A Place Under A Rainbow

Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high
And the dreams that you dream of, once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly
And the dreams that you dream of, dreams really do come true

Someday I'll wish upon a star
Wake up where the clouds are far behind me.
Where trouble melts like lemon drops,
High above the chimney top,
That's where you'll find me.

Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly
And the dream that you dare to
Why, oh why can't I?

            Lyrics by Yip Harburg

ROYGBIV or Roy G. Biv is an acronym for the sequence of colors commonly described as making up a rainbow: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. A rainbow spans a continuous spectrum of colors; the specific bands are an artifact of human color vision.

In 2003, I took a class at OSU entitled “Holography I”.  It was a fascinating cross-listed course between Art and Physics that allowed the students to understand and create several types of holograms.  My creations were poor at best, but I was exposed to the world of wavelengths.  I learned that visible light from the sun is actually composed of the colors of the rainbow that can become distinguishable when sunlight passes through a prism.  I learned that light travels through waves with properties of wavelength and frequency.  Wavelength is the distance between identical locations on adjacent waves.  See illustration below (https://imagine.gsfc.nasa.gov/educators/lessons/roygbiv/).

Frequency is the number of complete wavelengths that pass a given point each second.  All light travels at the same speed, but each color has a different wavelength and frequency.  It is the different wavelengths that cause the different colors of light to separate and become visible when passing through a prism.

The typical human eye is only capable of perceiving wavelengths between 390 and 750 nanometers.  A nanometer is a billionth of a meter.

To the Rainbow

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art; -

Still seem; as to my childhood's sight,
A midway station given
For happy spirits to alight
Betwixt the earth and heaven.

Can all that Optics teach unfold
Thy form to please me so,
As when I dreamt of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow?

When Science from Creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws,
What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws!

And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,
Have told why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky.

When o'er the green, undeluged earth
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine,
How came the world's gray fathers forth
To watch thy sacred sign!

And when its yellow luster smiled
O'er mountains yet untrod,
Each mother held aloft her child
To bless the bow of God.

Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,
The first-made anthem rang
On earth, delivered from the deep,
And the first poet sang.

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye
Unraptured greet thy beam;
Theme of primeval prophecy,
Be still the prophet's theme!

The earth to thee her incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings,
When, glittering in the freshened fields,
The snowy mushroom springs.

How glorious is thy girdle, cast
O'er mountain, tower, and town,
Or mirrored in the ocean vast,
A thousand fathoms down!

As fresh in yon horizon dark,
As young thy beauties seem,
As when the eagle from the ark
First sported in thy beam:

For, faithful to its sacred page,
Heaven still rebuilds thy span;
Nor lets the type grow pale with age,
That first spoke peace to man.

            Thomas Campbell (1777-1844)

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A Place for Heirloom Irises

On the weekend of May 19-20, 2018, the iris bed at Merry Mount burst forth in full bloom.  In addition to the plants that were located here at the time of our purchase of the property, there are rhizomes that were transplanted from several locations in Tennessee and Indiana.

The Iris Garden at Merry Mount

Purple Irises with Hues of Gold and Fragility

The purple Irises glistened 
in the morning stillness 
with three tongues that lick 
as if to catch a dew drop
upon each tip 
Golden bearded and strong 
these living gems 
calling for those lucky enough 
to scent and see them. 
Rhizomes barely catch the earth, 
with roots that serve as a place of rebirth 
Dividing as they go 
year after year, they double in show 

Oh, this beauty with for my eyes to see 
I cannot keep them for only me 
with friends true I shall share. 
and next year bring to them 
this joy I find in 
a purple world with hues of gold and fragile love.

         -Chris Lane

I remember one autumn when Robbie (Loretta’s dad) brought a grocery bag full of freshly dug rhizomes from their property in Cunningham, TN to us in Columbus.  He had “thinned them out” and wanted to share with us.  We, unfortunately, do not know from whose stock Robbie shared.

I do know that the beautiful white irises came from my Mother’s garden on Colchester Court in Knoxville, TN.  During a visit to Knoxville in the autumn of 2016, just before the property was sold, Mother specifically told me where the white irises were located and that she wanted me to take some back with me to Merry Mount.  Mother also wanted my cousin Sharon to have some of her rhizomes for her garden. We dug up the rhizomes and transported them to their new homes. We have enjoyed sharing photos of the successful transplants.

1st iris of 2018 from Sharon's garden

from Mother's garden on Colchester Court

Last fall, during another trip to Knoxville, Sharon dug up several rhizomes from her garden and told me that those plants had been originally in the garden on the property of our great grandmother, Mammy Baker.  I returned to Merry Mount, thinned out our iris patch, and added the heirloom irises.

Heirloom Irises

We also have plants from our dear friend, Laurie Krcmaric, who was one of the first persons to pull weeds at Merry Mount.  Often when Laurie visits us, she has freshly dug plants from her amazing garden that has included iris rhizomes.

Now every May, as we enjoy the beauty of the irises, we can also respect the handiwork of the loved ones who came before us.

Irises by Vincent van Gogh 1889

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A Place for Bats of All Varieties

Ever wonder about the origin of the adjective “batty”?   Webster’s New College

World Dictionary, 4^th Edition defines it as “crazy or eccentric”.  I probably am a “bit batty” myself.  My fantasy baseball team is named the Mad Batters.

On most summer nights at Merry Mount, I experience bats.  At twilight on a lovely clear evening, I can be found walking the property to experience the beauty around me.  I often observe the colony of bats, one by one, departing the loft of the barn.

Bats are the only mammals that can fly. They are also among the only mammals known to feed on blood. Common misconceptions and fears about bats have led many people to regard the creatures as unclean disease carriers, but bats are actually very helpful in controlling the population of crop-destroying insects.

There are more than 900 species of bats in the world. Some experts estimate the number to be as high as 1,200 species. Bats make up one-fifth of the mammal population on Earth, according to Bat Conservation International. 

            https://www.livescience.com/28272-bats.html

I Wish I Could Be A Bat 

It’s a thrilling thing to watch

The bats fly out of the caves

At twilight. 

Their dawn of day and play

To cover the land

At twilight. 

Look up at their silhouettes

On the pink and orange sunset

At twilight. 

Just about as happy as it gets,

This murmur of love and freedom,

At twilight. 

I wish that I could be

A bat flying free from my dark cave,

Into the light, just once 

At twilight.

         -Sunlite Wanter

A bat in hand at sunset. Wink.

After sunset, I return to the house to watch our favorite baseball team, the Atlanta Braves.  The game, of course, is essentially about bats and balls.  

I ask you, "How much skill is involved to put the “sweet spot” of the bat on a ball coming at you at 80-100 miles an hour, or how much skill is involved in delivering a ball across a home plate that is a 17-inch square of whitened rubber with two of the corners removed so that one edge is 17 inches long, two adjacent sides are 8 1/2 inches each and the remaining two sides are 12 inches each and set at an angle to make a point?"

I’m batty about baseball.

 A baseball bat is divided into several regions. The "barrel" is the thick part of the bat, where it is meant to hit the ball. The part of the barrel best for hitting the ball, according to construction and swinging style, is often called the "sweet spot". The end of the barrel is called the "top", "end" or "cap" of the bat. Opposite the cap, the barrel narrows until it meets the "handle". The handle is comparatively thin, so that batters can comfortably grip the bat in their hands. Sometimes, especially on metal bats, the handle is wrapped with a rubber or tape "grip". Finally, below the handle is the "knob" of the bat, a wider piece that keeps the bat from slipping from a batter's hands.

"Lumber" is an often-used slang term for a bat, especially when wielded by a particularly able batter.

The "bat drop" of a bat is its weight, in ounces, minus its length, in inches. For example, a 30-ounce, 33-inch-long bat has a bat drop of minus 3 (30 − 33 = −3). Larger bat drops help to increase swing speed. Bats with smaller drops create more power.

                        -Wikipedia

If you find yourself a member of the Woliver family, you are taught from an early age how to swing a bat.  It is, for us, a since of pride.

Simon about to swing the bat at Huntington Park, Columbus

Eva learning young

Three generations of baseball fans

I share with you a cartoon that I discovered in the cartoon library at OSU.  It obviously speaks of the importance of baseball in the state of Ohio.

I leave you with an iconic poem about swinging the bat.  Enjoy!

Casey at the Bat by Ernest Lawrence Thayer ©

Published: The Examiner (06-03-1888)

The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day: The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play. And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same, A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game. A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast; They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that - We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat. But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake; So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat, For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat. But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all, And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball; And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred, There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third. Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell; It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell; It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat, For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat. There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place; There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face. And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt; Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt. Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there. Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped- "That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said. From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore. "Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand; And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand. With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on; He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew; But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two." "Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud; But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed. They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again. The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate; He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate. And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow. Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light, And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout; But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out. "Phin"

Casey at the Bat by Ernest Lawrence Thayer ©

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