January 28, 2009
In just a couple of weeks we will be planting rows and rows of potatoes. This will begin another season of gardening, another cycle of starting seeds in the greenhouse and transplanting vigorous young plants into the waiting beds. We will end up by planting all the “row crops” of peas and beans, corn and okra, on Good Friday.
Those of you who help pick the squash and blueberries, help dig the potatoes and gather the cucumbers, know how much fun we have in the garden. And those of you who help shell the peas, snap the beans and shuck the corn all tell us how much better the food tastes when you’ve helped in the preparation.
A famous writer died today. His name was John Updike. I remember he wrote a poem once about how children no longer learn the art of hoeing and working in a garden. That made him sad. He would be surprised to see how many of you get up before breakfast to come to the garden… Here is his poem.
Hoeing
I sometimes fear the younger generation
will be deprived
of the pleasures of hoeing;
there is no knowing
how many souls have been formed by this
simple exercise.
The dry earth like a great scab breaks,
revealing
moist-dark loam --
the pea-root's home,
a fertile wound perpetually healing.
How neatly the great weeds go under!
The blade chops the earth new.
Ignorant the wise boy who
has never rendered thus the world
fecunder.
John Updike
Meet you at the Orange Mailbox… Sarah Dabney
December 21, 2008
When I was little, I memorized poems to recite for my grandmother for her Christmas present each year. It wasn’t always a poem – I think I did the Gettysburg Address one year. The most memorable poem (and the one she liked the best) was Robert Frost’s Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening.
Today is the Winter Solstice which means tonight is the longest night of the year. I only found out today that Robert Frost was referring to the Winter Solstice in the poem with the line “the darkest night of the year.”
I just took Red and Blue out for a walk before bed and the night sky is amazing. The stars are brilliant and sparkling and I am sure that Frost was inspired by a night like this to write his famous poem.
I’ve had a lot of Christmas celebrations, and when I look back over the years, I think the best gifts I’ve ever given were reciting those poems for my grandmother. That gave us a connection. Sometimes it is the simple things – baking, decorating, sitting around the dinner table, reciting poems, – that end up meaning the most to us later.
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.” (Robert Frost, 1922)
I hope you have a wonderful holiday with those you love and that many years from now you’ll have fond memories of this special season.
Meet you at the Orange Mailbox… Sarah Dabney
December 1, 2008
“How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?” — Theodor Seuss Geisel aka Dr. Seuss.
That says it all! We’ll turn around twice and look for you all coming through that Orange gate. In the meantime, have some fun!
Meet you at the Orange Mailbox… Sarah Dabney
November 22, 2008
Just before lunch everyday (it may be broadcast at a different time where you live) there is a 5 minute program on National Public Radio called The Writer’s Almanac. I like to listen to it when I can – and download it as a podcast when I miss it. Garrison Keillor talks about authors and poets and ends by reading a poem.
When I was younger I discovered a very clever poetry book called Opposites by Richard Wilbur. It had some funny illustrations which I liked as much as the poems. Years later Richard Wilbur became a United States Poet Laureate. Here is his poem about squash.
The opposite of squash? Offhand,
I’d say that it might be expand,
Enlarge, uncrumple, or inflate.
However, on a dinner plate
With yellow vegetables and green,
The opposite of squash is bean.
I hope you will enjoy these beautiful, cold days by curling up with a good book or perhaps writing a little poetry of your own…
Meet you at the Orange Mailbox… Sarah Dabney
