I was doing something...

... and thought I ought to light the candle on the window sill.

Then I thought I ought to take a picture of it.

Becuase experiencing something isn't enough.

You have to photo it as well... to make it... count?

Then I saw the chicken coop out the window.

And I thought about Henny Penny all alone out there and how she is always cheerful and clucky and seems so pleased by the meager bits of lettuce that I chuck on the ground for her.

I should try to be more chicken-like, I think.

Awesome Deep Snow With Moose Tracks

Up in the wilds we were intrepidatious and adventuristic.

Trail closed. Pfft. Let's go anyway.

Irene, you bitch.

Just a couple of trees down. Nothing too serious.

We saw the depressions where 5 large bodies slept. Moose or trolls, we weren't sure which.

We saw other interesting things, too.

Iced troll penis?

Why I Love Vermont

15 below zero yesterday

Chicky Chick got a second heat lamp

A balmy zero this morning

Chicken Pity

I always feel more sorry for Dessie when there are unusual weather things going on. Today there is a big snow storm so I brought her home a head of old lettuce from the store.

OSM inspired search

I went looking for my washboard in the basement. I couldn't find it. I did find the box of smaller jug band instruments we used to play in my class.

We could make some NOISE! See that plastic sack? It is full of combs. We used to play the combs every morning (with wax paper on them) after singing and recorder playing. We would play our favorite songs, even some rounds. It was big fun.

I used to think of my students as Les Sangliers Petits. I have been missing them a lot lately. I probably gave the washboard to one of them.

Why George doesn't care about the basement speaker being covered

  He doesn't care because the music, and more to the point, the announcements -- HARDWARE LINE TWO. QUESTION ABOUT LAMP WICKS. HARDWARE LINE TWO -- can still be heard. If you squeeze by Mr. Do Not Use,

then pass by the Special Empty Cardboard Box Storage Area, you merge into the next speaker zone and arrive at the Slime-ish Sea. I took this video on a special day: October 15th, 2012. You can't always look up into the meat department from the Slime-ish Sea. But that is a story I don't yet know how to tell.

Retirement Home Candidate #74

A bit of a fixer upper but only a short hike away from this lovely spot:

It was another nice day to be in the woods.

Retirement Home Candidate #62

It was an inspiring day for a hike, clear and cold. The leaves were frosty and the sky was blue. There were lots of interesting things to see.

Higher up, it was winter. There was ice and snow.

It would be a good place to live, in a shack, with a wood stove and a chainsaw.

A touch of the old ennui

Ginnungagap

I have heard that Ginnungagap,

where the fire and ice meet,

is a place of dark, warm moisture.

And rain.

Lots of rain.

 

There was a cow, Audumla,

that licked the ice and rime with her rough warm tongue.

She licked Ymir, the giant, out of the ice.

And from Ymir’s body the world was created.

 

Nothing like that happened here, of course.

No worlds were created,

no seas, no skies, no stars, no trees, no grass. 

There were no giants.

 

It just rained a lot 

and a lot of wine was drunk 

and secrets were told and forgotten.

 

Still, while the rain was falling

and the fire was hot and high,

it felt like a place of magical power

where startling things might emerge out of nothingness.

 

waiting no more

The first hot day came

and it changed

everything.

It changed everything inside of me

and it changed everything outside.

The bloodroot bloomed,

and the colt's foot,

and the lazy, sensuous desire

to take off my jewelry

and stretch out on the forest moss

bloomed.

Still waiting

 Winter

Spring

Dog Holler

I lived down in Dog Holler most 'a 15 years. I miss it now, like I'd miss my hand, if'n somebody cut off my hand. Like I'd miss my foot, somebody cut off my foot.

I close my eyes, I still see the moon comin' up over Dog Holler Mountain. All big and white and beamin' down love juice all over them hills and trees. All over me. It stuck to me, that love juice. Ain't nothin' gonna wash it off now.

Biggest question I get asked up here, "Do you like livin' in Vermont?" Well, I like livin'. So, sure I like livin' in Vermont. But there ain't no redbud here. Ain't no dogwood. Ain't no sarviceberry. Ain't hardly no spring. Spring up here test your faith. That's resurrection, I s'pose. Can be a stickin' point for some folks. Me? I don't care whether it come out a seed, an egg, a womb or Christ's tomb. It's all the birth 'a love in the world. Up here, you just gotta wait longer 'n look harder. You remember I told you that: sometimes you gotta wait longer 'n look harder.

You can't hardly forget spring in Dog Holler, even you been through it but only once. Flowers everywhere. Locust tree stink up the air in the spring, all them flowers hangin' down. You ever seen a honey locust tree? Big thorns growin' all up the trunk. Oddest lookin' thing. If God had made the Tree 'a Knowledge a honey locust tree, ain't none of us be wearin' any clothes right now. I think God wanted Eve to eat that apple. Been easy enough get her to stop.

Anyway, I love all them trees down there. Shagbark hickory. Black walnut. Butternut. Horse chestnut. White oak. Red oak. Pin oak. My heart still want oak. Hawthorn, cedar, juniper. Virgin hemlock. You got the patience to walk to 'em, them trees'll show you some power. Copper beech, sycamore. Liriodendron tulipifera. Now she's a beauty, ain't no thorns on her. Roll around right nice in your mouth, don't it? Liriodendron tulipifera. I was in love with a whole grove 'a yellow poplar over on Dog Holler Mountain. I watched that patch 'a mountain turn yellow every fall.

And in the summer, chicory grow so thick, sit on my porch and watch the hay pasture turn hazy blue. First lark I ever saw looked right up at me outta that hazy blue. This minute, I can't think 'a nothin' more beautiful 'n that lark. 'Less maybe it's the mockin' bird singin' at night. Prettier 'n a silver flute, that is. Beauty drippin' outta that bird, right into me.

And it weren't just the trees and the birds, neither. Was the people, too. 'Cause I showed up 'bout as queer as a 3 dollar bill. People just let me be who I was and let me become whatever I was gonna become.
 
I remember the first time I drove up Dog Holler Road. First mile all in the woods. Then, bustin' outta the trees, this scene open up before me like a song outta my heart. Mountains all around, pastures full 'a thick green grass, dogwood in bloom, big white house with porch all around it. 

Like God was settin' a trap for me. He was. Settin' a trap. And I was so happy gettin' caught in it. Shoot, I like livin'. I wonder what trap God is settin' for me now? I guess, I wanna know, I'm jus' gonna have to wait longer 'n look harder. You remember I told you that.

Spring in Vermont

This here's a picture of spring in Vermont.

I am sure it is spring because, yesterday, I was caught out at Morning Sing for not having any spring songs ready. I was told, "But, Ms. Sanglier, this is spring in Vermont."

So today I decided to document this remarkable statement with photographic evidence. To be fair, as I took the above photo, there were robins hopping about near me and I heard the singing of red-winged blackbirds. I also noticed that the willow trees were showing a slightly enhanced shade of yellowish ochre, which can only mean one thing: it is, indeed, spring in Vermont.

And this is spring in Clover Hollow, same time of year... early April... same kind of weather... snow. But look across the road... the garden is plowed. And the redbud and wedding bush are in bloom. Now THAT is spring!

Your Beautiful Parched, Holy Mouth

A poet is someone

Who can pour light into a spoon,

Then raise it

To nourish

Your beautiful parched, holy mouth.

Hafiz (14th century, Persia) from I Heard God Laughing

The Bore's Den

It is here that Le Sanglier sits, brewing fire in her cauldron and feeling the seasons ferment around her. Islands arise in the briny sea of thought. Volcanoes erupt. Flames spit and surge. Beyond the fire and the flame lie frozen wastes of ice and fog. And bobbing along, in a tiny ship of heart, goes she.
 

The wildboar inside

What's all this about wildboars? In what woods lives this wildboar? Why does this wildboar seek to distract itself by posing as a sexy French version of its pedestrian English self? Le Sanglier will tell you now...

I was born with a wild and gullible heart. Being wild I sought danger. Being gullible I was afraid.

Or... am I actually the Wild Bore? Oh. I have to think about that.