Chores

The wind waters my eyes as I carry a 5-gallon bucket of water from the hydrant to the molting chickens. I plug in a heat lamp at the back of the coop so the eggs don't freeze.They aren't laying as they should but still need to be tended, fed, bedded and watered. The temperature is dropping and chickens can't be without water, even when they're molting.

Snowflakes drift down from the overhung sky. The wind rises. I set the basket of eggs on a board in front of the bins where we store feed and containers at night so they don't draw rats-a measly four eggs from a flock of fifty- open the lids and eye the feed I have left for the week. Yesterday, I pulled dead pepper plants and some mustard and fennel gone to seed out of the hoophouse and threw it into these hungry chickens. Today, it was a jar of dill pickles that failed to pickle and a delicata squash with a soft spot. They like squash. The pickles lie untouched, along with the sprig of dill and the clove of garlic. Finicky.

I step off the board and it seesaws, tipping the basket over. The eggs roll out and one breaks on the hard ground. I scoop it up and put it in the cat's dish He eats good too.  Who says farming is hard?

The multi-cultural beach

Woman in hijab in line at the bath,
child clings to her hand with wondering eyes.
I wonder what they think of us-
bathing suits and messy hair,
bare legs and fleshy thighs.
I wonder what they think of us.

The Day The House Came Down

I hung a hummingbird feeder outside my window

The horizon is empty where a house once stood—

shingles crushed, glass shattered, beams broken.

I hung a hummingbird feeder outside my window.

The dump trucks are gone and the excavator is stilled.

The demolition work is done—that which withstood

tornadoes, storms, and depression fell in eight hours.

I hung a hummingbird feeder outside my window.

Standoff At The Bird Bath

Robin looks at Blue Jay
Blue Jay turns his back

Robin fluffs his feathers

Blue Jay preens and flaps.

One Sentence Story

The "get well" card arrived too late.

Happy Earth Day

Robin in the maple tree
scoping out the scenery.

Redheaded woodpecker
walking down a tree.

Little brown sparrow
splashing in the bath.

April on the rim.
May rushing in.

Not All Of Me Will Die

Sorting through handkerchiefs,

sweaters and hats,

war time correspondence,

linens and scarves.

Ironing pillow slips, the smell of perfume,

suspenders, and medals,

silver and glass.

Baseballs with scuff marks

grade cards with C’s,

cribbage boards and erector sets

nails and tacks.

Wooden checkers and wooden rosaries,

German missals in a safe,

mink stoles wrapped in newspaper

love notes written in haste.

Non omnis moriar

says an ancestor’s note,

but steam rises off the board like

mist off the lake

and unanswered questions

drift off in space.

Linked to the Garden, peace bracelets, poets and writers.

G.I. This and G.I. That

Now that our mother has died, almost exactly four months after father, it has fallen to me to stand in as the family archivist.  At first this seemed a daunting task. After all, they were married for seventy years, and after our grandparents died, mother became the keeper of their prized belongings, namely pictures and correspondence dating back to the turn of the century. So, here I was with over a hundred years of family history to sort through. Daunting. Yet....as I sat amoungst yellowed boxes of cards and letters, from airmail wartime correspondence to envelopes addressed only by name and town (as that was all that was necessary), the dots connected and the lines crossed. I sat in a living room emptied of their physical presence yet stacked to the ceiling with the lives they led and the people they touched, and the task became easy.

Following is a poem I found with dad's pictures from India and China and Tinian in the Mariana Islands from where the air assault on Japan was staged during WWII. I will continue to share their lives and accomplishments that this might be true:  "Not all of me will die".

Here I Am

Here I am, sitting on my G.I. bed,
My G.I. hat upon my head.
My G.I. pants, my G.I. shoes,
Everything free, nothing to lose.
G.I. razor, G.I. comb,
G.I. wish I were home.

They issue everything we need,
paper to write on books to read.
They issue food to make us grow,
G.I. want a long furlough.

Your coat, your shoes, your G.I. tie,
Everything free, nothing to buy.
You eat your food from a G.I. plate
buy your needs at a G.I. rate.

It's G.I. this, and G.I. that,
G.I. haircut, G.I. hat.
Everything here is government issue,
Gee, I wish that I could kiss you.