Remembering Rachel

Those who dwell among the beauties and mysteries
of earth are never alone or weary of life.   -Rachel Carson
                                                                    (1907-1964)

     Remembering Rachel

       From a
          spring-melt
          water puddle -
              memories of Rachel
                     emerged.

          I met her there
              many times in my
                     younger years.

          She always
              did favor
                     ocean edges.

              Later in life,
                      I met her there.

                                        Many times.

                         *  *  *  *

Rachel Carson was fascinated by the ocean.
Silent Spring is one of the early environmental
science books. It was published on September of
1962 (about 4 months after I graduated from
college). I never dreamed that I would ever see
the ocean. I had lived in prairie land. Then, I read
Silent Spring. Her book clearly spelled out the
detrimental effects on the environment of the
indiscriminate use of pesticides. Her statements
meshed and gave validity to my concerns. I
remember how she accused the chemical industry
of spreading disinformation and how public
officials accepted industry claims without question.

In the 1950's, Rachel gave her attention to
conservation, especially to environmental concerns.
Of course, Silent Spring was met with fierce
opposition by chemical companies, but it spurred a
total reversal of our country's pesticide policy. Her
efforts led to a nationwide ban on DDT for agricultural
uses, and inspired an environmental movement that
led to the creation of the U.S Environmental Protection
Agency.

In 2006, Silent Spring was named as one of the 25
greatest science books of all time.

Just recently, I realized that when we were living in
Silver Spring, Maryland, Rachel also lived there!
Unknown to me, we may even have seen her while
shopping at the Woodward & Lothrop Department
Store.

Near the end of her life, she fainted and fell in that
same Woody's.

LAKE SUPERIOR SNOWFALL

Early morning snow -
fresh flakes fall gently,
knitting networks
of lace.

Jewel-fluff blankets.

A slightest puff
would pilfer their
myriad connections.

Afar off,
other snowflakes
melt seamlessly into
the immense, leaden lake.

In the quiet
stillness,
a raven
calls.

Early December

Soaring eagle
       slides by in
                the wind.
     
       Grey sky.
                River nearby.

Deferred

                             Deferred

End of November comes
     to northern Minnesota.
An amazingly warm wind
     caresses the tail, tan
           grass-clumps.

Grass that greet
     passersby with
           its graceful wave.

A slight morning rain,
     dampens the green lawn.

My desire is to
     mow the grass -
           one more time . . .

just to say that I
      did it.

But, will defer
      till later
            in the spring.

                       I sure miss
                             real winter.

W h i t e

Cimicifuga
   still in bloom - even though the
        calendar says mid-November.
   It's startlingly sweet fragrance
        commands attention.

When the breeze is just so . . .
   neighbors walk over into our
        garden to
   seek what
        smells that way.

Baneberry's reddish stalks,
   adorned with white eyes and
        tiny black pupils,
   appear to be on the search for
        their former neighbors -

   recently frost-bitten.

Plants with ever-new potential -
        but, at least for now,
    calmly await

        the white flakes of winter.

The Eyes Have It

Thunbergia along the
edges of a Kenyan
jungle where corn
fields adjoin
wilderness.

Peering from
within wild places -
yellow eyes with
dark pupils
return my gaze,
staring back at me.

Each year, I plant
the Thunbergia vines
in the deck planter.
A reminder
of beautiful flowers
in beautiful
places.

A GENTLE WINTER WIND MEDITATION

When will real
winter arrive?

Fall leaves,
reluctant to leave
their branches -
clinging beyond
welcome.

    Leaves, come on now, drop!

Stop hanging around, the
soil needs you - you have
done your bit
for this season.

     Leaves, come on now, drop!

Your chlorophyll has had
its time in the sun -
and has done what it does best.
Petiole's abscission layers
have matured.

      Leaves, come on now, drop!

All that is left is

           to
              be
                  in
                     the
                         moment.

       Leaves, come on now, drop!

Ahh . . . a gentle wind
picking up . . . just now.
More leaves
take flight.

       Leaves, come on now, drop!