As the sun sets and hills grow dark, as the birdsong ends and fields fall silent, as the people laugh and take their rest, I watch. My heart hurries to the twilit gardens of Ukraine. And I hurry. O, how I hurry with my thoughts, as my heart yearns for rest. As the fields grow dark, as the groves grow dark, as the hills grow dark, I see a star. And I weep. Hey, you star! Have you reached Ukraine? Do dark eyes scour the blue sky for you? Or don’t they care? May they sleep if they don’t. May they know nothing of my fate. ~ Taras Shevchenko (To N. N.)
As well, you saw this morning on the hill Her horse is in the stable now, the men are at the mill She thanks you for the apples by her gate And hopes that when the moon is full you’ll join her once again to celebrate For she knows that the harvest has begun The autumn feast rewards our time when All is well and done With the blessing of the sun ~ Dar Williams ♫ (All is Come Undone) ♫
Death leaves Us homesick, who behind, Except that it is gone Are ignorant of it’s Concern As if it were not born.
Through all their former Places, we Like Individuals go Who something lost, the seeking for Is all that’s left them, now —
~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1066)
It is often said that grief comes in waves, and I would add that some of those surges are more intense than others. On September 12th I finally made it up to Connecticut to the cemetery to see installed the flat granite grave marker I designed and ordered for Tim and me. Traveling with chronic radiation proctitis isn’t a pleasant experience, to say the least, but I felt compelled to make an effort to see for myself our final resting place.
Elm Grove Cemetery is an exceptionally beautiful cemetery running along the Mystic River, and the view from our ancestral plot is lovely. It was established in 1853, and my 2nd-great-grandfather, William Martin White (1836-1925), purchased a large plot for his family. He had buried there his former father-in-law and mother-in-law, Robinson & Lydia Hill; his own parents, Austin & Lucy Ann (Thompson) White; his grandparents, Oliver & Lydia White; and his 16-year-old son, James Courtland White, who died from a gunshot wound. William lies buried there with his second wife, Martha Bennett. We don’t know where his first wife, Ellen Hill, my 2nd-great-grandmother, is buried, or whatever happened to her after they were divorced in 1876. When Larisa inquired she learned there was still space enough to bury our ashes there, too, since I am a direct descendant, and could prove it. Tim & I spent most of our married life nearby and so this seemed like the perfect place for us to end up.
Part of the rural cemetery movement, of the mid-nineteenth century, Elm Grove represents the Victorian approach to eternal rest in a park setting of rolling hills, brooks, and trees, showcasing ornate sepulchers decorated with flowers, willow trees, crowns, and trumpeting figures. ~ Elm Grove Cemetery Association webpage
It was a bittersweet day, as so many wonderful things happened but of course, I deeply missed having Tim to share them with. My son and daughter-in-law, Nate & Shea, had driven me up and after we visited the cemetery we met my sister and brother-in-law, Beverly & John, at an old favorite family seafood shack, Dad’s Restaurant, in Niantic. To our surprise, it had been beautifully renovated in our absence! The new deck for eating outside was higher than the old one, so we could see over the elevated railroad tracks out over Long Island Sound. Did I mention the weather was perfect that day? And they have the best fish and chips in the world, in my opinion, and I enjoyed every morsel.
After our lunch Nate took Shea to visit her relatives while Beverly, John, and I took a long nature walk through a marsh and up and down the beach it led to. Later, we wound up at Eastern Point Beach, “our beach,” and sat for a couple of hours on the bench where Tim & I used to spend our summer evenings. I went wild taking pictures of the gulls. (450 pictures on the camera for the one day!) The day already feels like a distant sweet dream now. I hope to write two more posts with pictures of these two adventures soon.
I chose the Dickinson poem above because I think she used the word homesick aptly to describe what grief can feel like. But the home we yearn for, our person, is gone, missing as if he never existed. And I could identify with the second stanza, feeling lost, as I visited some of the former places we so often used to be at together. I think I will never stop seeking Tim. Last night in line at the grocery store I was overcome with a strong urge to turn to him and rest my head on his shoulder, as I often did, and to receive a comforting hug. (Grocery shopping has ever been exhausting for me.) I never know when another wave will sweep over me. But I’m glad I went and have found some peace from being there.
What you do for yourself — any gesture of kindness, any gesture of gentleness, any gesture of honesty and clear seeing toward yourself — will affect how you experience your world. In fact, it will transform how you experience the world. What you do for yourself, you’re doing for others, and what you do for others, you’re doing for yourself. ~ Pema Chödrön (Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living)
Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine — pedantic sunshine — In a satin Vest! ~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #174)
Practice sharing the fullness of your being, your best self, your enthusiasm, your vitality, your spirit, your trust, your openness, above all, your presence. Share it with yourself, with your family, with the world. ~ Jon Kabat-Zinn (Jon Kabat-Zinn: In His Own Words)
Absence disembodies — so does Death Hiding individuals from the Earth Superstition helps, as well as love — Tenderness decreases as we prove — ~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #904)
Our county has been in an “exceptional drought” since late June. This is the highest and most severe category listed on the U.S. Drought Monitor. For almost a year we’ve climbed through “moderate,” “severe,” and “extreme” to reach this new level, capped off with record-breaking dry spells in the spring.
It’s been very hot, too, and I suspect the sun-drenched water this poor squirrel is drinking is pretty warm, too. We keep breaking high temperature records. As I take pictures from the comfort of an air-conditioned room my heart breaks for the creatures struggling outside for days on end in the heat.
As the temperature rises, it will drive a great migration — of humans, of animals, of plants, of jobs, of wealth, of diseases. They will all seek out cooler ecological niches where they can thrive. Some will fare better than others. Robins can migrate more easily than elephants. Poison ivy can move more quickly than an oak tree. Farmers who grow wheat have more options than farmers who grow peaches. And some creatures have nowhere to go. Polar bears in the Arctic can’t migrate farther north. Frogs in Costa Rica aren’t going to hop up to Canada. ~ Jeff Goodell (The Heat Will Kill You First: Life & Death on a Scorched Planet)
“Woman Seated Beneath a Tree” by Gustave Caillebotte
Some people take their troubles to a particular tree and gain refreshment and solace from its company; others derive inspiration from sitting at its foot or in its branches; still others have discovered that trees are truly mediators between the worlds, living bridges between our apparent world and the unseen realms of the otherworld. When we approach a tree, we need to slow down our breathing, slow down our rapid pace, our mental busyness, in order to be attuned to the spirit of the tree itself. … With our heart, we ask the tree to show us part of its nature. … We listen and give thanks. Even when we are just passing a tree, not visiting, we can still send out a greeting to it. ~ Caitlín Matthews (The Celtic Spirit: Daily Meditations for the Turning Year)
There are two healings: nature’s, and ours and nature’s. Nature’s will come in spite of us, after us, over the graves of its wasters, as it comes to the forsaken fields. The healing that is ours and nature’s will come if we are willing, if we are patient, if we know the way, if we will do the work. ~ Wendell Berry (This Day: Collected & New Sabbath Poems)
A lovely walk with friends down by the creek, dotted with fleeting spring ephemerals at every turn. The trees are leafing out and the sky was as blue as it gets.
star chickweed
violet
common whitetail dragonfly
People have no respect for impermanence. We take no delight in it; in fact, we despair of it. We regard it as pain. We try to resist it by making things that will last — forever, we say — things that we don’t have to wash, things that we don’t have to iron. Somehow, in the process of trying to deny that things are always changing, we lose our sense of the sacredness of life. We tend to forget that we are part of the natural scheme of things. ~ Pema Chödrön (When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times)
violet wood-sorrel
Virginia spring beauty
And for an everlasting Roof The Gambrels of the Sky — ~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #466)
wild azalea
We are seeing, then, that our experience is altogether momentary. From one point of view, each moment is so elusive and so brief that we cannot even think about it before it has gone. From another point of view, this moment is always here, since we know no other moment than the present moment. It is always dying, always becoming past more rapidly than imagination can conceive. Yet at the same time it is always being born, always new, emerging just as rapidly from that complete unknown we call the future. Thinking about it almost makes you breathless. ~ Alan Watts (The Wisdom of Insecurity: A Message for an Age of Anxiety)
bluets
Bolin Creek
green-and-gold (thanks to Nina for the identification)
bluets, anchored in moss, clinging to the creek bank
The green-and-golds and the violet wood-sorrels were new wildflowers for me.
