Archive for the ‘Woods & Rivers’ Category
Rip van Winkle
When we get to the place where we stop,
Dad (Gramps) falls asleep.
Close by, Mom (Gramma) demonstrates the use of a magnifying glass.
Iris looks closely.
Akiva watches Iris looking.
The old woman sits in dappled shade—
the little ones wait patiently—
the old man sleeps.
On the Way to North Hatley
We stop in the woods at the side of the bike trail, to visit the Massawippi River.
And, look! So many things to see.
What else can we find?
In this little sliver of heavenly woods— the greatest blooming of Indian Pipe that I have ever seen!
My camera cannot capture the masses and the expanse, for at a distance, they simply blend into the forest floor.
Closer and closer, to the limits of my camera. I cannot move in close enough.
Massawippi River
To bike to North Hatley, we take the dirt road that goes over the covered bridge.
Before the bridge, there is a pull-out at the Massawippi River.
The slope at the bottom is gradual.
It looks like a nice place to get wet.
The bottom is covered in small pebbles. There is no industrial debris.
Certainly there is agricultural run-off. Fortunately, there are no cows standing in the river.
Few cars pass. We are alone.
I am certain we will come again.
Looking for a New Blue River
The Coaticook River is only a minute’s walk from our house.
Industrial town. Industrial river.
Laplatte
There will be a last time that we pass between these trees.
And there will be a last time that we walk among the flowers.
There will be a last time that we wade across this river
and wander uninhibited amongst the ferns for hours.
We miss you.
On the Sixth of July
In the morning, we went to Clark Reservation. I love this place. Iris calls it “The Place With the Rocks.”
When I was not too much older than Iris, we went here with Pop.
He said to me, “Jessi, do you know how these rocks got all broken up like this?”
I thought about it for a while, trying to remember if anyone had told me. No one had.
“Well, at one time, it was all just one big rock,” said Pop,
directing my gaze across the broad expanse of fissured rock with a sweep of his arm,
“then your mother came by with a sledge hammer and broke it all up.”
I was impressed.
* * *
Later in the day, we explored the gardens surrounding my mother’s house.
They are impressive, billowing over with blooms,
framed by stone patios and walls she built herself from rocks gathered at Clark Reservation.
Turns out, the reason she broke all those rocks up with her sledge hammer
was because she wanted to take a few pieces home.
But that’s not what these pictures are about.
These pictures are about Mom, in her gardens. They are also about photography.
Pop was a photographer.
Photography gives one the ability to capture and hold a quadrangle of light
without allowing in any distracting interference that the surroundings might provide—
leaving the viewer unaware that, just 30 degrees to the right, chaos abounds.
* * *
In the vegetable garden, there are always extra vegetables. You might not hear about them, because usually the woodchucks and the rabbits get around to hearing about them first. But they’re extra, so it’s okay. Sometimes, we get to play with the extras. Usually it’s just things like onions. Bunnies don’t like to eat the onions because they don’t like to have bad breath. So they leave the onions alone.
Akiva uses them to make some onion soup.
On the far side of the fence, Mom (a.k.a. Grandma) gathers berries while eager mouths await.
As she waits, Iris finds some berries on her own side of the fence.
Photo-op with adorable children:
* * *
We had a wonderful day.
Which is the way to faerie-land?
These are the wild days.
In this late June’s late noon haze,
we wander through the wetness left
by June’s heavy rains.
We meander through the puddled woodlands,
troubling the mud and
muddying the waters.
And we wander: mother, son, & daughter.
These are the wild days.
This is our own small wild place.
And this is how we play and these are our faces.
And this is how we keep the small child’s wild ways.
We ramble down between the misty trees
to play. These are the wild days
of mid-summer when faeries play
like children and small humans become fae.
It is here we find our magic place.
It is here we find this great white faerie house
hidden in the weeds. This house is inhabited
by friends.
And these are our friends.
And these are our woods. And these are our bridges.
And this is our river. And these are our bodies.
And these are our ways. And this is our home.
And these are the wild days.
My children are arrows, and magic the bow. And I am the quiver.
These are the wild days.
In this late June’s late noon haze,
we wander through the wetness left
by June’s heavy rains.
We meander through the puddled woodlands,
troubling the mud and
muddying the waters.
And we wander: mother, son, & daughter.
These are the wild days.
This is our own small wild place.
And this is how we play and these are our faces.
And this is how we keep the small child’s wild ways.
We ramble down between the misty trees
to play. These are the wild days
of mid-summer when faeries play
like children and small humans become fae.
It is here we find our magic place.
It is here we find this great white faerie house
hidden in the weeds. This house is inhabited
by friends.
And these are our friends.
And these are our woods. And these are our bridges.
And this is our river. And these are our bodies.
And these are our ways. And this is our home.
And these are the wild days.
My children are arrows, and magic the bow. And I am the quiver.
—Jessica Rose Shanahan
Nov. 14, 2017
The sweetest big sister in the world: far side of the river.
Summer on the river. (Favorite spot.)
We walk into the woods on the far side.
This is my little girl.
She does not remember a time before Akiva.
Tho she does get the feeling she used to have her mommy all to herself.
I cannot imagine the lonesomeness of being an introverted only child.
There is no thing that my parents ever gave me better than siblings.
Look! Two!
May they always be together,
& never walk alone.
