Reading Thoreau's writing about John Brown reminded me that when I was in school in the 60's,  I was taught that John Brown was "crazy."  When I became a fifth teacher of American History, I studied more deeply, gaining insights into other perspectives, and  I knew that what I was taught was wrong.  I looked for other resources to tell his story.  In that pursuit, I found Jacob Lawrence.  See his work  "The Legend of John Brown Series" here.  His paintings were also used in a book written for children.  The cover and the first two pages are below.  I read that book to my students every year.

Burning

Writing this after spending three days burning the piles of honeysuckle I had spent the winter collecting.  I had to cut each plant up because it was too wet to just light the pile, and I had three of them. I used a portable burn pit, building up a nice bed of coals with old dry wood and then adding the wet green honeysuckle to the bed.  At times it would sizzle. The honeysuckle wood kept me warm three times - when I uprooted it, when I trimmed it to go into the fire pot, and when it burned. The fire was so hot that there were enough coals after the rain and snow to get a fire to reignite easily.  And so I used the same fire for days and days. I banked the coals, and it was ready in the morning to begin again.  

My parents were my neighbors and lived at the top of the hill on this honeysuckle farm.  My dad had a flagpole in his front yard. Each morning, he would raise the flag and then take it down in the evening.  When he got older he was no longer able to do that and so it became very weathered. When I took it down after his death, it was in tatters.  So on the first night of burning, after the sun was down, I retrieved his flag and remembering what he had told me about how to dispose of a flag, I laid it on the fire and watched it burn. Loving him and letting the honeysuckle help me honor and remember him.

Seamus Heaney

Lots of time to read lately. Exploring a new poet.  New to me. A naturalist.  Seamus Heaney.  Below I share one of his poems.

Chris' Forest

1.

In the sopping wet
with boots mired in mud
being careful not to slip
my tool grips the base of the plant
I brace and put all my body weight
against the handle after finding the fulcrum at the base
and in that loose soil the plant starts to give
as I follow the handle down
my whole body pressed down to the dirt
and I grab the top of the plant as I get up
dropping the handle away from my leg
and I pull until I have dislodged the roots
and I apologize and beg the forgiveness
of this invasive species
added to the pile
plant by plant
the ongoing honeysuckle massacre

Turning

March 10, 2020  
Reactions to the corona-virus

Are we experiencing a turning of the dharma wheel?

Spending time at home,
alone,
what do you do
when you have to meet yourself
all day long
with fewer distractions
from what is real?

Simplify, simplify, simplify.