The Sun is Shining!

The sun is shining, the temp may hit sixty, and the deck chairs are emerging on the deck. What more can one ask in life!

Now to rediscover my favorite rake and check out what that big, fat, pregnant bunny has been nibbling on for lunch. The forsythia bush by the garage door is in full bloom and has been substituting as a sun in minature, as we have waited for a truly spring day to arrive.

Breathe deep and for at least today, put aside all the worries of a world that struggles.

Proving Who You Are

There are rumors that in order to get a passport for the first time, you will have to:  provide addresses of all the places you have lived since you were born; your lifetime employment history, including supervisors' names, addresses, and phone numbers; personal details about your brothers and sisters; your mother's addresses a year before your birth; and any religious ceremonies around your birth.

Of course, the first thing that came to my mind is that these proposed requirements are just another hoax.

Sorry, folks. Although I could not find the actual documents in the labyrinthine sources called the Federal Government, I did find enough information to ascertain that something is afoot.

And Obama thought that he had problems with the birthers!

I don't know about your personal history, but when I reflect on mine, the only thing I can conclude is that it is a good thing I already have a passport. Not like the 70% of US citizens who do not. Because I cannot provide the above information!

The house in which I was born in SW Minnesota no longer exists. I know, because we have looked for it. I have no idea what the address is of the second house in which I lived in another small town. My mother's address - same thing.

Employers and supervisors - good luck. Does that include the babysitting jobs that were my first employment as a teenager? Supervisors is an even murkier area, since as a teen I didn't even know what a supervisor was when I taught grade school kids how to swim. Then there was college and what today is called work study. And now in my life as a self-employed person. All those clients whom I saw? All the people who have bought my books and my photography?

Fortunately I would be spared the religious ceremonies question, since I am not male and Jewish - and my baptism took place months later. And checking out Jewish circumcism ceremonies has a whiff of Nazi Germany to it. To say nothing about Islamaphobic sentiment, so in vogue these days.

Clem's history is even more vague. He lived above a barbershop on the Iron Range (making him technically a Ranger, something only a Minnesota resident would get). Then there was the trailer he lived in that moved around the state following his father's itinerant employment.

And does residence count when we lived in a campground for a while, between moving from one state to another?

I always have thought, even before our global connectedness via the Internet, that all national boundaries should be abolished and people could live and travel where ever they wish. Just think what that would do to all the ethnic wars that are so popular these days.

There was the story of the little boy, whom everyone was frantically searching for, who declared when he was located, "I wasn't lost. I knew right where I was." Just like him, I know who I am, even if everyone else doesn't.

At least since I already have a passport, I still can  cross the Canadian border for a little recreation in the North Woods.

last snow of the season

a lone daffodil bud
pierces the leaf cover

it opens toward
sun and warmth

then, knighted in the night
with a cap of snow

it bows gracefully
for a moment -

honored by a transient
crown of white

I feel honored
this early spring morning

to be greeted
by a lone daffodil

              -Earth Day, 2011
                Clem J. Nagel

               The snow that banketed
               the ground that night, melted
               by noon the next morning.
               The lone daffodil still is in
               bloom in our backyard!



               Comments are welcome! Just click
               on the word "comment" below.

Finally the Rains Have Come

Spring 2011 has not been a spring that has caused Minnesota gardeners to get excited. Day after day, the skies have been grey, no rain, and temperatures in the forties and low fifties. The result? The wisdom of growing things has meant spring stopped dead in its tracks.

Lots of grumpy gardeners this spring. The only good thing is that they have consoled themselves by meticulously reading the Friend's School Garden sale catalog. When we leave catalogs at public places, they are quickly snatched up. And the energy level at the Fairgrounds this year should achieve record-breaking highs.

Last evening the rains finally came. The "good for the ground" rains as Clem calls them - slow, steady rain absorbed by the thirsty earth. A little warmer temperature and spring just might burst forth.

Waiting is hard - and it teaches us patience. There is the waiting for the birth of a baby. Those last weeks when friends say "not yet?" While the woman's aching back begs for relief. There is the waiting for Christmas and all the family stories of children who search for ways to "investigate" what might be waiting for them on the gift-giving day. And there is keeping vigil with a dying person. Those last days or weeks when you hope to say everything you want to say, including what didn't get said over the years of busy lives.

Our waiting here for spring has been compounded by waiting for my newest book to go to press. The process has been like this year's spring. Our hope is that in several more weeks the printing will be complete and we can experience the satisfaction that is like no other. Holding in our hands the concrete evidence of so much thought and work.

Waiting for the rains. . . As hard as waiting can be, we are called in our lives to be flexible people . Gardners' carefully kept records of when particular spring bulbs bloom are guides, not rules that the earth is to adhere.

But it doesn't mean we periodically aren't peering at the ground, bent over, searching for the promises of spring pushing their way upwards and looking for the sun.

Lincoln Envelope?

Dear Keepers of Official U.S. Documents,

I am of the opinion that I have uncovered something of historic value that
quite likely ought to be archived somewhere in Washington, DC.  I can't
believe what I am about to tell you.

I found this very old envelope in a side pocket of an old storage trunk in
Wanamingo, Minnesota. I almost didn't pay heed to it. On the front of the
envelope was a "to do" list which at first didn't catch my eye. That was . . .
until I read it!

Does what I found have value?

Respectively submitted, 

Clem J. Nagel


                                 To Do Soon:
            -Finish the speech for Gettysburg
            -Give more thought to the idea of a floating dry dock
            -Empty garbage as soon as I return home
            -    ( ?   I was unable to read this third entry)
            -Decide what to do with the problem in Mankato

What triggered things for me were the words "Gettysburg", "dry  dock", and
"Mankato". It could only mean one thing. Abraham Lincoln must have scribbled
the list down while somewhere away from home.

Then, I turned the envelope over and couldn't believe what I saw!  Whoever
had written on the back side of the envelope was obviously confused in trying
to come up with a phrase to begin some kind of a speech. Therewere crossed
out words, notations in parentheses and. here and there, comments clearly added
by someone else who must have known the writer.Was that person riding with
Lincoln at the time? Mysteries!

It was fascinating, to say the least.

Here is what was written on the back . . .

                                           Gettysburg Address

                                                (years?)
         Fourscore and seven days ago  (3 score and 27 years ago?)  our country . . .

         2 x 2 score and (fore?) four (4)  years ago, our country . . . Abe, that
                   doesn't add up, just take my word for it!
              
         Perhaps, just possibly use "A long time ago?" (not sure)
                                
         31,755 days ago, our country . . .
                Abe, don't use this ! ! !

                       One score, 7 years and 21,900 days ago, our country . . .

                Abe Dear, keep it simple!  Just use 87 !!!
                                                                      Love,
                                                                            Mary

           87 years ago (or maybe, just fourscore and seven years ago?) I'll have
           to give it more consideration . . .


                                    Comments are welcome! Just click on the
                                                   word "comment" below
         

Climb the Mountains!

John Muir was an extraordinary man. He hiked all over Alaska's mountains and glaciers, dressed in a suit, tie, and hat - so awed by the beauty and grandeur that he seemed unmindful of the risks. His provisions often were only a knapsack with dry bread, augmented by what he found to eat in the wild.

There is a beautiful quote of his that resonates with my heart today. 

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.

Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.

The winds will blow their own freshness into you,

and the storms their energy,

while cares will drop off like autumn leaves."

The sun is shining here. Lovely green leaves from bulbs are scattered across our garden. The blooms of Glory of the Snow have joined the patches of snowdrops. And the rabbits are eating someone else's garden this spring. What more could a person ask!

Ready to Go!

The Friends Plant Sale is approaching. It is the biggest and best gardening event in the Twin Cities. And an event not to be missed. It is time to plan your strategy to take on this plant extravaganza, happening the week end of May6-8. With the catalog online now as well as available in printed form,  it will make your heart sing as you yearn for spring.

Some advice from "old-timers." Unless there is a particular rarity you want to be sure you will carry out of the State Fair Grandstand with that huge smile on your face that is the trademark of a happy gardener, it is best not to show up when the doors are scheduled to open - as hordes of people will descend at that time. Of course, there are some compensations for coming early - you could meet new people this way, while you stand in line. And have some interesting gardening conversations, as well as complain about our slow-to-emerge spring and the tedious, long winter.

Ourselves, we go a bit later on Friday and still manage to find almost everything our little hearts desire.

Or you can wait until Saturday morning. The Friend's huge cadre of volunteers are fast learners and every year have devised new ways to ease your shopping experience. One of those is re-stocking for Saturday, rather your being faced with a slowly dwindling supply of interesting plants.

And course there is your return visit on Sunday, when things are marked down. After, two days the plants are a little weary and are puppies at the Humane society. They will be clamoring for your adoption attention.

And remember shopping at this gig-normous sale is a two for one deal - The sale is Friends School's primary fund raiser. Profit from the sale means more financial aid for prospective students, who otherwise would not have the option of going to Friends - a wonderful educational opportunity and a first class education.

Getting Our Life Back!

A month after the BP oil rig disaster, Tony Hayward made his infamous remark about wanting his life back. It was the height of insenstivity, given the immensity of the event.

However, all of us secretly have said the same words, expecially after this long, snowy winter. At the risk of sounding insensitive, I have been mttering "I want my life back!" Said with a bit of guilt, because the slow easing into spring has meant a slower rate of melting, thus easing potential flooding.  Snow has a way of being beautiful when it first falls, creating fairyland scenes. Or the bragging rights of records broken, even when it creates havoc in our lives. But the novelty wears thin, when the snow's whiteness has given way to a dirty collection system for human detritus.

When a late spring interferes with the season's rhythm to which we have been accustomed, folks can get downright crabby. Hey, the time to plant peas is the first of April - and this year, only a fool with a ice pick would have tried making little holes in frozen ground to drop in the seeds. 

Sunday, we could not bear it any longer. Out to the deck with brooms to clear away the end result of sharing our living space with bird feeders. Then to the front yard where this year's snow had beaten down our grasses so badly that our house looked like a neglected residence.

Then the surprise! We walked around, checking out the garden, where surely nothing could be up. And there were the blooming snowdrops! Delicate and perfect, pushing their way through leaf mulch to gain their lives back. Nearby, daffodil had pushed through frozen soil, along with little red spikes of tulips emerging from winter slumber.

I announced in a loud voice (the neighbors still cowering in their houses): We are getting our life back!

National Poultry Month (better known as National Poetry Month)

I just received a special "email alert" from the Chicken and Turkey
Growers Association (you may be more familiar with their omnipresent
CATGA acronym ) that shows up in the most unusual places!) that

April is "National Chicken Scratching Month."
  (every poet with quill in hand is invited to write their hen scratches 
   in some kind of a poetic form and share them around to whoever
   might listen . . . and ask them to do the same!)
                 
They gave a quite paltry reason for their "email alert." (Actually, I
find it quite amazing that it didn't get spammed out by my computer.
I will have to chick out the settings . . .)

Their email message said that the late notification was due to this year's
extremely late spring and since their national headquarters is located in
Spring Chicken, New York, the area's succession of winter storms has
virtually paralyzed their ability to access their buildings, let alone send
out their messages in a timely manner.

Even with all this explanation from CATGA, their staff (who aren't all
spring chickens anymore) were able to get to their computers, compose
their annual email alert, and cluck "send."

So . . . join me in writing daily poetry "hen scratchings" this month!