National Poetry Month, Poem #15

A Letter from Home

She sends me news of blue jays, frost,
Of stars and now the harvest moon
That rides above the stricken hills.
Lightly, she speaks of cold, of pain,
And lists what is already lost.
Here where my life seems hard and slow,
I read of glowing melons piled
Beside the door, and baskets filled
With fennel, rosemary and dill,
While all she could not gather in
Or hid in leaves, grow black and falls.
Here where my life seems hard and strange,
I read her wild excitement when
Stars climb, frost comes, and blue jays sing.
The broken year will make no change
Upon her wise and whirling heart; -
She knows how people always plan
To live their lives, and never do.
She will not tell me if she cries.
I touch the crosses by her name;
I fold the pages as I rise,
And tip the envelope, from which
Drift scraps of borage, woodbine, rue.
-Mary Oliver

I had to find a picture online of the blue jay. It is rare to see one around my place.

Waiting

"We can only appreciate the miracle of a sunrise

if we have waited in darkness". unknown
I took this picture today of my springer spaniel Annie. JEJ tells me this is her waiting position each day close to the time I am to arrive home. He says she will wait and wait in that same spot. From this window she can see the driveway and hear my car. Of course, I have reminded him that she does exactly the same thing when he is gone. She is just a waiting dog. She doesn't show favortism.
As I read other blogs today her picture and the quote above had me thinking about the word waiting. Some blogger friends are waiting for trees to bloom, seeds to sprout, and bulbs to emerge. Others are waiting for snow to leave, soil to warm, the sun to come out. A week ago at Colors of the Garden Kerri showed beautiful pictures of crocuses blooming that she had taken with her new camera. Today she showed the same crocuses surrounded by snow. I was waiting to enjoy the sunshine and work outdoors today. It was pouring down rain most of the day. We cleaned the garage, which later we did admit was a good thing, but how we missed being outdoors.
One of the beauties of being a passionate gardener is waiting. The rhythm of gardening is one thing we cannot control in our lives. We wait for good weather, we wait for roses to bloom, we wait for leaves to turn in the fall. Gardening teaches us to be patient. It also teaches us to be observant. It allows us to let go. I am waiting for the crab apple to bloom, and still waiting for a sunny day. Maybe Annie has never been waiting for me to return home, but is observing her own world and waiting for the lilac to bloom or the special dogwood to bud out.
As natural events unfold in my gardening beds, I will wait once again for daily changes and surprises. There is a rhythm to the gardening life- we just have to wait to find out what will happen next.

The Second Spring Bouquet from My Garden

"Arranging a bowl of flowers in the morning can give a sense of quiet in a crowded day - like writing a poem, or saying a prayer." Anne Morrow Lindbergh

National Poetry Month, Poem #14

Counting-Out Rhyme

Silver bark of beech, and sallow
Bark of yellow birch and yellow
Twig of willow.

Stripe of green in moosewood maple,
Color seen in leaf of apple,
Bark of popple.

Wood of popple pale as moonbeam,
Wood of oak for yoke and barn-beam
Wood of hornbeam.

Silver bark of beech, and hollow
Stem of elder, tall and yellow
Twig of willow.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

These pictures show my weeping willow and trees from our ten mile drive. I love the poetic sounds that blend in this poem.

A Keeper From the Recipe Box: Sibling Assignment #18

The sibling writing assignment this week with Raymond Pert and Silver Valley Girl: A chapter in my cookbook will be titled “Sibling Memories and Recipes.” Share a favorite recipe/memoir piece for the chapter.

“Good recipes like good books are often those that come to us from someone else, recommended both for what they are and the relevance they hold in our lives.” -L. Critchley and H. Windrath
I love to collect recipes. Sometimes I cut recipes out of the paper or off food containers knowing I may never use them. I just like recipes. I have boxes, files, and baskets of recipes. Some have stories behind them. Some are written in the original writing of the people that shared them. Others remind me of a party or event that it was part of. As I gather around the table with fresh brewed coffee, good conversation, and a group of friends recipes always creep into the conversation.

My mom has a friend See that is a retired home ec teacher. See has a collection of great recipes which she loves to share. When I see a recipe from See lying on Mom’s table I know it will be a keeper. A couple of summers ago the “Honey Bun Cake” recipe appeared on my mother’s table. I guess a sample had been brought over before, but that part was vague. All the people that had tried it raved about the cake.The name stuck with me because it sounded like the song from South Pacific, a favorite family musical:
“A hundred and one pounds of fun,
That's my little honey bun!
Get a load of honey bun tonight.”

I was helping teach a summer writing course for teachers and was in charge of a “treat” for the first day. I was ready to take a risk and make something new and different. The recipe looked easy. The ingredients were available and didn’t need to be purchased at a speciality store. What made the Honey Bun Cake even more memorable was driving to Coeur d' Alene with the warm cake resting next to me in the front seat. The smell was heavenly.

I keep a recipe if people eat it, give favorable feedback, and/or ask for the recipe. The “Honey Bun Cake” was a big hit. Not only did all of it get eaten, but it got favorable feedback and the group asked for the recipe! It is a good dish to serve like coffee cake at a brunch. It goes great with coffee or tea. I am sure it would also work well as a snacking cake. One person said, "with the warm glaze the cake reminded me of a warm Krispy Kreme doughnut."
Last fall I served it at a staff breakfast and got similar reviews. Yes, this one is a keeper. Try it and let me know what you think!

Honey Bun Cake
Mix together:
1 yellow cake mix
3/4 cup vegetable oil
1/4 cup sugar
4 eggs
8 oz. sour cream
Topping: In a smaller bowl mix together 1/2 cup brown sugar, 1 teaspoon cinnamon,1 cup chopped nuts. Pour half cake batter into a greased 9x13 pan. add half of the topping. Gently swirl with knife and repeat with the other half of batter and topping.
Bake at 325 degrees for 45 minutes. Loosen cake and pierce holes all over the top of the cake with toothpick. Pour the glaze below over hot cake.
Glaze: 2 cups powdered sugar
1/4 c. milk
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 tablespoons melted butter or margarine

National Poetry Month, Poem #13

Manual for the Deaf

In lesson 33 we learn
the world, which is a circle
made of both hands, and
we learn direction, north,
one hand rising straight
toward heaven. There is
debt here, too, but only
as much as one palm, open,
can hold.

Praise is here and promise,
that finger to the mouth
as if to tell a child
his sister sleeps
beyond an open door.

But the word that leaves us breathless
is faith: faith,
the palm that lies up, floating,
the palm that waits for the other
to fall to it and tighten as if
to press and save a wet leaf, mothwing,
heart made of paper.

-Marti Mihalyi

I have a framed copy of this poem hanging on a wall in my house. This poet is a dear friend of mine. I remember listening to Marti do a reading in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho a few years ago and how she brought this poem to life with her expressive voice and graceful movements .