"Travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind." (-Seneca)

It's that time of year again...

I'm heavily in the throes of trip-planning for my fall hejira across the nation for Duke. It occurred to me that I'm always taking photos of other campuses, and I never take photos of the Duke campus, which is quite beautiful in its own right. So here are a few I snapped on our campus yesterday as I was walking to my car.

Every summer about this time, I start the excruciating process of planning my fall trips all over creation. I will be gone from right after Labor Day, on September 8th, until early December with only a Thanksgiving break. I will only be home in North Carolina for a total of 8 days, (5 of which are weekend days.) I'm usually gone three or four weeks at a pop, and then I'm only home a day or so and right back at it again.

While I wind up seeing some fascinating parts of the country, I do miss home. I'm essentially a home-body, so I have to muster up my strength to get myself psyched for this peripatetic lifestyle that awaits me.

This year, I'll be traveling to some familiar places, but I'll also see some new sights which I'm excited about: for example, I'm building into my trips this year some good forestry schools, and so one of them I'll be seeing is Humboldt State University, up in the far north coastal region of California, where the redwood trees live. (It's also earthquake and tsunami territory, mind you!)

I'll be visiting Washington state, Oregon, California, Wisconsin, Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Alabama, Louisiana, Colorado, Minnesota, Virginia and Tennessee this year.

I have never been to Alabama or Louisiana before, and I'm already primed for new adventures. It should be a wild ride, and I hope you'll stay with me for some of it. I'll try to take photos as I see interesting things. I will also try to sketch, nights in hotels, when I can.

In the meantime, I no longer work from home when I'm not on the road--I'm commuting in to Duke every day, so here and there, I'll have to try to take some Duke campus photos when I AM home! It's a lovely campus, and deserves my attention.

When my son Eric was looking into colleges, I arranged for the track coach at Duke to meet with Eric, hoping I could entice him to go to school here in North Carolina. Eric was a strong cross-country runner, and I figured if he liked what he saw, maybe it would convince him to stay here nearby. They did hit it off, and Eric really loved the Duke campus architecture as we wandered the campus, but ultimately, he decided to go to Williams College in Massachusetts, which is a wonderful school. It was a great choice for him, but I did my best to keep him near me, honestly, I did!! He's very smart, and I knew he'd get in wherever he applied, but Williams was a great "fit" for him.

I really do get to see many beautiful places in the course of my travels, and I'm fortunate, but I will be exhausted by the time Christmas rolls around again this year.

And every year, as I see the day lilies stop blooming, and the end of my hydrangeas, I get a knot in the pit of my stomach, realizing it's all starting over again, and for me, at least,--summer is almost over. I am definitely in "Trip-planning Mode." Bear with me!

"I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move." (-Robert Louis Stevenson)

Glued on Food

The Clean Platter

Some singers sing of ladies' eyes,
and some of ladies' lips,
Refined ones praise their ladylike ways,
and course ones hymn their hips.
The Oxford Book of English Verse
is lush with lyrics tender;
A poet, I guess, is more or less
preoccupied with gender.
Yet I, though custom call me crude
prefer to sing in praise of food...

...Some painters paint the sapphire skies
and some the gathering storm.
Others portray young lambs at play
but most, the female form.
"Twas trite in that primeval dawn
When painting got its start,
That a lady with her garments on
Is Life, but is she Art?"'
By undraped nymphs
I am not wooed;
I'd rather painters painted food.
Food,
Just food,
Just any old kind of food...

...Never mind what kind of food.
When I ponder my mind
I consistently find
It is glued
on food.

(-Ogden Nash)

(practicing exercises and using an image from Anne Abgott's book on watercolors: "Daring Color'

"Art is the only way to run away without leaving home." (-Twyla Tharp)

While I was attending the watercolor workshops this past week in the North Carolina mountains, I wanted to go and see the Moses Cone mansion in Blowing Rock. I'd read about it before, but had never visited it until this past week.

Moses Cone and his brother were very wealthy, and they made their fortune during the era when textiles were important to North Carolina's economy. The brothers were very smart, because they recognized the importance of proximity of their raw materials (the local cotton plants) to their final product, (the textiles they manufactured.) Moses Cone became known as the "Denim King." Their mansion is still there in Blowing Rock (see below) but is now a Craft Center for artists' works from six neighboring states. Lots of beautiful pottery, jewelry, woven fabrics, quilts, glass work, etc are for sale in this building.


Two of Moses Cone's youngest sisters, Claribel and Etta, were fortunate enough to be able to travel, and they befriended Gertrude Stein and her coterie of ex-patriot friends in Paris. The sisters met a young man named Pablo Picasso and liked his art work. It happened that Pablo was enamored of cartoon comic strips, and they traded some of these cut-out comic strips for some of his art work! Over time, they amassed a huge collection of paintings by the likes of Cezanne, Van Gogh, Picasso, Matisse, Gaugin, and they ultimately donated a fortune in their art to the Baltimore museum of art.


It's a tribute to their sense of taste that they gravitated towards these artists before they were known as "artists." They just liked what they saw and wanted to enjoy it! (Below is the view over the hillside from the Cone mansion porch.)


The grounds around the mansion are now a park with walking trails. We saw people riding horses along the hills as well. It's a beautiful spot--if you ever visit the area, you should go see it for yourself. It's a lovely place!

"Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in." (-Amy Lowell)

Tomorrow is my older sister, Mary Kate's birthday--Happy Birthday, MK!!
xo
sue

"Painting is just another way of keeping a diary." (-Pablo Picasso)

Joe and I ventured off to the western part of North Carolina for a few days, into the beautiful Appalachian mountains, where I attended a mini-watercolor workshop "sampler" at Cheap Joe's Art Stuff. In other words, I had classes with several different instructors for just a portion of a day apiece. I sometimes forget just how beautiful North Carolina is, and these past few days were a good reminder of how gorgeous the mountains are.

Now, in all honesty, "realistic" painting is not what I'd like to learn the most. I gravitate more towards looser, freer styles, (and that wasn't the focus of these workshops) but I still enjoyed these classes immensely, and learned a great deal about all sorts of things. Several days beforehand, I dutifully sketched out the (above) image we were supposed to paint in class, and although most people had huge sheets of paper before them, I was more than happy with my 9" x 12" Canson block. (Large enough for me at this point--I can barely draw/paint, let alone draw/paint large!) Much later, I realized that that teapot is supposed to be much "taller" than I made it! That's the kind of thing I prefer not to have to worry about!

But let's just say that now, if called upon to do so, I can probably render silver in watercolors and make it look believable.

One of my instructors was Anne Abgott, who's written a book called Daring Color, and she's not kidding. She has a bold approach to painting with color, and mingles colors together on the page for a luminous effect that I liked a lot. After I met her, I realized I have her book at home! But since I tend to have hundreds of watercolor books, that shouldn't have surprised me in the least. Below is Anne's effective example of painting only the shadows of an image in a negative painting, as she demonstrates the way shadows tend to flow into one another.


Since our home was slated to have temps nearing 100 the past few days, it was heaven to near the mountains, even though the first day or so was rainy--soon enough, the clouds parted and the sun burst forth, with breezes and lush green color. And no mosquitoes!

Joe relaxed while I went off to classes, and then we went out to explore this pretty part of our state for a day or so. (I had read about the Moses Cone mansion, near Boone and Blowing Rock, which is now a Craft Center featuring beautiful artwork from neighboring states, and I'll tell you more about that in a later post. The Cones were a fascinating family I'd read about years ago, and you may know about them, but I'll tell you more about them soon!)

In the meantime, I am going to try to practice some of what I learned, and this workshop will give me more confidence for the one I'll be attending in Maine later in the summer. (Here's Anne below, next to some of her brilliant colored paintings.)


"Life is a train of moods like a string of beads; and as we pass through them they prove to be many-colored lenses, which paint the world their own hue, and each shows us what lies in its own focus." (-Ralph Waldo Emerson.)

"In summer, the song sings itself." (-William Carlos Williams)

It's been one of those wonderful, lazy summer weekend days today:

I confess, I didn't do a bit of weeding in the garden, which I should have done.

Well,... I did mow the lawn, (since Joe is mending after arthroscopic knee surgery.) But we started the day with decadence-- french toast for breakfast, along with plump strawberries, syrup, and whipped cream. (It's the weekend, right?)

For a good bit of the day, we sipped lemonade, relaxed, read the Sunday New York Times, and quietly watched the birds fly back and forth to the feeders. I clipped flowers for vases all over the house.

Joe and I are babysitting "the kids"--Olivia and Winston. (Joe always teases that the two of them put together might equal one complete dog.)

They've actually behaved quite well. Olivia likes to curl up behind Joe on his chair, and she'd be pretty content to sleep there with him almost all day long if he let her. I don't think she'd care if he never moved.

Winston, on the other hand, likes me to harness him up and venture into the Great Outdoors, where he can sniff and nuzzle every flower, leaf, and blade of grass to his heart's delight. To see the two of them, you'd think visiting Joe and me is a pretty exciting adventure!

When I took Winston out for one last walk this evening, we saw fireflies flitting around the yard in that magical way they do, blinking like little fairies in the dimming skies.

It brought back memories of summers as a little kid, catching those little guys and putting them, with leaves, into Mason jars, with holes poked into the lids. We'd watch them lighting up the sky, and finally we'd let them go, out into the steamy night.

In Defense of Fireflies:

Of a starlike start they are accused
as if a star was ever used
to combat cancer, or to lure
phosphorescent mate, secure.

Since when were fireflies meant to stay?
They propogate and fly away
and now you cannot find them in
a single field or north woodland.

(--Robert Frost)

"You've got bad eating habits if you use a grocery cart in Seven-Eleven, ok?" (--Dennis Miller)

Surely I'm not the only person who glances furtively at other peoples' grocery carts in the checkout line, right?

I tend to be one of those people who really does "shop the perimeter aisles of the store," meaning that I buy fresh food and produce, and limit my purchases in those inside lanes that cater to packaged, processed foods with tons of additives that have a shelf life of 100 years, because they're mostly chemicals anyway. I like to purchase certain things in certain stores: Fresh Market gets my vote for gourmet items, but Lowe's is fine with me for paper products. The Farmer's market is the best for local, fresh produce.

And ok... I sometimes like to buy pretty fresh flowers, or try those orange/ginger flavored almonds I saw at Whole Foods. (I admit it, sometimes I'm an impulse buyer.)

Joe likes to race into a grocery store on a mission, with specific items in mind. (He loves it if I give him a list.) No browsing; he snaps things up at the speed of light, scopes out the shortest checkout lane, and checks out as fast as possible, already planning where he'll stop off for a cuppa' on the way home. He doesn't read labels, he never reads what the fat content is in any item, and he likes to know where items are so he can head right to them. He'd much rather dash home and tune in to the latest international soccer game on TV. Cracks me up.

Not me: I like to investigate what new foods are there, and think of new things to try in the kitchen. I like to get to know the fishmonger, the bakery folks, the butcher, who can tell me what to do with certain cuts of meat. I think nothing of asking for a sample at the deli counter--what do they have those little tiny spoons for, anyway?

But finally, most of all, I find it extremely entertaining to watch people throughout the store, and especially at the checkout counter: I like to try to figure out what meals they might fix with the things they have overflowing in their grocery carts. Sometimes, I'll get good ideas for my own future purchases, watching what things they've selected...

...and sometimes, I can't imagine what they'll put together from what they have in those carts. The other day, a woman in front of me had a cart filled with: Cocoa Puffs, Krispy Kreme donuts, french-fried onion rings, bacon, Wonder bread, and a gallon of milk.

"Many doctors pay their grocery bills with the money of folks who have eaten too much." (--Unknown)

"Fashion is general. Style is individual." (--Edna Woolman)

Some people just HAVE IT: a sense of style...that certain je ne sais quoi..



You know who they are. You could swathe them in paper towels, mummy-style, and somehow, they'd manage to look good, maybe fashioning a bow, tied loosely, and trailing off to the side.
What is it about them?... Did they learn this somewhere? I think not. They're born with it.

"STYLE--go ahead talking about style,
You can tell where a man gets his style just
as you can tell where Pavlova got her legs
or Ty Cobb his batting eye.

Go on talking.
Only don't take my style away.
It's my face.
Maybe no good
but anyway, my face.
I talk with it, I sing with it, I see, taste and feel with it,
I know why I want to keep it.

Kill my style
and you break Pavlova's legs,
and you blind Ty Cobb's batting eye."

(--Carl Sandburg)

Happy Memorial Day weekend!

"To fight aloud, is very brave--
But gallanter, I know,
Who charge within the bosom,
The Cavalry of Woe--

Who win, and nations do not see--
Who fall-- and none observe--
Whose dying eyes no Country
Regards with patriot love--

We trust, in plumed procession--
For such, the Angels go--
Rank after Rank, with even feet--
And Uniforms of Snow."

(-Emily Dickinson)



Happy Memorial Day weekend, all!
sue

"You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance." (-Franklin P. Jones)

When my son Eric was just a little boy, one of his best friends was a little girl named Laura, who was a year older than Eric. Since he had no other siblings, he loved Laura, and he'd always go along with whatever she wanted to do. They lived just a few houses from each other, and they played so sweetly together.

Laura's mom loved it when Eric and Laura were together. She'd sit the two of them at her kitchen table, where she'd sometimes give them milk and cookies.

One day, Eric was sitting having a snack at their place as Laura's mom was filling the dishwasher. She told me that Eric watched her intently and finally said, "We don't have that kind of dishwasher."

Laura's mom was surprised, thinking that our dishwashers were both pretty much exactly the same, and so she said "I think they're the same, Eric."

Eric insisted, "No, we don't have that kind." Suddenly, Laura's mom realized that Eric wasn't talking about the dishwasher itself. He was looking at the dishwashing detergent! So, she calmly said, "I see, Eric...well, we use ALL."

Eric looked at her, and with a deadpan face, just replied, "Oh. We just use a tiny bit."
(Eric in Norway, below:)


"Out of the mouths of babes..."

"A Freudian slip is when you say one thing but mean your mother." (--Author unknown)

This Sunday is Mother's Day.

All mothers work hard. They put their own needs aside as they selflessly help prepare their young to flourish in this world.

They give their little ones life itself, they comfort them, and care for them constantly, tirelessly bringing them food for the stomach as well as for the soul.


I am definitely remembering my own mom and all she did for me over many years as I watch these sweet families all around us.


This weekend, if you can, tell your mother you love her.


"Only mothers can think of the future--because they give birth to it in their children." (--Maxim Gorky)

The Happiest of Mothers Days to everyone!

wis*ter*i*a: "any of several climbing woody vines of the genus Wisteria in the pea family"

Wisteria

Violet, whispered Eve, because
saying the names aloud

made the act too real. Pansy
and woodruff, the flowers so small

some of them, she was afraid,
they'd be forgotten--though what did she know

about forgetting, when she had
no past at all? She took to her task

immediately, absorbed by the strange
courage to assign names to things. Adam

was on the other side of the garden, away
from her for the first time. Snapdragon

and Coral Bells; the sensuous sounds
rolled across her tongue, although

she didn't know sensuous yet. The untrod
path curved to the right. She stopped, no not



the apple tree: that will come soon
enough. Here a twisting vine knuckles

through the gate that separates them
from another world.



Wisteria, she says--aloud this time--the syllables
as liquid to her as the blooms

dribbling from the branches
like slow rain.

(-Heather Hallberg Vanda)

"Who is sitting in that empty chair?" (-Eugene Ormandy)

And in a chair well-known

My mother sat and did not tire

With reading all alone.

If I should make the slightest sound

To show that I’m awake,

She’d rise, and lap the blankets round,

My pillow softly shake;

Kiss me and turn my face to see

The shadows on the wall,

And then sing Rousseau’s Dream to me

Til fast asleep I fall.

(-William Allingham)

"Poor indeed is the garden in which birds find no homes." (--Abram L Urban)

Our back door’s wide open in the warm sun, the Metropolitan Opera’s playing on the radio, and the birds are chirping up a storm. It really does seem as if they’re trying to keep up with the music they’re hearing.

Have you ever noticed that the birds, like us, love to hear music? They really have been visiting a lot today, and hovering on the deck posts. I guess they’re all Wagner fans. Not a purist, I personally like Puccini. Yesterday, we had the doors open as well, and we were watching the DVD of “Moonstruck,” with the music from La Boheme.

Same thing—the birds went crazy the whole time the music played.

Outside, the lilacs and azaleas are blooming, and the first of the knockout roses is here on my desk.

When I glanced at our hanging baskets with coco fiber liners, I made a mental note to get some new liners: the birds have been busy stealing chunks of it for their nests all over creation. I imagine them thinking we stock it just for them.

Are we suckers or what?

“Spring would not be spring without bird songs.” (-Francis Chapman)

"Every portrait that is painted is a portrait of the artist, not the sitter.” (--Oscar Wilde)

I haven’t had much time for painting recently, aside from this lone rose, (above) but I have tried to do some browsing through some of the wonderful art books I have, and I thought today I’d share some images by an artist I have grown to love over the years.

Every once in a while, I discover an artist who just touches me, and Alice Schille is such an artist.

I first came across Schille in the pages of Victoria magazine, over ten years ago. At that time, I had never heard of her, and immediately sought out additional information about her.

She was born in Columbus, Ohio, and lived from 1869-1955, and was among the most influential watercolorists ever to come out of America, but many people are sadly unaware of her art. That's probably because first of all, she was a woman, and secondly, watercolors were historically never taken as seriously as oils on canvas. I think her work is diverse and just beautiful.

There are so many obvious influences in her art, from Monet to Prendergast, to Sargent and William Merritt Chase, to Homer. She was also influenced in some of her later works by Rivera and the Mexican muralists. I see the influences of Impressionism, Post-Impressionism and even Pointillism in a number of her paintings as well.

Her mother/child images are exquisitely gentle and luminous, and her landscapes are jolts of color, with brushstrokes that indicate the shapes and direction of objects.

She was experimental, and because she came from a fairly wealthy family, she was able to travel extensively, and painted beautiful images of her travels.

I hope that if you're unfamiliar with her work, you’ll look her up and enjoy her art as much as I have. (I have a hardcover volume of her work that is supposed to have cost $50, and I got it for a mere pittance. I think the $2.92 postage cost more than the book itself did! )

"Every good painter paints what he is." (--Jackson Pollock)

“More than kisses, letters mingle souls…” (-John Donne)

Isn’t it rare today to see a real, live letter tumble out of the mix of bills, magazines and junk mail that clutters up a mail box? Email, text messages, facebook, IM’ing, etc have spoiled us so much with that sense of the instantaneous response. I happen to love email and use it constantly, just like everyone else.

But I’m such a romantic...

I have several baskets in my office where I save every single card or letter I’ve ever received from people. I sometimes enjoy taking down those baskets, and browsing through those letters, enjoying them all over again.

Some of them were from my mother,when she was still alive, or hand-made cards my dad sent me over the years. Others are from my son when he was young. He always sent me hilarious notes, with things like “the Fruit of your Loins” written as the return addressee on an envelope he'd send me.

I even save gift tags that had little notes from Eric. They’re in my “Eric” file.

One Christmas, I hand-painted every single card I sent to people, and that was when postage was cheaper and my list was pretty long.

I saved an old Victoria magazine that highlighted Florine Asch’s customized, hand-painted envelopes to people because I thought how utterly beautiful and charming they were. (see below:)

I still try to write thank you notes to people for anything I’m given, and I treasure any notes anyone else sends to me. I think how thoughtful it was of them to send it to me. It’s very rare though, now, to actually receive letters.

Do you write letters any more?

"And none will hear the postman’s knock

Without a quickening of the heart.

For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?"

(-W H Auden)

“Let us celebrate the occasion with wine and sweet words.” (-Plautus)

Well, Happy Birthday to my 1 year old blog!

At 208 posts later, so many of you have served to soothe this newborn with warm, encouraging words over these last months. Many thanks to everyone who’s visited here, for your wonderfully supportive presence!

(I still smile just to think that anyone ever reads any of these meanderings at all.) I’m extremely touched and flattered that you’ve been so very kind.

Thank you all so much!

“It takes a long time to grow young.” (-Pablo Picasso)

“Drawing is putting a line around an idea.” (-Henri Matisse)

This past week, at Duke’s Nicholas School of the Environment, (which is where I work,) our second year students gave their Master’s Project presentations at our annual Master’s Project (MP) Symposium.

It’s a big moment for our students, as it represents the culmination of all their research, analytical work, writing, and finally presentation of their work to the faculty, staff, and their peers.

First year students are required to sit in and observe, so that they’ll get an indication of what they’re up against next year as they present their own projects.

I sat quietly in the back of rooms so that I could do some sketching. The lights were dimmed to accommodate Powerpoint presentations, so I took advantage and sketched mostly backs of heads while I listened to all sorts of interesting talks.

Topics covered varied subject areas from conservation, to sustainability issues, alternative energy solutions, climate change, environmental health and security, forest resource management, policy strategies, environmental law, etc.

Some of the students I spoke with said they were nervous wrecks, beforehand, but you wouldn’t know it to see them speak. Their talks can be fascinating.

Professors and peers grilled each student, after their presentations were done, and it was one of the only days of the year when second year presenters showed up looking beautifully groomed in suits and heels or suits and ties.

Most of my fellow audience members were in baseball caps, sweatshirts and jeans.

I always look forward to these talks each year, and I leave each time feeling that the world is in good hands with these young students who are bursting with ideals and enthusiasm for our future.

It’s gratifying for me to meet students on the road who eventually wind up coming to the Nicholas School, and I get to watch them as they mature into competent professionals.

“Life is the art of drawing without an eraser.” (-John W Gardner)

“Expect nothing. Live frugally on surprise.” (-Alice Walker)

This morning, I did some sketching, and then, as I was browsing through an old art book, I couldn’t help smiling.

I’d forgotten that long ago, I had tucked flowers inside the pages of this book, and so it was sweet to open the pages and have brilliant colored pansies burst upon the pages I was reading.

Do you press flowers?

I used to take them, sit the dried flowers on pretty stationery pages, and then press clear contact paper over them, to make pretty cards. I haven’t done that in years. As you can see, I’m no artist about this. Some of them, by chance, are perfectly placed on the page and they come out looking elegant.

Others are a bit ruffled by the experience,…

or look a bit worse for wear…

…and some,…well, let’s face it, some just come out looking like Yosemite Sam.

Pressed leaves in the fall are gorgeous, too. In our guest room, one day, I opened up a book on Scottish history and found beautiful leaves all throughout it. For whatever reason, the flowers and leaves both keep their vibrant colors for quite some time. I suppose they don’t get at the air, all snug in their cozy homes there.

So, while I enjoyed finding these today, I popped them right back inside their pages, so that the next time someone picks up one of these books, they’ll have that same sense of surprise all over again.

“Surprise is the greatest gift which life can grant us.” (-Boris Pasternak)

"I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled..." (TS Eliot)

"I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back

When the wind blows the water white and black.”

(-TS Eliot, from The Love song of J Alfred Prufrock)

“Family—that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our innermost hearts, ever quite wish to.” (-Dodie Smith)

Top o’ the mornin’ to ye’!

Sure 'n it's St Patrick’s Day,...

...and today, I’m remembering my Scotch-Irish grandparents and my mom. St. Patrick's Day is one of those days that make me think of family and my ancestors and what they mean to me.

My grandmother always used to tell me, “Never forget your British Heritage.”

Some years ago, I sat in an amphitheatre outdoors at a local college, on a beautiful spring day, and met the wonderful poet, Seamus Heaney. I heard him reciting this poem that describes his father and grandfather. He recognized the enormity of their influence on his own life, and wrote about them often in his beautiful poems:

Digging

(-Seamus Heaney)

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.

(Susan and Edward, my grandparents)

Happy St Paddy’s Day to you all!