Thoughts for Sunday, March 26, 2017

There fell a beautiful clear rain


With no admixture of fog or snow,


And this was and no other thing


The very sign of the start of spring.

Not the longing of a lover


Nor the sentiment of starting over,


But this clear and refreshing rain


Falling without haste or strain.

Paul Goodman (1911-1972)

Yesterday was unusually warm for late March and the grass in the courtyard at Merry Mount was a tufted carpet ready for its first cut of 2017.  Dubiously, I pulled out the mower, prepped it, and with one, two, three is charm pulls of the rope, the disturbing noise of the season began.

But here on a Sunday morning, Rett, Minnie, and I sit in the Sun Porch and watch as a clear rain falls on the freshly mown carpet that seems to turn emerald green before our eyes.  

A pair of cardinals flaunts their beauty in the maple tree and we think we see a slight color emerging on the red bud tree.  A pair of sparrows considers a dwelling at the downspout, 

and alas, the clematis vine shows signs of life.  A single daffodil is trying to lift its cup for fulfillment.

Raindrops keep falling on my head

But that doesn't mean my eyes

Will soon be turning red

Crying's not for me 'cause,

I'm never gonna stop the rain

By complaining,

Because I’m free

Nothin’s worrying me.

B.J. Thomas

Life is good.

CPW

Spring Equinox on Junk Road: 3/20/17 6:28 a.m. Eastern Time

photo by Kate Ter Haar

Spring

Related Poem Content Details

BY GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring –          

   When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;          

   Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush          

Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring          

The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing; 

   The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush          

   The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush          

With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.          

What is all this juice and all this joy?          

   A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning 

In Eden garden. – Have, get, before it cloy,          

   Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,          

Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,          

   Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.          

Junk Road, (named after our dear neighbors whose ancestors settled here) runs for four miles directly east/west.  At the Spring (vernal) equinox, I notice with glee that the setting sun on the horizon is dropping directly into the west end of Junk Road.  I do not need to travel to Stonehenge to visually recognize that Spring has officially arrived.  

At the Spring equinox the sun rises exactly in the east, travels through the sky for 12 hours and then sets exactly in the west. So all over the Earth, at this special moment, day and night are of equal length hence the word equinox which means ‘equal night’.  For those of us here in the northern hemisphere, it is this equinox that brings us out of our winter.  Hooray!  For Mother Nature it is a time of renewal, of rebirth.  It is a time to shed negative energies accumulated over the dark, heavy winter months preparing the way for the positive growing energy of spring and summer.

Gerard Manley Hopkins writes, “What is all this juice and all this joy?”  Just ask Walt, our buck.

As with all the other key festivals of the year, there are both Pagan and Christian associations with the Spring equinox.  To Pagans, this is the time of the ancient Saxon goddess, Eostre, (Easter) who stands for new beginnings and fertility.  For Christians it is a time to celebrate Easter, a time of resurrection. Thus Easter falls on the first Sunday after the first full moon occurring on or after the Spring equinox. If the full moon falls on Sunday, Easter gets pushed back a week so that it doesn’t coincide with Passover.

It’s a magical time, and both the body and spirit rejoice with the increase in sunlight and a wakening world.  So like Vivi, we will stay alert at Merry Mount expecting fairies frolicking under the willow tree, 

and while we will keep our eyes open for the Easter bunny, 

we will continue to feed our chickens so that they will provide us with "golden" eggs.

Happy Spring!

CPW

A 100th Birthday Celebration for Robbie

My teacher said us boys should write

about some great man, so I thought last night'n thought about heroes and men that had done great things,'n then I got to thinkin' 'bout my pa; he ain't a hero 'r anything but pshaw! Say! He can ride the wildest hoss'n find minners near the moss down by the creek; 'n he can swim

'n fish, we ketched five new lights, me 'n him!

Dad's some hunter too - oh, my!

Miss Molly Cottontail sure does fly

when he tromps through the fields 'n brush!

(Dad won't kill a lark 'r thrush.)

Once when I was sick 'n though his hands were rough he rubbed the pain right out. "That's the stuff!"

he said when I winked back the tears. He never cried but once 'n that was when my mother died.

There're lots o' great men: George Washinton 'n Lee, but Dad's got 'em all beat holler, seems to me!

-Anne Collins

Leonard Ike Robinson (March 16, 1917-March 18, 2011)

To us, he was Daddy, Papaw, Robbie.  He could be gentle, loving, ornery, gruff, mischievous, patient, and supportive. He often made us laugh. He loved the outdoors and would have loved to have worked at Merry Mount.  We miss him every day, but he is probably in Heaven with Lura pointing his finger at Cricket challenging her to charge him before accepting her into his arms.

Below are a few snapshots from his life:

You live in our hearts.  Happy 100^th Birthday!

CPW