bringing happy back

in which the tears are exchanged for 2 ton beasts,
bejeweled and bejangled,

bringing the house down with hoof-stomping majesty.

nothing beats a big horse for bringing happy back.

naturally, there will be pictures.

Bait and Shoot

mother bear~ Lily

Hope as a cub in 2010

Hope and baby bear sister, Faith~ July 2011

Lily the black bear, of Ely, Minnesota, has been a facebook sensation since January of 2010 when she gave birth to a single female cub. The cub was named Hope, and along with Lily, she became a part of the North American Bear Center's scientific research. Lily and Hope had a camera placed in the entrance to their den until they emerged from hibernation in the spring of 2010. 24 hour viewing and daily facebook page updates on how they were doing made them beloved by thousands...over 132,000 on facebook alone. Incredible amounts of information about the gentle nature of black bears was gleaned.

Winter 2011 found Hope denning once again with her mother, Lily. A den camera was in place to observe Lily giving birth to twin cubs and the subsequent family relations between mother bear, juvenile and new cubs. It was awe inspiring. Elementary schools around America followed the adventures of the 4 black bears, learning about wildlife in a manner previously unavailable. The male cub died, but the female cub, Faith, survived and thrived. Lily and her girls have been teaching a great number of us that the ferocious black bear stereotype is false; that they are gentle, shy creatures with strong family bonds.

Along with my friend, Lisa, I have been watching the winter den cameras, checking the spring, summer and fall videos of the bears and reading the daily updates on facebook. We have the Lily and Hope t-shirts and mugs to prove it. Silly or not, these bears have become a part of our lives.

It was confirmed today that Hope was baited and shot on September 16th by a hunter who set up his bait station in Lily's territory, knowing it was her territory, knowing her family's popularity and importance to scientific research. Hope is dead. And she will be eaten.

I am angry and I am crying.

{Bear photos are from www.bear.org.}

 On September 28th, an update from the facebook page for Lily The Black Bear read:

Lily did something during the night that moved us to tears.  She went on a tear, moving miles in such a short time that she must have been running most of the time.  She covered much of her territory and beyond before returning to her starting place where she probably had left Faith.  We have never seen anything like this before.  The only explanation we can think of is the obvious one, given recent circumstances.  What must be going through her mind?  We wish we had been there to see it in person—to see if she was grunting and tongue-clicking as mothers do when they look for lost cubs.  Lily had spent an unusually long time mothering Hope.  Was this a last search before she gives up and settles into a den?  Although we questioned whether the GPS locations were possible, they followed in a line that was not erratic. 

52 Photos Project~ September 21st

RED for Bella's 52 Photo's project

BLUE

GREEN

ORANGE

Open your heart to Nature and color comes flooding in.

Red is for Bella.

The Autumn issue of The Soul In Bloom is here!

Have you ordered your copy yet?

The Soul In Bloom~ autumn issue

autumn issue cover

behind the scenes

with mr. inquisitive

edited out at the last minute

 This is the issue that gives me the strength to self promote. This issue is for people, especially women, who are on a soul-changing journey through illness, cancer or levels of despair. It is also for the people who love them. As I am finding out myself, to assist another in transcending illness, hopefully back to health, or to the threshold of death's door is a sacred task and a journey all its own. Illness of any kind is a group effort in need of support. This issue, wrapped in the splendor of autumn and comforting words, is my wish and my gift of support for any and all who might need it.

I finished the bulk of the editing and organizing of this magazine just over 3 weeks ago at the kitchen table of my Aunt. She was in her last stages of ovarian cancer.We spent the day together in what turned out to be one of her last days of conversation. We were frank and unafraid. I was irrevocably changed. She died one week later at hospice. This issue is dedicated to her and my Uncle. The local hospice, for their care, will receive copies of this issue as my thank you, with hopes it might give some one comfort.

This issue is about courage and change and healing and death and life. All of it is life. All of it sacred and beautiful. And in the end,  there is no ending, for love goes on and on.

To purchase a copy of The Soul In Bloom~ autumn issue for yourself or someone in need of support, go HERE. Simply create an account at Magcloud.com. Payment is with credit card or Paypal.

wet peaches and pie

there were blue jays alarming and peaches in the sun. it was the time after death when life offers itself to be lived anew. i am not famous in the kitchen. there are meals i've never made. but in honor of life and the great  need to soar, i peeled the peaches and baked a pie. my first.

it was a meditation of sorts, the peeling and the stickiness and the reading 3 recipes to conjure a filling i thought to be right. it was the 4th recipe, read after the pie was in the oven, that warned of not letting the peaches sit before pouring into the shell. i had let them sit.

the dough, store bought, was too small for the dish, guaranteeing an unflattering crimp.  it took longer to bake than seemed reasonable. when it had cooled by the window and the knife slit its skin, the smell was a cinnamoned perfume of late summer. and it was a swamp.

i had 2 hearty slices of wet peaches and pie. it was astoundingly delicious, but fit for no one but me. the remaining three quarters i threw away, craving and curiosity satisfied.

it was the time after death; the time for newness and wet peaches and soaring back into life.

mouse matters

i came home, laden with farm market spoils , and there she was in the center of the path to the door. i could tell something was wrong. she was wobbly. i dropped my spoils and bent to ask her what was troubling her. she had been bitten. oh, sweetheart, i'm so sorry. i scooped her up in both hands, her tiny face peeking out between my thumbs. i whispered about how she pretty she was and how sorry i was she was hurt. i carried her to the edge of the ivy patch and set her down on a leaf. she shivered, but stayed and listened to me tell her to come back next time as a cat.

after a time, i gave her a feather-light pet between her ears and she crawled away under the ivy.

the little details of life that cross our paths, they matter.

52 Photos Project~ September 7th

My quiet place, my place to recover sanity and life?

Always outside.

Mother Nature is the ultimate Shaman and Healer.

While I am where I am,

the Sitting Tree by the creek

is my sanctuary.

For Bella's 52 Photos Project

the draft marathon~ 4 horse hitch

dappled grey percherons~ swoon!

driver dressed to match the drafts

32 drafts at once

winner!

clydesdale 4 hitch

size and scale of a giant

the draft marathon ~ 6 horse hitch

belgian wash

belgian 6-hitch

clydesdale 6~hitch

30 drafts at once

clydesdales~ the winner!

percheron 6-hitch

it was the antidote to a troubling time. she and i, hungry for adventure, took a road trip to the new york state fair. it was draft horse day and we went to be awed. we were. we sat in section 22 on hard metal benches in unmoving 90 degree air. we glistened and let sweat trickle where it may. it mattered not. the size and the numbers of equine splendor, those giants, kept us riveted for close to 10 hours. we were crazy, yet not.

at 2,200 pounds apiece, they are magical beasts.

the messenger bats

her pond, the last day i saw her.

the 3 backyard bats are out early tonight,

flitting in front of the chunk of a moon.

I hear the high school marching band

 practicing under the lights.

i sit on the bench, watching the bats,

rocking back and forth.

we buried her today.

ovarian cancer won.

she lost and we lost

and there has been a flood of tears.

the messenger bats, they promise renewal.


{The pain is done, Dear Linda. Sweet relief has come.}

come to niagara with me

right next to the horseshoe falls

maid of the mist from above

the rainbow bridge~ canada on left, u.s. on right

on the maid of the mist

one of many rainbows

look how close to the horseshoe falls!

you will get soaked

u.s. on left, canada on right

the american falls

if you have never been to niagara falls,

if you have never been transformed by this majesty of nature,

if you've never been soaked in the mist,

this is for you.

forks and the next magazine

I'm obsessed with tarnishing forks, yet none of the many, too many, fork still-lifes I've photographed made the cut. I'm finishing the last details of my autumn Soul In Bloom magazine and the forks have no where to be inside the pages. The pages are about illness and healing and worth and death. And life. There is rich color, as autumn is wont to display, and words to ease and soothe the soul.

I have experience with illness, personal and next of kin. As I finish this edition, my Aunt is in her last stages of ovarian cancer. I spent a recent day with her in anguish and grace. I learned 10 years of wisdom in 10 and a half hours. She helped me choose a barn photograph to include. It will appear on the back cover. This edition is dedicated to her and my Uncle. It is unlikely my Aunt will see it.

The autumn edition is my most personal. It is filled with the essence of the women in my life who have journeyed through difficult times, my Aunt and Mother included. Just now, I realize it is a magazine meant for women in need, and the men and women who support them. It is my hope this edition will find its way into the hands of those who need to know they are not alone.

The autumn edition of The Soul In Bloom magazine

will be available by mid-September.

The Sleeping Porch

I went back to the porch

and the bed and the lake.

Somewhere in the ink of the night

it thundered and rained.

Cocooned in blankets,

paradise came.

transformation called

she parted company with her old ways.

and off she went.

sail away, part 2

lover of heights, lover of birds,

for me, there was nothing better than this.

sail away, part 1

a dream lifts off.

towed up to the clouds

set loose

the sail plane pilot. 

free bird.

coming down, smiling wide.

in the latest rough patch

of my mother's journey with cancer,

i asked her to make a list.

we had made it to germany earlier in the year.

what else did she want to do, 

where else did she want to go,

who did she want to see?

"i want to go for a sail plane ride," she said.

so we went.

and we flew.

dreams came true.

52 Photos Project~ August 10th

Because they were just a little bit creepy,

those disembodied heads on tin foil

at Lieselotte's Puppenstubchen.

The reflection was a wonderful bonus.

May, 2011~ Husum, Germany

Reflection: 

For Bella's weekly prompt

at 52 Photos Project

rise to the light

the last moments before she splits herself in two

and rises to the light on transparent green wings.

let it be known~ transformation cometh.

there were birds

As the years pass by,

life gets harder and easier to bear.

What was known while youth still had its bloom~

known with absolute conviction~

is found, now, to be vastly untrue.

Or maybe true~

but only from an angle not willingly seen

when slick confidence ruled the day.

There were birds in the shine

and vigor of earlier times.

They were closely observed,

fascinated over,

and bore messages from lesser gods.

Those messages were clear.

Until they were not.

The birds became pale against leaf and sky

until they all but vanished from view.

When life got harder.

Now, it is harder, yet easier.

The birds are back.

Clusters of sparrows,
arrows of swallows.

Cardinals and robins

out-doing each other in song.

Crows, speaking in tongues.

A green heron in flight,

woodpeckers drumming and diving.

All are seen from the less-sure angle,
the one that takes time and patience to glean.

Their habits are recalled,

their feathers known.

Yet, the only message heard

in the hard and the easy is

live life from the earth and the sky.