Patchwork Prose and Verse
We were camping at Dames Ferry in Georgia this weekend when our 3 Schnoodles became captivated with the ducks flitting about in the waters of Lake Juliette. The stargazer window over the bed of our Little Guy Max never fails to hold wonder - whether stars or ducks, whether night or morning. There is always an exciting world to behold outside that window! Move Over, Stargazers! duckgazer window curious schnoodles camping flop-eared wonderment
Forget Lonesome Dove. This one’s all about the lonesome bees – and putting food on Earth’s tables. One of my 2023 goals is spending more time outdoors, taking more notes in nature observations, and learning more about the ecosystem and the creatures that do jobs I’ve taken for granted. A couple of summers ago, we bought a bee house to provide safe spots for solitary bees like mason bees and leaf cutter bees to nest. These pollinators help plants like fruits and vegetables thrive. We have enjoyed watching the little bees come and go – they’re so cute – and so helpful! In rural areas like ours where agriculture is the name of the game, bees matter! Help with pollination – NOT PESTICIDES! We are doing one small part to make a difference – and watching it happen thrills our souls!
Lonesome Bee Haven lonesome bee haven apiculture hideaway pollinator post baby bees buzzing busy building businesses~ hungry world feeders
One of my 2023 goals is spending more time outdoor, taking more notes in nature observations, and learning more about the ecosystem and the creatures that do jobs I never fully appreciated. Both my mother and grandmother, avid gardeners, died of Parkinson’s Disease, a neurological disease that has been linked to pesticides. If my fish are not wild caught, I don’t buy them (my takeaway from Silent Spring). I’m doing all I can – one small part in a big world – to make a difference where I can.
I was driving along our rural highway last week and felt tears well up when I saw a sign advertising 52 acres for sale. I drove back around the loop, looking at all the trees – all the homes where right now, there are baby birds and deer and foxes and squirrels whose homes will be felled with the blade of an ax when the money changes hands. It hurts my heart for them.
We have been considering ways to control our mosquito population (quite possibly the only critter in the entire universe I would vote to eradicate), and one of our ideas is installing a bat village. So this past Saturday, I raised my husband and grandson up in the tractor bucket to install our first bat house. We’ve seen bats out by our driveway for the past several years, and we hope we can attract them to the bat houses from wherever they are living (we checked the barn and see no signs). We’ll add to the village over the next couple of weeks, even though the boxes should have been up by now since they are more likely to be inhabited over the summer when the bats emerge from hibernation in the spring, according to Google. I read somewhere that the occupancy likelihood is only 35%, but we’re going to give it a go since we know we have them nearby.
Plus, Halloween. It will just feel a little spookier and more seasonally festive when the pumpkins frost over and moon shines through the trees. We’ll enjoy batwatching almost as much as birdwatching!
~~Bat Hollow ~~ house installation erecting a bat hollow mosquito control spooky October Loblolly pine neighborhood for night flight critters vampirish creatures welcome wagons circled up upside-down hangout!
I’ve spent the months of March and April writing among friends, celebrating the Slice of LIfe Story Challenge and #VerseLove – – and spiffing up my bird and butterfly garden. Each year, we discard any cracked feeders and add a couple of new ones so that we maintain the work that began in spring 2009, shortly after we moved to the Johnson Funny Farm on New Year’s Eve 2008.
I caught butterfly garden fever from my mother. Throughout her years, she planted fennel as host plants for butterflies to lay their eggs. Every summer, her fennel plants would sag with the weight of the caterpillars, each happily munching away to becoming a chrysalis before emerging as a black swallowtail. She also threw out rotting fruit for them to feed on, and taught me to do the same. She had attended a butterfly gardening workshop with one of the leading butterfly garden experts in Georgia and learned that butterflies like to feast on urea. So if you ever see an upside-down garbage can lid with rotting oranges and a wet sponge in a garden, you can bet that someone knew to invite their little grandson to go tee-tee on the sponge to make the butterflies happy. Mom grew nectar plants nearby, such as butterfly bush, azaleas, lantana and coreopsis. Every once in a while I can keep a flower alive, but it takes a modern-day miracle to make it happen.
A miracle. That’s why a week ago Thursday for the Open Mic, I changed up my whole reading plan less than an hour before the long-awaited event started. I’d stepped outside to toss a lemon rind out and to fill the bird feeders and birdbaths and check the bluebird house (again) to see if the eggs had hatched. I could see a tiny notch in one egg, and I knew the hatchling’s head would emerge within the hour if all went well. I waited awhile, watching from the front porch, and when I could see that no parents were coming and going, I returned in time to capture the moment of wonder! Watch the video at the top, if you haven’t already.
I headed out to the poetry reading, leaving my own poems at home, selecting one by by Mary Oliver instead. I stepped onto the stage and read This Morning .
Sarah Donovan is our host for Day 30 of VerseLove and our host of this space each month for writers who crave togetherness each month as we come together to celebrate our words and thoughts ~to share the joy of writing. She helps meet a deep need in each of us. I adore the prompt today, and I ran for my journal from 2019 when I saw the topic. I thought back to the first year I participated in VerseLove and looked for that first prompt that changed the trajectory of my life from grief over my mother’s death to connection with others whose pain shone through their heart holes, too, who showed me how to use the sunspots to write and heal. To every writer who shares the journey, thank you for all of the inspiration you bring. This morning, my grandson writes along with me as I revise my first-ever VerseLove poem, Blackberry Winter.
Blackberry Winter, Revisited
It’s a Blackberry Winter I wrote in 2019
beginning a poem about all the good things
later this morning, my first grandson
will make elderberry jam toast
plus cheese omelettes
on the Lodge cast iron griddle
wearing my apron
(he doesn’t know about the apron yet)
but first: raindrops on rooftop, fresh coffee,
wi-fi (stronger than coffee, finally), computer charged,
comfy chair, whisper-soft pajamas,
thoughts ready to materialize
three schnoodles tussling on grandson’s
sleepover mattress as we write together
in the living room
words forming on pages: his pen, my keyboard
to the first #VerseLove prompt of 2019 from Sarah:
….the good things in our lives….
there are those who bring
more warmth than raindrops and coffee,
more comfort than chairs and pajamas,
more joy than words ~
ancestors whose cast iron presence
and apron strings linger in kitchens
hugging us tight about the middle
and those we ancestor ~ grandchildren
who write right next to us
about all the good things in our lives
on this elderberry toast and cheese omelette morning.
– Kim Haynes Johnson, April 2, 2019 and 4/30/2023
Our host today for Day 29 of #VerseLove at http://www.ethicalela.com is Scott McCloskey of Michigan, who inspires us to rewrite the script of a time we wish we’d given a different answer. You can read his prompt and the poems of others here.
Kernels of Truth ten months after she died four months after he died you asked me what I thought of y’all and I told the truth you’re nice she’s nice but y’all don’t fit you thought it was that woman thing that I just didn't like her you had it all wrong there were those I thought would be a great fit for you readers travelers lovers of wine whose blood runneth blue this one wasn’t for you you’ve held my truth-telling against me all this time made me the unaccepting one and now after seven years of frustration figuring out discovering you finally realize all those reasons y’all don’t fit so next time I’ll tell the only truth you want to hear marry her then I’ll go make popcorn
Amber of Oklahoma is our host at http://www.ethicalela.com today for #VerseLove, inspiring us to write poems that connect concrete to abstract. You can read her full prompt and the poems of others here.
Cutting Eyes post-ripple small talk~ reconnecting after a hard conversation but eyes tell the truth might as well pass out peanuts feed the elephant which just grows bigger eyes that will no longer meet resentment sets in
Today our host for #VerseLove is Chea of Texas, who inspires us to write poetry with regional dialect ~ to tell something as it really happened, in our home language. You can read her prompt and the poetry of others here. I’m sharing a phone conversation with my dad one early morning not too long ago and wrote it in prose during the Slice of Life Story Challenge.
Hopin' Folks Out my phone rings early Dad I have a story I need to tell while it’s fresh on my mind before I forget I grab my pen It was back in the old days in rural Georgia when I was preaching at Ohoopee This was down around Highway 19 where you’d go through Wrightsville meander over to Tennille and then head on out to Sandersville a sea of cotton fields roads all red clay Ohoopee was a church of miracles a cured drunk who loved the Lord led the singin' “On Jordan’s Stormy Banks,” only he pronounced it Jurdan’s. and he weren’t wrong. a fellow named Noah in the church needed help finding where to dig his well even with a name like Noah back in those days people were people folks’ existence was all about helpin' their neighbors out now old Elvis heard about it “I’m coming over to hope you out” I went over there too to see Elvis hope his neighbor out Elvis said he had a divinin' rod – a hickory branch – to find water Elvis walked it tremored I saw it with my own eyes they dug that well right there they called this place Possum Scuffle back over in Harrison by Raines Store over yonder by Deep Step and Goat Town by Margaret Holmes's cannery ~ black eyed peas and collards. in Acts 27 Luke is in a ship in a storm using stabilizing ropes ~ also hawsers or helps a help is a hope rope on land or at sea it's Biblical, Kim now you remember that write it down
Today is Day 24 of #VerseLove at http://www.ethicalela.com, and Susie Morice is our host. She inspires us to write poems using a junk drawer to determine things about who we are. You can read her full prompt and the poems of others here. I chose to write about the treasure I found in someone else’s junk dogs.
These Three Kings I found three castoffs betrayed, neglected, abused I crowned these three kings
Alexis Ennis is our host today for #VerseLove, inspring us to write poems about historical figures. You can read her full prompt here. I chose Teddy Roosevelt’s firstborn child as my figure.
As a preacher's kid (we seem to have a reputation to live down to, and I've always done my best to keep the trouble going), I was a reader drawn to the troublemakers like Queenie Peavy by Robert Burch in children's literature and Alice Roosevelt in biographies. So that favorite interview question about whom I'd bring back if I could go to lunch with anyone? Yeah, mine was always Alice Roosevelt, with footnotes about how she and I would have surely landed in jail together, cellmates somewhere for some crazy idea we hatched. She had her own eye color named for her (and the US Navy uses this color named for her on its insignia). So much more to tell about her, but here's the seed-starter packet: Eyes of Alice Blue not under MY roof her father TR told her of smoking her cigs she puffed on the roof her snake Emily Spinach there too, in her purse no Taft supporter~ a murrain on him! she raged blue eyes her namesake what a character! completely out of control she fascinates me! come sit by me if you don’t have something nice to say about someone! born two days before mom died upstairs, grandma down under the same roof death clouded her birth, Alice Roosevelt Longworth lived in those shadows For Alice Roosevelt Longworth https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/from-a-white-house-wedding-to-a-pet-snake-alice-roosevelts-escapades-captivated-america-180981139/
Common Threads 