlight: Barbara Mahase Rodman and David Kuhnlein

7/15/2020

2 Comments

 
With in-personal author events still on hold indefinitely, I've decided to devote one blog post each month to an author interview.

I'm kicking off this new feature today with a Q&A that tells the remarkable story of a young writer's devotion to his grandmother and her literary legacy. For reasons you'll understand as you read on, it wasn't possible to interview Barbara Mahase Rodman, author of the recently published novel Olas Grandes. Instead, this interview is with her grandson David Kuhnlein, who edited and published the book after the long lost manuscript was unearthed.

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David Kuhnlein
The manuscript for Olas Grandes was stashed in a trunk for about forty years before you found it. Tell us more about how you learned of its existence and managed to locate it.
For the most part that’s true: the manuscript sat in her trunk since 1979, full of potential, charging up like a battery. Barbara Mahase Rodman (my grandmother, known by her grandsons as Babbie) got many rejection letters in the 70s and 80s, due to a couple factors, one of which was her animosity towards the editing process. Another was her interest in larger publishing companies.

I hadn’t heard of Olas Grandes, or at least I’d forgotten about it, until I read my great grandmother’s autobiography My Mother’s Daughter – a testament to growing up as a strong Indian woman in Trinidad. My mom told me that I was mentioned in the back of the book where Anna Mahase Snr. wrote about the family. So, of course, that’s the first place I looked! Sure enough I found mention of me, but more rewarding was a typo – it said that Babbie had published two books: Love Stories for All Centuries, which I had read, and Olas Grandes. My mom, uncle, and I quickly searched Bab’s house for the manuscript, and hidden in a massive wooden trunk, brimming with so much of her writing, we found it. 
Did you know right away you wanted to edit and publish the novel? What led to that decision?
Well, first I wanted to read it. There’s something incredible about reading a book written by an elder like Babbie who, at the time I found the book, suffered greatly from dementia. The manuscript's weight in my bag became a talisman, and as I walked around with it I felt like I was hanging out with her, aeons ago, in Trinidad.

After reading the first few chapters I took a train across the country. I didn’t want to take the only copy of the book on the trip, so I let those early chapters linger in me. I talked to my friends Adam and Katie a lot about the project. Even speaking of the project excited me, and it was in the tangle of conversations -- and questions I asked every reader and writer I encountered -- that I decided something had to be done with this book.

​At the time, I was writing a series of lyric essays on illness and a recent surgery I’d had. But while writing them felt important, it also made me physically sick. Focusing my energy on transcribing Olas Grandes was a way to keep writing, while also taking a needed break from my own project. Gail Kuhnlein, my mom and Barbara's daughter, is also a writer, and lucky for me she agreed to help edit the book. I couldn't have done it without her. 
What was Barbara’s reaction when you told her of your intentions? How old was she at that point? Was she able to be involved in the process as you worked on it?
PictureBarbara and David, August 2019, three months before Barbara's passing


Honestly, her reactions depended on the day. In the two years before Barbara passed away, my visits to her house increased, and I began to help informally caretake. Because of her memory, we had certain conversations regarding Olas Grandes over and over again, to the point where I observed patterns and ways to create shortcuts around them.




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​For instance, sometimes she’d tell me that Olas Grandes was not a novel, but a story, and it was already published. So I’d have to preface a conversation about her book by showing her the physical manuscript and explaining that it’s different than her other book. But other times, like magic, she knew exactly what was happening and was thrilled.

​“Never could I have imagined,” she once told me, “that this darling, darling little boy would be helping me publish my book.” She was 90 when I re-discovered Olas Grandes, and the project took roughly two years to manifest. She was involved peripherally. I would read passages to her that I didn’t understand, either because of her diction or place names, and asked her to explain. Cultural words, fauna, flora, and Trinidadian myths stayed with her, and she usually had no problem giving me details or stories associated with these passages.  

In the acknowledgments, you say you tried to keep Barbara’s voice intact during the editing process. Being a writer yourself, was that difficult? Did you ever find yourself wanting to impose your own style?
It was easier than I thought it’d be. I have a knack for imitating other writers, and have a lot of fun impersonating. I think of it like a painter trying to paint . . . oh anyone, to use a Trinidadian example, M.P. Alladin, by sight. (A more accessible example perhaps is how musicians “cover” other songs, which is not a rip off, but a compliment, a head nod, perhaps even an advertisement.)

​It’s a fantastic exercise to let go of the ego that writers so often cling to around their work, and this release opens up a unique freedom to explore the architecture of language from a new vantage point. Also, I hadn’t written much fiction yet (that’s changed significantly since then), so perhaps I had a leg up there. 
The setting in Trinidad plays such a big part in Olas Grandes. What did that place mean to Barbara? Do you know how she came to write Olas Grandes?
PictureYoung Barbara at McGill University
​At heart she’s an island girl fortified with the blood of a princess. She was born and raised in Trinidad, where her grandmother Rookubai (a princess escaping an arranged marriage) arrived around 1887, a stowaway on a ship from India. I mention India because many Indians held onto Hindu traditions – celebrating Diwali and the belief in reincarnation – even though Canadian missionaries attempted to convert all the Indians on the island to Christianity.

Although Hindu themes are peripheral in Olas Grandes, I think that Barbara’s interest not only in Hindu customs, but also her interest and study in the occult, was nurtured by island life. She called the Caribbean “the perfect background for dreaming.”

One of my persistent, and unanswered questions I posed to Barbara, was: who is the character Ma Becky based on? Many of her characters are fictionalizations of family members, usually adorned with pieces of herself. Ma Becky is the only character I could never see clearly with this template. Bab knew some Trinidadian witches when she was growing up, who lived on the beach, but part of me thinks that there’s quite a bit of herself in Ma Becky.

​Babbie always loved fairy tales, fables, and myths, partly because of their appeal to both children and adults. She stayed rooted to the Caribbean landscape because it’s where she spent her youth. She had also recently and tragically lost her son, David Rodman, in 1977, just a couple years before writing Olas Grandes. I think that writing the book was a way for her to enter an alternate reality, in which Davey was a young boy again, and she was living in an idyllic gothic romance in her home country, but that’s just a guess.

Did working on Barbara’s novel give you any new insights into her life? 



​Yes! The main new insight was how interested she was in witchcraft and the occult. Because of her looming dementia for the past decade, reading her novel helped me to recall what she was like before she lost her memory as well.

Barbara and I were close when I was young. She babysat me often. My parent’s first house, after I was born, was just around the corner from Babbie’s house. As sad as this may sound, I began to grieve her death about 10 years ago. When someone changes so drastically, it can feel like death. Certainly, there were moments of clarity, when Babbie's essence spritzed the room with a joke or one of her harsh criticisms, but often it was like she wasn't really home: her wit removed, no longer reading, writing, or talking on the phone.

It’s funny, but after she passed, especially when holding or reading her books, she appears to me not as a 92-year-old woman, but about my age, in her late twenties (younger than when I ever knew her in reality). And often in my mind, she’s hunched over and crawling through the brush like she did when I was a boy, chasing after the baseballs we knocked into the woods, (“beating the bush” she called it) and laughing.   
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Barbara and three-year-old David
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Barbara was able to see the book in print before the end of her life, wasn’t she? What was that like – for her and for you? 
PictureBarbara holds a review copy of her novel
​The review copy for her book arrived twelve days before she died. The same night we got the first full box of Olas Grandes copies was the night she passed away. Seeing her hold the book and flip through it was an incredible moment of this journey. With people still reading and buying and reviewing her book, that journey continues.

Between my mom and me, we read Babbie about seven chapters before she died. She didn’t remember writing the book, but at the end of each chapter she'd say, “I like this story, keep reading.” Usually when I'd read her the Detroit News she’d get burnt out listening about half-way through an article. Not so with Olas Grandes. I can only imagine what went on in her mind, listening to her grandson and daughter read words to her that she wrote some forty years ago. There was some magic there for all of us. 

Your uncle Ken created the stunning cover art. Was the cover design a collaborative process, or did you give him carte blanche? 
PictureThe book cover
My uncle Ken and I sat at the kitchen table for hours, discussing the project. When we decided that we were going to independently publish the book for temporal reasons, as well as “sweet romance” not being as salable as some of the more hardcore stuff in the romance marketplace, we decided that he’d paint the cover. I gave him some ideas, and we read some passages from the book aloud to give us a sense of voice and place. But Ken was born in Sangre Grande, so he knew what the coastline looks like better than I do!

One funny thing about the painting was that he started painting these tiny waves, but since olas grandes translates to “big waves”, my mom suggested making the breakers a little bigger. It was a Homer Simpson moment, I think he even smacked his forehead, “D’oh!”.  

Barbara’s bio says she also wrote Love Stories for All Centuries. Can you say more about that? She also contributed to the Detroit News Sunday magazine. What kinds of thing did she write for the magazine? 
PictureThe cover of Barbara's first book
​
​Love Stories is a magical little book weaving together love stories across three continents, the common thread plucked from a dreamlike vapor, the mist of eternity on which every story’s loomed. It’s her first book, published in 1985 by the International University Press and printed in an underground style. I’m biased but I think it’s an exceptional project. She mingles famous love stories with her own; lovers meet in and out of dream worlds, recognizing one another by their eyes, and it’s all built on the history of Trinidad, India, and Spain – her spiritual home.



​

Babbie would say to me, “I don’t believe in reincarnation. It’s not something I have to believe in because I know that I’ve lived another life in Spain.” Reading her books and articles in the Detroit Sunday News Magazine, which used to come folded inside the Sunday edition of the Detroit News, it’s clear that for Barbara, death was not a barrier but a reprieve. She concludes one of her many articles by writing, “I am a dreamer living in my own world of dreams. I hate reality, but Life is reality, therefore I compromise and leave my dreams alone for a while, as long as Life lasts. After Life, I can have my dreams and all the things I love all to myself.”

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One of Barbara's contributions to the Detroit Sunday News Magazine
​She wrote emotional pieces, like this one, but she also contributed silly articles. In one of my favorites, she talks about each item from “Twelve Days of Christmas” – partridge, pear tree, drummers, rings, etc. – and adds up their price, telling the beloved what to do with her gifts. Which ones to keep, which to donate to a local bird sanctuary (there are a lot of birds) and what she should now think of her “true love” after he heaps these excessive gifts into her lap. “I don’t know about you,” she writes, “but I’d be happy with a single gold ring.”
I see from the Olas Grandes Facebook page that you’ve been matching proceeds from sales and donating to worthy causes. What went into your decision to do that, and how’s it going?
This entire project revolves around a sense of duty. Not only to my grandmother, or our family, although that’s a large part of it, but there was also something more elusive, and larger.

I have a few practices I perform religiously. One is writing. Another is listening. Longstanding systemic health and social inequities disproportionately affect Black people in the US – and the coronavirus pandemic is highlighting that fact. It’s important to know where our money’s going. The decision to donate to Detroit Will Breathe is just one way to support the amazing anti-racist work being done right now, as people continue to march, and people continue to buy.
Do you have any other writing or editing projects in the works?
I just finished my first novella – it’s a work of literary fiction about the notorious Austro-Hungarian vampire Béla Kiss. I’m still waiting to hear back from a few of my favorite small presses. I’m also continuing to write flash fiction, film reviews, and poems.

Much of my own recent writing is forthcoming or published in online lit journals, and easily found if interested. (davidkuhnlein.wordpress.com) Also, sitting in my “to-do” pile are three more of Babbie’s full length manuscripts, two of which I’ve read, and are fantastic. I’m not promising anything, but if they get transcribed and edited, I’ll update the Olas Grandes fans on our Instagram, which I’m most active on @olasgrandesnovel.
Anything else you’d like to add?
​I absolutely love your blog, Nan, and I’m so honored. Babbie would have been ecstatic. Thank you, from all of us, for the interview.
2 Comments

This Friendly Month

7/1/2020

12 Comments

 
If April is the cruelest month, as T.S. Eliot contended, then July must be the friendliest.  At least ten countries celebrate Friendship Day in July: Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Ecuador, Mexico, Nepal, Pakistan, Spain, Uruguay, and Venezuela.
 
What better time, then, to commemorate a 33-year testament to an even longer friendship? 
PictureThe way we were -- as thirty-somethings

​​This particular tradition began in 1987, when I bought a blank book and wrote an entry in it for my friend Cindi’s birthday, promising to add another entry every year. With the exception of a few years that I somehow let slide by, I’ve kept my word, documenting the ups and downs of our lives—often eerily parallel—and our passage from thirty-somethings to senior citizens. 

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PictureLining up for high school commencement
​Our friendship goes back even further. My first recollections of Cindi are from fifth grade, when we were in different classes but sometimes hung out together on the playground. We got to know each other better in junior high and were best of friends by high school, when we spent countless hours cruising the Sonic together. When I moved away to Samoa, Cindi saved my letters, which proved invaluable in writing my memoir Mango Rash: Coming of Age in the Land of Frangipani and Fanta. In college, we were protest and peace-march buddies. 

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PictureYounger days
​Then we moved to different parts of the country: Cindi to Texas, me to California, then Kansas and Michigan. Yet we never lost touch, continuing to exchange letters and phone calls, then transitioning to email, and visiting each other when we could. In time, our interests and political leanings diverged. Quite a bit. I wouldn’t say we’re on opposite ends of the spectrum now—we still agree on many issues—but we do have distinct differences. Once that became apparent, though, we made a conscious decision not to let those differences undermine our friendship. 

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Picture1994 meet-up in Toronto, where we started the tradition of trying to find backdrops that attested to our (real or imagined) gorgeousness
 Fortunately, one thing we’ll always have in common is our offbeat sense of humor. That, and the birthday book—along with cards, calls, and emails—continue to cement our bond. Every year, Cindi mails the book back to me, and every year I write my entry—sometimes adding a photo of the two of us together, if we’ve managed a rendezvous that year—before mailing the book back. After all these years, the cloth cover, decorated with pressed flowers, has begun to fray. I guess that’s to be expected. We’re not quite as fresh as we were thirty-three years ago, either (though we like the think we are).

PictureA decade later, in another "beautiful" setting. Corpus Christi, Texas, 2004
​As memories have filled the book, and it’s become more precious to both of us, we’ve wondered if mailing it back and forth might be too risky, if maybe I should find a different way of adding entries.
 
That thought crossed my mind this year as I put the book in the mail a few weeks ago, intending for it to reach Cindi in plenty of time for her June birthday. 

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Departing from the beauty theme to document friendship in 2006
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Gorgeous again in 2007
​And then—oh, no—it happened. 
​Due to a post office snafu so byzantine it would take another whole blog post to detail, the book was lost in the mail. Not only did it not arrive in time for Cindi’s birthday, it went missing without tracking information, so there was no way of finding out where it had gone.
​We consoled ourselves with the knowledge we’d both made photocopies of the pages. Cindi wasn’t sure where she’d put hers, but I was pretty sure I’d made a copy just last year and put it in a file under her name. Sure enough, I found the copy in the file, only to discover I hadn’t made it last year, I’d made it nine years ago.
​Now, as we wait for the book to show up—and we have to believe it will show up—I look back at pictures from all those years and re-read the entries I managed to save and know that, book or no book, we’ll always  have something worth celebrating.
12 Comments

Adapt-Ability

6/17/2020

12 Comments

 
PictureJigsaw puzzles: among the new ways of entertaining ourselves
​In recent months, we’ve all had to adapt in ways we never expected: new ways of shopping, socializing, working, entertaining ourselves (jigsaw puzzles, anyone?). With Ray and me both retired, the changes weren’t as drastic for us as for many people. While there have been challenges, our adjustment has been relatively smooth, for which I’m grateful.
 
But this home-centered span of time has also shown me how un-adaptable I am in other parts of my life and how I’ve been holding onto expectations that don’t square with reality.

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​Take my activity patterns, for example. For most of my life, I was an early riser. During my working years, both as an employee and as a freelancer, I usually got up at 5 a.m. and started work at 7:30 or 8:00. For a while after I retired I continued waking up and getting out of bed by 5:00 or 6:00, whether I wanted to or not. I seemed to be hard-wired to get up and get going early.
 
In the past year or so, though, I’ve started sleeping till 7:00, 7:30, and sometimes even later. I feel like I need the sleep, like my body demands it, especially if I’ve done something intensely physical the day before, like a long hike or hours of outdoor work. 

PictureI am not a slug! (Photo: Peter Stevens)
​Yet every time I get up later than 6:00, I scold myself for being such a slug, and I still try to keep to a routine that’s based on getting up earlier: meditating and doing yoga before breakfast, then making and eating breakfast, doing some reading over breakfast, cleaning up my dishes and myself, getting dressed, making the bed, doing whatever else needs doing, like taking out the mail, and still being ready to start the day’s main activities (writing and book promotion in the morning; chores, errands, and recreation in the afternoon) by 8:30 or so.  
​
 So every day starts with this ridiculous and totally unnecessary tension about keeping to a ridiculous and totally unrealistic schedule.

PictureYoga: First thing in the morning? Or not.
​I’ve experimented with various alternatives—putting off yoga until later in the day, meditating before bed instead of first thing in the morning, streamlining this or that.
 
But I’m starting to see the problem isn’t with the routines themselves, it’s with my attitude toward them. So what if some mornings I get a late start and only have time to write for half an hour instead of an hour or two? Maybe I’ll make up for it another day. And if not, so what? Yes, I feel better on days when I write and I feel off-kilter when I don’t—writing is my happy pill, after all. And yes, I get great satisfaction from seeing the word count and page count increase by the day. But if the world comes to an end, I doubt it will be because I wrote 100 words today instead of 1,000.

PictureAhhh, the luxury
​My reality has shifted, and it’s high time to adapt to the new one instead of clinging to the old one. The truth is, I’ll probably never again routinely get up at 5:00. So why not try to see my sleeping-later habit for what it is—a response to a physical need, not a sign of sloth--and just enjoy the luxury of being able to structure my days around it.
 


​Which brings me to another realization about reality. Structure is something else I sometimes feel conflicted about. As I wrote in a 2016 blog post, we all have our own tolerance levels for chaos and structure, and finding the right balance between them is crucial for creativity.

PictureStructure provides a bit of certainty in uncertain times
​As I’ve been examining how to adjust my usual routines to my unpredictable sleep patterns, I’ve questioned whether I still need a routine at all. After all, I’m retired. Most of the things on my to-do list are want-to-dos, not have-to-dos. Why not just do what I feel like when I feel like it?
 
I’ve thought a lot about that lately, and I’ve come to this conclusion: There may be a time to ditch my routines, but this isn’t it. Experts say having consistent daily and weekly routines gives us a sense of certainty in these uncertain times. The trick is to make your days consistent, with enough variety to keep boredom at bay.

Sounds like exactly what I’m aiming for as I try to adapt to new realities. I’ll let you know how that works out.
 
Have you adapted in any surprising ways over the past months? Have you discovered aspects of your life you can let go of and others you still need to hold onto?
12 Comments

FIRST Wednesday Wisdom for June 2020

6/3/2020

9 Comments

 
If you've been a HeartWood subscriber for a while,  you may remember the Last Wednesday Wisdom feature that appeared on the last Wednesday of every month. When I switched to publishing blog posts only twice a month--on the first and third Wednesdays--that feature went away, except for occasional appearances in months with an extra Wednesday.
During these troubled times, though, I couldn't think of anything better to offer than a collection of wisdom from other minds. I hope you find comfort and inspiration here.
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Life is glorious, but life is also wretched. It is both. Appreciating the gloriousness inspires us, encourages us, cheers us up, gives us a bigger perspective, energizes us. We feel connected. But if that's all that's happening, we get arrogant and start to look down on others . . . On the other hand, wretchedness--life's painful aspect--softens us up considerably. . . but if we were only wretched . . . we'd be so depressed, discouraged, and hopeless that we wouldn't have enough energy to eat an apple. Gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us. They go together.
-- Pema Chödrön
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You only get one chance. You have one journey through life; you cannot repeat even one moment or retrace one footstep. It seems that we are meant to inhabit and live everything that comes toward us.
-- John O'Donohue
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Prejudice of any kind implies that you are identified with the thinking mind. It means you don't see the other human being anymore, but only your own concept of that human being. To reduce the aliveness of another human being is already a form of violence.
​-- Eckhart Tolle
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When you can't find someone to follow, you have to find a way to lead by example.
​-- Roxane Gay
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Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.
-- Rabindranath Tagore
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My sense of the holy . . . is bound up with the hope that someday, any millennium now, my remote descendants will live in a global civilization in which love is pretty much the only law.
​-- Richard Rorty
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We have to fight them daily, like fleas, those many small worries about the morrow, for they sap our energies.
-- Etty Hillesum
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You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.
​-- Maya Angelou
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You say to yourself when you are at liberty how desperate you are for your solitude, you love your periods of solitude, you scramble for it, you find ways of being by yourself so you can do what you want with yourself and your mind. But when you're deprived of it for a lengthy period then you value human companionship.
​-- Wole Soyinka
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9 Comments

How YOU Spent Your Corona-cations

5/20/2020

8 Comments

 
In the last installment of HeartWood, I wrote about some of the ways I've been filling my unexpected free time during the weeks of social distancing and Stay Home - Stay Safe. In this installment, I'm giving other folks a chance to share what they've been doing. And what a variety of things they've come up with!

Check them out!

Tonya Howe
Croton, Michigan

​I've been puttering around with a few drawings and one of Eldon eating soup.
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Laura Bailey
​Hartland, Michigan

I'm still working half-time at U-M (currently from home), but with the extra time I've been taking my dog Eleanor for long, meandering walks around the farm fields and vacant land and building sites surrounding our home in Hartland. Unfortunately, the ticks are out like mad, so we can't go off trail as much as I'd like. 
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Eleanor and Laura
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Eleanor sporting sportswear
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Eleanor recuperating from a strenuous outing

Eileen Kent
​Croton, Michigan

I’ve been out weeding the garden - staring into space - sitting on the outdoor swing and watching the river - baking too much!  Ahhh, lethargy!  There was a moment of inspiration though - I pulled out some fabric scraps and made a table topper for upcoming Memorial Day.  Now back to staring into space . . . 
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Eileen's table topper

Cindi McDonald
​McKinney, Texas

We have been watching too much TV, Netflix and Amazon Prime.  Also, managing to work out at least three times a week. ​

And we're enjoying housebound happy  hours with the help of our new margarita maker!
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A little TV time, well-deserved after a workout.
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The margarita machine, ready for happy hour

Kendra McKimmy
​Croton, Michigan

​I have joyfully been working in my garden (look how big the garlic is already!) and last week canned a couple gallons of maple syrup. Keeping very busy around here even though my regular artsy muse took off for parts unknown.
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Kendra's impressive garlic crop
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And maple syrup!

Emily Everett
​Grosse Pointe Woods, Michigan

I’ve never been a jigsaw puzzler but a friend sells them so I bought some to support her local business. It’s hard for me to focus on anything for very long during stressful times but I get lost in a puzzle, every time. Even writing this for Nan makes me feel like I took a happy pill.
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Emily's choice of puzzles reflects her passions: yoga . . .
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. . . and Frida Kahlo!

Brenda Huckins Bonter
Newaygo, Michigan

A great time to create. In my walks in the woods I find so many "tree spirits." They fascinate me, so I've finished ten so far. I do a quick sketch on site, then add sharpie and watercolor. Now working on grad gift caricatures.
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Janet Glaser
Fremont, Michigan

I've been working on learning how to bake bread. I tried early in my marriage, but too time consuming and nothing would rise!! I think the yeast has improved because I've had success in baking loaves of bread AND in making pizza crust.

My husband "designed" the one with the wreath of pepperoni slices and lots of onions. Mine was not so carefully thought out. Anyway I made the sauce too! It was fun. 

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The pepperoni-wreathed pizza
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And Janet's free-form creation. Both look yummy!

Phyllis Flanigan and Mike King
​Farmington Hills, Michigan

We’ve got a quilter friend who went into auto overdrive, sewing masks and scrub caps for healthcare and front-line workers. So we are her crew, turning right side out and ironing everything she sews. Last week we topped the 4,400 mark (just the two of us).  With our small group, we’ve topped over 10,500.

So that has been keeping us busy. Trying to get in some daily yoga and weight lifting. We also started going to wave at Mom every Monday morning at 10. That’s fun. ❤️
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Some of the masks Phyllis and Mike have helped make

Kathy Misak 
Newaygo, Michigan

Last Tuesday was a special Covid day. I got to hang out 2 loads of wash and get out the very quiet weed whip and head down to the river for some enjoyable work. I also got the clippers out and cut the grasses out of the iris bed.

Many games of Scrabble have been going on in our house, and each night now we seem to gravitate to The Newshour on PBS. Making a call to a friend or family member is an almost daily event. Meditation is becoming a regular part of my day and I hope it continues.

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The Muskegon River behind Kathy and Rod's house

Jan Ross
Arcata, California

I have been forced to become a walker rather than a swimmer the last few months. My dogs love it and it has been spectacular watching everything come to life this spring. So very grateful to live where I do.
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Arcata Community Forest
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Jan's very willing walking buddies, Kip and Nixie
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Ray Pokerwinski
Croton, Michigan

When I'm not patrolling the area in my role as self-appointed neighborhood watchman, I've been spending time in my workshop. My latest project is making hand-turned bottle stoppers.

I also created a fairy fire station for Camp Newaygo's Virtual Enchanted Forest event last month.

And like Cindi and Dale, we're enjoying home-centered happy hours, too.
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This one even lights up, for a little romantic ambience
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The Fairyland fire station
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Happy hour, backyard style

Laurel Sercombe
​Seattle, Washington

Editor's note: Laurel is an ethnomusicologist and the most devoted Beatles fan I've ever known.
​One thing I spent too much time on was adapting my (famous) lecture on the Beatles for an online popular music class at the University of Washington using Zoom - weird not to be able to engage directly with the students. Also, I gave blood.
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Laurel in 2002 at the Abbey Road crosswalk made famous by the Beatles

Sally Wagoner
Croton, Michigan

​After initial quarantine tasks such as cleaning out drawers and closets, the promise of birth, growth and renewal overcame the need for order. We talk everyday: me and these little giving friends who awaken like babes from a nap. They give me hope.

And 
every morning I take a barefoot walk into my "woods" - about a dozen trees at the end of our drive - to see how my shady native plants are faring.
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Gloria Switzer
​Fremont, Michigan

I have a designated recipe and cookbook cupboard in my kitchen, filled with recipes from my now deceased mother and mother-in-law as well as my own recipes, some in small wooden recipe boxes, although most were loosely scattered all over the cupboard. Plus, there was a multitude of recipes I had cut out from magazines, newspapers and the back of packages, for at least the last 4 decades or more!

I took the whole mess out of the cupboard and put them on the kitchen table with great intentions of getting them and that cupboard organized! It took a very long time (think weeks not hours) to go through them, reorganize or throw them away or rewrite the ones that were so stained and tattered they were useless. We ate on TV trays many times during that extended project!

​In all of that mess I found a delightful surprise; a recipe in my Grandmother's handwriting for Sour Cream Cake, that I swear, I had never seen in my life! The cake was tasty! She would be 132 years old this year. 
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Project in progress
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Gloria ready to try the cake recipe
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The recipe

Valerie Roberts
​Durham, North Carolina

What I missed most in isolation is playing with my 3-year-old grandson, Roman, so in addition to FaceTime on the phone with him a couple times a week, I wrote him an adventure story. I mailed him a chapter every two days. Each chapter introduced three new animals, all of which live in north America. I sent a link of the story to my neighborhood list serve and was gratified to read thanks from parents and grandparents anxious for activities. It was fun for me to create, fun for him to read, and according to his parents, fun for them to read aloud.  

Read and download "Isolation Adventure" here.

Sandy VandenBerg
Fremont, Michigan

Editor's note: Sandy and her native plant garden were featured in a 2018 HeartWood blog post. This spring she has been giving away extra plants to friends, via social-distancing pick-ups.
Stay home and stay safe was a gift in some ways. My gardens have never been so well tended. Really enjoyed knowing the plants are going to good homes.
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Sandy's plants, potted up and ready for pick-up

Katherine Myers
Claremore, Oklahoma

 I've always been active in the gardens, but I've increased just walking--and have lost 10 pounds during the shutdown. I'm happy and my doctor is too! Though I don't have a blog, photos for my Lily Hill page force me to stop gardening and appreciate the views, far and close up,
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Lily Hill, a gardening hobby that grew and grew
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And iris
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A little early for lilies, but not for peonies
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So lovely!

Kay Cummings
Newaygo, Michigan

Hiking is one thing I’ve been trying to do to be active, in addition to yoga about 3 times a week.  Beyond that, I’ve been continuing my piano lessons (on my own), and planning my wedding, which was last Saturday and was quite different than the one we originally planned!  Much simpler, with only 10 people, but very nice just the same.
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Proper wedding attire, 2020-style
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Kay and Bob, unmasked

Rebecca Howey
Rochester Hills, Michigan

Editor's note: Rebecca's "one or two sentences" came in at 774 words. I didn't want to cut a bit of it, though, because there's a lot of good stuff here! (I keep telling her she should have her own blog.) I just gotta say, it's a good thing I didn't ask for pictures to go with it.

The most beneficial thing (much better than vacuuming, which I have not done) has been the free Coursera from Yale called "The Science of Well-Being." It's really about what makes us truly happy and how to get there. Spoiler alert: it's not what our culture tells us.
 
Also, these days it's a bit disconcerting to see the non-virtual students sitting close to each other and hear them coughing!  (Has anyone else been yelling at their tv screens? It can be the most innocuous old sitcom and I'm all, "Don't shake hands! OMG, now you're hugging each other! OMG, OMG, OMG!" I'm better at this now, but it was rough for a while there.)
 
I have been knitting up a storm - charity knitting, mostly with "legacy" yarn I inherited from a friend's stash. I also made miles and miles of chain stitch cord and mailed it off to a friend who is converting her fabric stash into face masks she's giving away. (She and housemate totally ran out of elastic, old t-shirts and potholder loops. Their dining room is like a small factory.)
 
I think doing things for others is especially good just now, though it was more than sobering to consider that the hats, sweaters, and ponchos I was making for the Navajo school kids might . . . well, you know.
 
I dusted off my elderly Kindle and learned that, with a newer software download, it is Way Less Annoying. I've read and read and read!
 
I have been going through my DVD collection and Watching All The Bonus Features. The directors' commentaries for Bend It Like Beckham, Seabiscuit, and Monsoon Wedding were almost better than the films.
 
This last one might seem counterintuitive.
 
It started when a Facebook friend (a friend of friends in real life, one of the few FB friends I've not met) shared a post from the Holocaust and Humanity Center in Cincinnati. They were having a virtual book club. First up was Elie Wiesel's Night, which I had never had the courage to read by myself. Being part of a group was helpful. The next book was Anne Frank's diary, which I had read, so I fired up the Kindle and read Francine Prose's book about the book and its author. Wow! I learned all kinds of stuff.
 
I also learned how much I swear when figuring out the arcane magic tricks of the multiple websites required to borrow e-books not owned by my library.
 
I did not, however, curse during any of my several calls to the library staff who helped me gain access. I think one of them wanted to, though; that episode was something goofy in the library's circ software.
 
It was all worth it in the end, though, AND WHAT ELSE DID I HAVE TO DO? A jigsaw puzzle of Easter eggs, shaped like an egg. Also coloring, knitting, and - OK! - vacuuming, like that's gonna happen.
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This organization, the Holocaust and Humanity Center, offers all kinds of online sessions. There's one later this week about preserving your family artifacts: photos and other things. (They have a website and multiple FB pages.)

AND, because I attended a bunch of those, I got invited to a series of Holocaust survivor presentations from a community college in New Jersey that is absolutely inspiring. They tell the tale, but the focus is on resilience.  
 
Also MSU Extension "Cabin Fever" presentations. The most hilarious thing there is that I forwarded the follow-up email with its many citations to a cousin, who replied, "I was 'there' too!"  
 
And the mourning dove chicks on the front porch have flown the coop. Stupid birds! But I did learn that just before they fledge, a normal human being will be convinced that their no good rotten birdbrain parents have abandoned them. That was good to know, because it was gonna be one Huge Moral Dilemma whether I fed those things or not. Last I saw them, they (two of them) were standing up in the flower pot under the porch light and looking like it was time to steal the car keys and light out for the Dairy Queen.
 
WHAT WOULD WE BE WITHOUT THE INTERNET IN ALL OF THIS? Mostly insane. I might even be vacuuming.
 
Another thing I have done is re-read Salinger's story "For Esme - with love and squalor" or whatever it's called. The whole thing is online as a pdf.
 
It has come up in multiple conversations (because I MAKE IT), because I firmly believe that the ONLY thing that we must do during this time is "survive with our faculties intact." Job One, right there.  ​
8 Comments

How I Spent My Corona-cation

5/6/2020

35 Comments

 
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I realize the past couple of months have been anything but a holiday for many people: those who’ve faced illness themselves or cared for ailing family members, those who’ve lost loved ones, others who have lost their jobs or whose professions put them in harm’s way. My heart goes out to all those people and everyone else who has been negatively impacted by COVID-19.
 
I feel fortunate that so far, at least, this time of isolation has been a kind of respite for me. When it all began, back in mid-March, I thought to myself: Well, I always wanted to go on a creativity retreat in some peaceful place. Here’s my chance!
​And for the most part, that’s how I’ve approached it. Here in our quiet patch of woods, with no outside commitments, I’ve been free to focus on projects I find it hard to concentrate on when I’m always on the go. And a funny thing has happened: The further we get into Stay Home – Stay Safe, the more protective I’ve become of my free time and solitude.
 
Like most people during this time, I’ve been deluged with a mind-boggling number of invitations to Facebook Live events, Zoom gatherings, free webinars, and other virtual happenings. My internet service’s dwindling data allowance won’t permit me to join in most of those, and while I truly regret having to turn down some invitations—especially From the Heart Yoga’s Zoom classes and chats with my yogini sisters—I haven’t minded passing up the rest. They’ve felt like distractions, in the same way that outside commitments often do.
 
So how have I been spending my precious retreat time? Let me count the ways . . . 

​1. Writing

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I’ve been working steadily on my novel-in-progress. Rather than spinning out pages, I decided to take a more disciplined approach, guided by the process Lisa Cron champions in her book Story Genius: How to Use Brain Science to Go Beyond Outlining and Write a Riveting Novel (Before You Waste Three Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere). The title itself was enough to sell me on the book, and as I work my way through it I’m becoming even more of a fan.
 
It’s hard work, requiring a lot of thought and a lot of writing, followed by digging deeper, thinking more, and writing more. Being able to spend hours in concentrated work, not just stolen minutes here and there, has led to much-needed breakthroughs. Finally, I’m getting some clarity on how to achieve what I’m trying to achieve in the story I’m working on.

​2. Decorating

​Early in our Newaygo life—around a decade ago—I scoured flea markets, antiques shops, and ebay for interesting picture frames, visualizing a gallery of old family pictures in our upstairs hallway. Those frames have sat in a trunk in the guest bedroom all these years, waiting for me to fill them. Every month of every year I’ve thought I’d get to it, and every month of every year has somehow gotten filled up in other ways.
 
Finally, I gathered frames and photos, did the necessary prep work, and with Ray’s help, hung them in the hall. Here are the pictures that now have homes:
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My parents on their wedding day
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Ray's parents on their wedding day
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My mother (in front) with sister Opal and brother Ralph
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My dad (seated) with brother Oral
​While I was at it, I framed a few more of my nature photos to hang in my studio and the guest room. I’m happy seeing the empty spaces filled and even happier having done something that had been on my to-do list far too long.
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3. ​Lending a (Virtual) Hand

​A volunteer opportunity cropped up: entering data for a ballot initiative for which I’d helped gather signatures. I thought, Why not? I certainly have the time! It’s a simple task—just taking names, phone numbers, and email addresses from cell-phone photos of petitions and entering the info onto a spreadsheet. A little hard on the eyes, but easy on the brain, which suits me fine right now.
​

4. Pathfinding  

PictureA new path from our back yard into the woods

​​Every spring, one of our tasks is cleaning up downed trees and branches in the patch of woods around our house. Ray cuts up the wood and runs the small and medium-sized pieces through the chipper. I gather up the chips and spread them on the paths we’ve made around our property. This year has yielded enough chips for me to create a new path or two. In the process of making many chip-laden wheelbarrow trips, I rack up an astonishing number of steps, according to my Fitbit. Between that work and my wanderings in the woods (see item #4), I’ve been covering some serious miles.

PictureThis patch could be mine!
​Enter the North Country Trail Association’s Hike 100 Challenge. The idea is to hike 100 miles in a year. Normally, those miles have to be on the North Country Trail (though it doesn’t matter whether you hike the same mile 100 times or cover 100 unique miles of trail). But this year, in response to shelter-in-place directives, the association bent the rules to allow all miles walked in April and May—in your backyard, around the house or neighborhood, on the treadmill—to count toward the total.
 
I’ve been keeping track, and I’ve already passed the 60-mile mark. I could very well hit 100 by the end of this month.

​5. Woods wandering 

True, I do this all the time, not just when we’re on lockdown. But spending time in nature has been particularly restorative during this time of unprecedented events and uncertainty. I hauled out my cameras, which I’d been neglecting while busy with book promotion, and discovered anew the joy of wandering around, photographing flowers, flowing water, and woodland creatures.
 
Here are a few shots from my wanderings. You’ll find more at the end of this post. 

​6. Trying something new

​I read an article by nature photographer Melissa Groo about an unusual technique for photographing fast-moving birds in flight. Intrigued, I tried it out that very afternoon, trying to catch chickadees and nuthatches coming and going at the bird feeder.
 
While my results aren’t quite where I’d like yet, in terms of sharpness, I was happy to at least capture a complete bird—not just tail feathers at the edge of the frame—on a fair number of attempts. I’m showing you these not because they’re anything to brag about, but because they represent the kind of patient, try-try-again attitude that’s easier to adopt when you’re not trying to fit so many things into your day.

​7. Resting and reflecting

​Emptiness is the pregnant void out of which all creation springs.
-- Wayne Muller
​The above quote is from an article titled “Fear of Rest” in the May issue of The Sun magazine, excerpted from Muller’s book Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest. As so often happens, I came across the article at precisely the time I needed to read it. Musing on the necessity of rest—and our resistance to it—made me more appreciative of having time to intersperse rest with periods of activity. The older I get, the more I respect rest, but I still need reminding sometimes that it’s a legitimate use of time, not only to restore the body, but also to feed creativity.

​How have the past couple of months been for you? How are you feeling about re-entry?

Enjoy a nature break . . . 
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Springtime on the Little Muskegon River
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Rocks and skeletonized leaf in nearby creek
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This single crocus popped up in a patch of leaves. Sometimes solitary can be beautiful.
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Bark beetle tracks in a fallen branch
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Creek scene
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First trillium of the season
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Skeletonized leaf on log
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Little forest friend
35 Comments

Poems for a Planet

4/15/2020

10 Comments

 
​Even in this strange and uncertain time, we can find reasons to celebrate. Two big reasons come to mind this month.
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​April is National Poetry Month, and if ever there was a time to read poetry, it’s now, when many of us have extra reading time and are looking to fill our minds with something other than dire news reports.

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​​This month also brings the 50th anniversary of the first Earth Day next Wednesday, April 22. Though the mass celebrations that had been planned will no longer be possible, we can still commemorate the day.

Combining these two celebrations, National Poetry Month and Earth Day, I asked local (and not-so-local) poets to contribute Earth Day poems to today’s blog. I’m happy to share those with you now, along with the collage I created for the occasion.
As I worked on the collage, I went back and forth in my mind about whether to portray the vision of a healthy Earth that many of us had on the first Earth Day in 1970 or the reality of Earth in 2020. In the end, I opted for the more hopeful vision, because I want to believe there's still hope. 
​Once the piece was done, however, I noticed it's darker than most of my other collages (many of which are now posted on the COLLAGES page on my website). Perhaps in the end, my Earth Day collage reflects both hope and concern, themes you'll find in the poems below.
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Earth Day 2020 by Nan
And now, poetry.

Sunset Off Brockway
by Jon Riedel

The way the sun drips through the trees
feels like the tart sting of oranges
sliced through on a cold winter morning
the shadows sway on uneven stilts 
purposeful but perhaps a bit drunk
hawks flying through the thin mist
 
we did not come here to talk
but to recall bloodlines and bruises
to watch the ache of God's wounded finger
find its solace in the sky
we came to watch the forest settle
shivering around an old circle of coals
 
To pull new yarn out of old wool
to re-dye the worn, faded blue
to an unspoken, holy red
to choose new stones to throw
into the solitude of the lake
to settle into the night
and watch the fireflies shiver and shake

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On Revisiting an Ancient Headland 
​by Tim Hawkins

​I struggle to recall the words of those long-ago incantations,
but I can still feel the sun, and the sand spray of those of us
 
who ran down to the continent’s edge to shout wild oaths
and promises, twisted and torn from the wind itself.
 
Hoping for what exactly? I don’t recall. A certain slant of light,
or a feeling of home on the sun and sea-blasted turf?
 
It all looks so weathered now in a way that has grown familiar;
the landscape possesses the face that it has earned.
 
Not searching for monuments, though open to any eventuality,
I remember us, suddenly, as pleased and shy as deer in fields of spring,
 
not as tail-less, lumbering animals, growling and sniffing
for the bones we had buried and lost.
 
Ferns sprout large and primordial where none had grown
in the shaded region above the tides.
 
The sea has crept in closer; it has taken on an ancient aspect.
 
Through broken teeth I whisper a few broken words
and listen for those long-ago incantations.
 
Our footprints left a faint impression of our lives,
but the wind has carried the songs away to the sea.
 
* First published in Blueline: June 2011, Volume 32
Collected in Wanderings at Deadline (Aldrich Press, 2012)

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​Sitting in the Woods
by Katie Clark

​This silent
green life and death place.
Life bursts forth,
buzzing around me.
Death underfoot-
covering the forest floor.
Smelling of earthy must
and sweet pine.
Fallen trees, once promising,
now slowly decaying back into
Life-giving soil.
Life and Death-
existing in this shared space.
Life and Death, working
hand in hand.
Life giving into Death
giving into Life.
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Photo by Katie Clark

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I Think They Will Not Mind
by Marsha Reeves

Ninendaan gaawiin waa-babaamendanzimowaad
I think they will not mind that
 
wiikaa bi-dagoshinaan.
I arrive late.
 
Gijiigijigaaneshiiyag gii-giimoodaanagidoowag noopiming
The chickadees were mumbling in the bushes
 
besho naadazina’iganing.
by the box where I get mail.
 
Andawendaanaawaa Manaadendamaazowin
They needed an Honor Song
 
mii wenji-nagamotawagwaa
so I sang to them
 
nisidawenmangwaa miinawaa
because we understand them again
 
ezhi-manaadenimangwaa ingiw wiidokawiyangidwaa
the way we respect those who keep us company
 
gabe biboon
all winter.
 
Gaawiin da-giizhokoniyesiiwag misawa
They do not need to dress warm and yet
 
giizhokawiyangidwaa gidode’iminaaning.
they warm our hearts.

* First published on ojibwe.net

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Written on the Wind
by Tom Cordle

I am Soulofhawk come to sing my song – may your ears and heart be opened.

I stumble in this foreign tongue and try to make the talk
I speak of when this land was young, and of my brother hawk
My spirit voice is hard to hear, I have so long been gone
But I will whisper in your ear, and having spoke, move on

This finger pushed into the sea of sand and swamp and pine
Has been a welcome home to me – I sing this land of mine . .. . 
Of night song sung in joyous trill by every kind of fowl . . . 
Of chickadee and whippoorwill . . . of warning from the owl . . . 

Of plenty fish and wild oats . . . of berries blue and red
That danced their way down happy throats to bellies always fed . . .
Of rivers coursing through green world of gleaming golden lake . . .
Of alligator, hog and squirrel . . . of moccasin the snake . . .
​
The screaming panther ruled the pine, the eagle ruled the sky –
Oh, will you hear these words of mine? Will you even try?
I have no words on talking leaves for you to read, my friend
For all this simple man believed was written on the wind.

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Animal Planet 
​by Tim Hawkins

​While we bow our heads to the ground
and our hearts seek meaning among the stars,
wild creatures assert their presence
in the here and now
and the just here and gone.
 
Unknowable in the way one speaks
of the alien and other-worldly,
the title to their kingdom is forged
in their absolute
manifestation of the flesh.
 
If this seems ironic and abstract,
then so be it.
 
For irony and abstraction
are our great gifts--
not to the world, but to ourselves--
invented for our survival.
 
And we, of course, are the real aliens;
Each a world unto one’s own,
orbiting a sun of its own devising.
 
* First published in Sixfold, July 1, 2013, Summer 2013
Collected in Jeremiad Johnson (In Case of Emergency Press, 2019)


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Our Mother  (In the Pandemic of 2020)
by Sally C. Kane

Listen!
          Do you hear her – Our Great Mother?
                      In this moment, in time - a reprieve -
                      when all human activity
                      has slowed to bare bones minimum,
                      She inhales an expanse of cleaner air.
                      Exhales a wasteland of toxins.
 
          Do you hear her – Our Great Mother?
                      She weeps for us, her children – All
                      Residents, two-legged and four,
                      winged, finned and serpentine. We
                      share the same earth, sea and air.
                      We, the two-legged ones, hold
                      the choices in concert with Our Mother.
                      Even as forces seem out of control, and
                      the playing field remains unequal.
 
          Do you feel her – Our Great Mother?
                      She shudders as the sludge venoms
                      from Frack wells, the vast desolation
                      from wildfires, and endless wars’ ravages
                      do a rival dance with the C-virus.
 
          I wonder about this massive
                      Blue Marble in our universe. The
                      one we call home. Our Mother. 
                      There’s nowhere else to go.  We cannot
                      just walk off or fly away.
 
          I wonder, if I were an astronaut, or
                      could hitch a satellite ride, how - in this
                      Pandemic blink of time –would
                      Our Mother, our home - look?
                      Would her greens be greener, her blues
                      be bluer,  her storms less turbulent,
                      her mass free from veils of smog?
 
          Like a cataclysm, would I see
                      a rotating orb, vibrating
                      glimmers of brighter, kinder energy?
                      Perhaps violet or white? Would
                      I know – would we all know- we’ve
                      begun to exercise our choices for love?
 

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Mother's Milk
by Jessica Mondello

Control and fear became our story
Addiction lies between the lines
And love was lost to pride and glory
This ego virus made us blind
 
Your mother's dying by your hands
But you won't listen
Her blood is all over your hands
Will you listen
 
The soul was lost beyond the shadows
The fog will choke us into dust
Collective conscience chose the gallows
The time of man will turn the dust
 
Your mother's dying by your hands
You won't listen
Her blood is all over your hands
Will you listen 

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The Soul of Spring
by Kathy Misak

​I hear it in the river.
I see it in the buds of the maple.
I hear it in the sounds of the red wing black bird.
 
Inquisitive cat so happy to be playing outside
Warm breeze on the back of my neck
 
I see it in the new bright yellow feathers of the gold finch.
I hear it in a distant barking dog.
 
Ever grateful to be walking this Earth mother experiencing my spring soul

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And The Earth Stayed Young
by Tom Cordle

​Once the land was green
And the buffalo could roam
The rivers clear and clean
Washed by our simple homes
And all turned in the wheel
And the sacred song was sung
To teach us what was real
And the earth stayed young
Once a man would take
No more than he could use
Set bones back in the lake
When a meal of fish was through
And all turned in the wheel
And the sacred song was sung
To teach us what was real
And the earth stayed young
     
Once the earth was young
And men saw with their hearts
That everything was one
And man was but a part
And all turned in the wheel
And the sacred song was sung
To teach us what was real
And the earth stayed young
Now the earth is old
The buffalo are gone
The rivers have been sold
And man stands all alone
Let all turn in the wheel
And sing the sacred song
To teach us what is real
So the earth stays young

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What Have You Learned
by Jessica Mondello

​You can't eat the money
That you've all been praying on
That God has only destroyed you
And you can't drink the oil 
You've been pulling out of the ground
Your momma's shaken and torn . . . fool
 
Do you know what you are
And what you're here for
When it all comes crashing down
What have we learned
 
Distractions have kept you
From what's really going on
Keeping you away from your mother
Her life source you could tap into
Can heal that broken bond
Yes, you can get there inside you
 
Do you know what you are
And what you're here for
When it comes crashing all down
What have we learned

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Pale Blue Seasons
          by Tim Hawkins         

​There is a sudden authority to nightfall
in the flight of a heron, and to the surrounding
darkness where countless feed.
 
But so much that is unattainable, so much
that lies beyond the sovereign dark, rises up
out of the pale blue season of twilight
 
like fireflies summoning among the trees
as the moon loses her translucent and ghostly pallor
in the evening’s first clear and troubling dreams.
 
***
 
Toward daylight, the deer rise up
from among the flattened grasses
and low-lying hummocks,
 
emerging in the cool of morning
from indiscernible swales
and cedar swamps,
 
wary and shy, but alive with owning
at least a part of this
pale blue season of wildflowers.

* First published in Blueline: June 2011, Volume 32
Collected in Wanderings at Deadline (Aldrich Press, 2012)


You can find links to many more poems on Tim Hawkins's website at https://www.timhawkinspoetry.com/links-to-poems-and-more.html
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    Nan Sanders Pokerwinski, a former journalist, writes memoir and personal essays, makes collages and likes to play outside. She lives in West Michigan with her husband, Ray.

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