Close Reading

In honor of A.E. Housman's birthday (March 26) and in honor of spring--herewith.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

I have used this poem many times in teaching poetry. It is an utterly charming poem, and most accessible. One of the first questions I ask is--how old is the speaker in the poem? Well, how old?

Maybe you all are too smart to be fooled, but invariably I would have students say--seventy. No, I say, look again. So then I can see them doing the math--three score year and ten, well that's 70. And they subtract 20 ("will not come again") and say--fifty.

No, close reading now. AHA--the light goes on and they answer--twenty.

Oh, such a young man is that speaker. He has enjoyed spring cherry blossoms for twenty years. It is almost ironic that the VOICE of the poem is a far older, maybe wiser, voice than twenty years might suggest. I think the speaker sounds more like someone who is three score years and ten.

Whatever age--enjoy the spring. And all the blossoms--cherry included.
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Image from http://www.telegraph.co.uk/foodanddrink/foodanddrinknews/5898662/Traditional-English-cherries-in-danger-of-wipe-out.html

Signs of Spring

A bit more than a month ago, this was the scene looking to the west from our house. See the lovely icicles? And the view from the outside shows these frozen daggers posed to strike any creature below.



But, now we are seeing signs of spring. Daffodils bring sunshine inside.

The orchid I adopted a year ago (from my daughter-in-law) is getting ready to bloom for the first time, in our house. It was blooming when we first got it, but after those blooms faded, it has been gathering strength to bloom again.


A small chipmunk has been busily gathering sunflower seeds. In the process, the chipmunk is driving our two cats crazy--a glass door separates him from certain death lurking inside.

The squirrels go to great lengths (literally) to try to raid the peanuts.

Then, the squirrel scampers away to watch me carefully. Whose picture are you taking, lady?


All these are wonderful signs of spring.

Some other signs abound as well, not so wonderful.

Herewith the tale of THE GREAT SKUNK ESCAPADE.

Now, this is not nearly as exciting as some skunk stories. No dogs were harmed in the process. About a week ago, we were sitting in our sun room. Seeing some movement outside, I looked up into our backyard--a skunk toddled into our yard. And then stopped. It seemed to settle down. Oh, no--I thought. Please, go away. On second thought, don't go away.


We had a skunk family settle next to our pool, a couple of years ago, living with its babies under a deck. We finally rousted it, after two skunk babies fell into the pool. I read online that skunks don't like loud noises, so I placed a radio, speaker down on the deck, and picked the loudest hip-hop station I could find and played it full blast. Skunk begone, and it was.

Anyway, all I could think was--please don't go under our deck.




So, I ventured outside. I circled far around the skunk, keeping my distance. Then I watched it--looking for signs of respiration. NOTHING. Huh? A skunk walks into our yard, and stops moving. Since this was in the middle of the day, all I could think was rabies. So, the first thing we did was call our local police.


An officer came promptly, and she asked--what's the problem.
Well, there's a skunk in our yard.
Were you harmed or in danger?
No.
Well, the officer said--I can shoot the skunk, but other than that, there's nothing I can do.

Never mind--the thought of a service revolver blasting a skunk gave my husband pause. Visions of skunks bits here and there. And, the office said, if she shoots it, the skunk will probably spray anyway.

So, the next step was to call a wildlife removal company. We were still thinking--rabies. After calling two companies, one responded immediately, and came out. The first thing he did was determine--was the skunk still alive. Please note the highly scientific method used to determine if the skunk is alive.



First, walk around the yard a bit, sort of circle the skunk. Next, select a small twig. Next, jab at the skunk. No spraying. Nothing. Nope--not alive.


This very helpful man then opined that the skunk looked not too old, not emaciated or unkempt, not underfed, that it likely died from some disease, but that other diseases than rabies could have caused its death--distemper for example. Then, he took a plastic bag out of his pocket, and wrapped it around the dead skunk--presto. Skunk begone (once again).

Thank you, helpful man--and yes, we will pay you for your help.

So, the great skunk escapade ended happily. Except for the next several days, when our neighbor came knocking on our door. Do you have a cat outside, she asked. Well, we don't allow our cats to roam--they are only outside with us for short times, and then inside a fenced yard. So, no, we don't.

Well, she said, there's a cat with 5 babies in my window well. Oh my, another sign of a spring--and it's the same cat I saw the day of the skunk-capade who very carefully approached the still (now dead) skunk, then traveled on. Oh, great--a feral cat roaming around, getting distemper or rabies or whatever--and with 5 kittens to boot, more feral cats!



Well, now we are midway in March, and here's that same western sky--absent icicles daggers.

Happy spring! Do a vernal dance this weekend.

And They're Off !

No sooner had I spied the baby mourning doves, in the process scaring the parents out of the nest, when I discovered they are now gone. Fledged (I hope). I peeked in the nest yesterday, only to find this.

An empty nest. Note, the one forlorn feather left behind--baby fluff. I looked all around to see if there were any abandoned babies, but they appear to be gone. Just like our own children--they grow up so fast!

After a very cold spring, we have had a bit of rain, and today, lovely sunshine. Flowers have seemingly burst into bloom in a split second.

Almost 30 years ago, when we moved into our house, I spent one fall (while being 8 months pregnant) planting about 100 bulbs. The tulips and daffodils have long exhausted themselves. But the grape hyacinth bloom ferociously every spring, dividing as they go. So I dig them up, and plop them into the ground in new places.

My Easter flowers also end up gracing the grounds. Herewith some hyacinths and daffodils.

I have some indoors right now, that will be planted any day now.


And one more big spring project is underway--subject of a future post.

What's going on in your spring clean-up, blooming world?

All Things Bright and Beautiful

To continue that wonderful hymn--All Things Bright and Beautiful/All creatures great and small/All things wise and wonderful/The Lord God made them all. I always thought this hymn such a quintessential English hymn. I grew up singing this, and thought the melody I knew to be the only one. Imagine my surprise when I returned to the United States to hear a different melody being used! Just didn't sound right.

Anyway, the other day I wrote about finding a dove's nest in the arbor vita by our front door. I have been greeting the dove each time I go out. Since we have had such un-spring like weather here--we have had days and days of rain, and temperatures about 20 degrees (Fahrenheit) lower than normal averages for mid-May, I have been obsessing over the health of this poor bird. There she (or he) sits, hour in hour out every day. When we had a terrific downpour the other day, I marched out with an umbrella and stuck it on the top of the arbor vita. After all, I had removed a fair bit of the cover the wise doves had factored into their decision to build their flimsy nest in my tree.

But I kept worrying about food for her. So, I got the bright idea--maybe I could slowly sneak a small dish of seeds in to see if the dove would eat. I know, I know--don't mess with nature. Of course, she freaked and flew out. Immediately, the other dove came fluttering in--I think he--based on size. The two of them put on quite a display--she doing the broken wing routine, and he strutting around giving me dirty looks.

Of course, I quickly peeked into the nest. TWO CHICKS. Really looks like a pile of fluff to me. But there they are. I am not a dove expert--nor even a bird expert--but I have read that mourning doves will raise several broods in a season, usually laying one or two eggs.

I learned my lesson--I have left the nest completely alone now.

Speaking of things beautiful, I did check out the rhododendron--what a blooming bush this year. All the rain, the cool weather--not sure what--but the blooms are massive. This is one bush.

And Alex the squirrel is back--one paw held curled to his chest, Napolean fashion, coming up on the small deck to ask for peanuts.

Hand Work

When my husband and I bought our first house, we were drawn to the house because of its flowering trees and shrubs. The backyard had lovely forsythia blooming, there was a flowering cherry tree on one side of the house, and a weeping cherry tree on the other. Once we moved in we discovered a pear tree that bore the sweetest wondrous pears.

However, all that greenery meant trimming and clipping. So, the first time we needed to trim hedges and such, we asked a man who helped tend the grounds at the college where I was teaching at the time. He came out to our place equipped only with a hand held hedge shears. I was astounded. I offered him our electric hedge trimmer, but he politely declined. I always trim by hand, he said. So I watched, and learned. He had an unerring eye, and in short order had the place in great shape.

Since then, we have moved to another house where I do all the hedge and shrub trimming. But I kept the lesson I learned from that long ago event. I prefer to trim greenery by hand, using just large garden shears. Occasionally, in a hurry, I will resort to electric trimmers, but I enjoy trimming much more when I do it by hand.

Yesterday was a lovely cool spring day, so I headed out to trim an arbor vita next to our front door. A couple of weeks ago, as I walked past this arbor vita, a mourning dove came fluttering out, making a great show of flapping around, falling to the ground, hopping a bit, dragging a wing, and of course leading me away from the tree. I presumed she had a nest in there, but when I looked into the untrimmed tree, I could not see anything.

Well, after I got done trimming the arbor vita, I spotted a mourning dove carefully watching me from nearby on the driveway. She kept close, waiting. As soon as I was done, she flew to the tree, crawled in and settled down. Aha! I had found her nest. So I tried to keep my distance not disturbing her too much. I did sneak up, of course, to get her photo.

More inspections out and around my grounds, and I see the miniature rose is getting ready to bloom. This was a gift from my daughter several years ago, for Mother's Day. It has bloomed each year since.

Equally tenacious, but less beautiful, is the wild rose stock that keeps growing back every year. When we first moved to this house, I grew three rose bushes. They did well for a while, but since roses take so

much work, I gave them up and dug them out. However, I must have missed some of the root of the wild rose stock which grows back every year. No flowers, of course, just the thorny hardy root stock.

I finally got to see my neighbor's bunny again--Hoppy. He is a carmel colored dwarf rabbit that they keep year round in a hutch. It bothers me to see him confined so, so I visit him and bring him an occasional carrot stick to eat. From his hutch, he watches the wild rabbits cavort. It always puts me in mind of "The Velveteen Rabbit"--which I will not think about too much, or I will start crying! (I confessed to my tendency to weep when I read touching children's books, here.)

Oh, the flowers at the beginning of the post? Some of my dianthus, blooming. I love the deep purple pink of the flowers.

UPDATE:

Alex, the squirrel, has not been seen now for 3 days. I did find this. . .

Looks like a dirty window, you say? Well, yes it is, but the "dirt" is on the outside. Paw marks--streaking down the window on the sunporch. Actually, on two of the sliding glass door windows. Methinks a squirrel was trying to get in. When I saw my neighbor yesterday, she said she saw a crow (her identification) grab a squirrel and fly up to the roof. Oh, no, hope it wasn't Alex. I will keep looking, but I don't hold out too much hope.

The Best of Times, the Worst of Times

Apologies to Charles Dickens for purloining one of the most famous novel openings ever written.

Well, another semester draws to a close. And, in general, that is a cause for celebration. Yes--it is early. I think this year the semester end is so early because Easter was really early. Our college combined spring break week and Easter break--thereby gaining a week of class instruction.

So, what's the best and the worst of this semester? Today, I had to deal with the worst--plagiarism. I absolutely hate plagiarism. I hate having to deal with it. But, I had a student who used three complete sentences from an external source without proper attribution and without using quotation marks noting that the words were not his own. When I handed back his paper with the offending section marked, he challenged me. I had printed off the original (which I found on the Internet) and showed him where he got the words. His defense--well, I cited a source. Yes, I said, but it's NOT the source where you got this section, and you failed to use quotation marks. He was adamant--he felt that since he gave SOMEONE credit, never mind erroneously, that he should not be dinged to plagiarism. HONESTLY. The worst.

Now, here's the best of times. It is spring on campus and the trees are blooming. The place positively sparkles.

See for yourself.

The last photo is of the newly constructed labyrinth, donated by student government. Isn't a labyrinth the most perfect visual metaphor for college? Here's a brief description of modern labyrinths and their uses. I like the idea of the contemplative aspect, which college students certainly need, combined with the seemingly endless journey. I have walked a labyrinth only once--it didn't do as much for me as I expected. But I still like the visual impact.

"To what purpose, April. . ."

Today, my husband and I began our annual spring task--opening the pool. We have had a pool in our backyard since the summer of 1981. In fact, I spent major portions of that summer floating in the pool--since I was pregnant with our daughter, the weightlessness that water affords was wonderful, as was the cool!

But each spring, this chore looms large. And, as I get older, my muscles and bones ache more and more each year.

The reward, of course, is getting the job done finally. We're not quite there--maybe another half day of work, but things are shaping up outdoors. In another month--plant all the annuals!

Opening the pool is one of the ways to measure the approach of summer.

Here are some other ways.

The ice cream truck returns to the neighborhood.

Boys climb trees

New puppies come out to play.

Before spring gives way to summer, let's celebrate the last days of April with this poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay.

APRIL

TO what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an
idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.


by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Oh My Aching Back!

Well, today my back has finally stopped hurting, but yesterday, and the day before, I had a royal aching back.


Now, why, you might ask? Because with spring finally here, we have been doing outside work like two crazed . . .whatevers. My husband took Thursday and Friday off work, so he could open our swimming pool. I help, but since much of the work is a solo act, I can't do a whole lot. I did wash the water bags that hold down the winter cover, and washed the winter cover. And I helped power scrub around the pool. But the technical work--reassembling the pump, putting in the ladders, attaching the diving board--all that work my husband does.

With the pool officially opened on Friday, we headed out on Saturday to buy flowers. This tradition began about 5 years ago, when my husband offered to buy me all the annual flowers I love to plant as a Mother's Day present. So, each year since, we head out on a Saturday near Mother's Day to buy annuals.

Preparing to buy the flowers, I counted the flower pots I have--I do most of my planting in flower pots that I can then place wherever I want. I have 65 pots! This year, our flower purchases went over the top to fill all those pots. We actually had two carts at the plant nursery--one with 3 shelves, and another cart filled with flats of flowers.

When we got home on Saturday, I set about planting. I worked for 4 or 5 hours, then again on Sunday for another 5 hours. By the end of Sunday, I had all the flowers planted, except one flat worth. And I had run out of pots. So Monday I headed out, bought two more pots, and planted the remaining flowers. So, now I have 67 pots--and an aching back.

But the results--oh, the results! We will have flowers all summer and into the fall. The flowers are just outside our sun porch, so we can sit inside and look at them; they are in the pool area, so we can look at them; and they are around the driveway--so passers-by can look at them.

All the photos are of this year's flowers. Except this lovely flower--which is in my neighbor's yard.