IN THE HARVEST

"Autumn leaves don't fall, they fly.They take their time and wander on this their only time to soar..."

-Delia Owens

UNDER the HARVEST MOON by Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)

Under the harvest moon

When the soft silver

Drips Shimmering

Over the garden nights

Death, the grey mocker,

Comes and whispers to you

As a beautiful friend

Who remembers

Under the summer roses

When the flagrant crimson

Lurks in the dusk

Of the wild red leaves

Love, with little hands

Comes and touches you

With a thousand memories

And asks you, beautiful, unanswerable questions

 Photographs 2020  This poem is in the public domain. Carl Sandburg won 3 Pulitzer prizes in his lifetime.....

WHISKEY JACK

"Whiskey is liquid sunshine.." -Bernard Shaw

 M.W.

WHISKEY JACK.....also known as Grey Jay, or ( my favourite) Camp Robber! 

Up in the Mt. Washington Range. Along Paradise valley  walking trail. They come for blueberries and peanuts

They are found in the forest, Rocky Mountain Zone all the way down to New Mexico and Arizona. 

M.W.

They wear a striking grey and white tuxedo, and are more related to magpies than to Blue Jays.

M.W.

And they LOVE humans. They have no fear of  them. And often ask for hand outs. They love sunflower seeds and will perch happily on an outstretched hand.

In 1760 the Grey Jay was described by a zoologist (M. J. Brisson) as a songbird.

He called it by its French name "Le geay brun de Canada"

"In order to see birds it is necessary to become a part of the silence..." -Robert Lynd

M.W.

Whiskey Jacks hear humans on the trails and come flying in.  

M.W.

Smaller than a regular Jay, but large for a songbird.  It's wingspan is about 18 inches.

They build nests and lay eggs in  February  or March when their world is deep in snow.

Canada Jay is its official name, but the  slang name of "Whiskey Jack" is from the Cree and Algonquin name "Wisakedjak". 

It means:  "trickster" and is a  hero to the Cree and Algonquin nation.

The name is also in the Menominee culture.  A collection of legends and stories about how things came to be...(Worth looking up and reading)

M.W.

In North America the Tlingit people know the  Whiskey Jack as taat'eeshdei

M.W.

The Mi'kmaq of Nova scotia  depict the Big Dipper seven stars each as a separate bird.  

In the night sky, the star Eta Ursae Majoris is the Canada Jay "Mikjaqoqwej"

But we call it the Whiskey Jack. Humourous, happy thing, who loves humans and will fly for blueberries  or peanuts.....

"When the sun of compassion arises, darkness evaporates, and the singing birds come from nowhere..." -Amit Ray

M.W.

With thanks to Morgan Woods (M.W.) for the contribution  of the Whiskey Jack pics

Photographs 2020 .

 

MISS LILY's THANKSGIVING

"Be thankful you have clothes to wear, food to eat, and a place to sleep..." - Lailah Gifty Akita

Many moons ago, when I was a  student, living in the students, each thanksgiving we Miss Lilly  would offer her home to international students over the holidays.  Of course, their thanksgiving was at the end of November. (In Canada we celebrate thanksgiving in October). And one year I was one of  three  students chosen to stay with her , over the four day holiday. She lived in Beatty, Nevada. Not far from the college.  So that’s where we went.

DAY 1: Miss Lily was  66 years young, belonged to a number of clubs,  and was president of her UFO club.  She believed we were not alone,  and often found herself   out in the fields, communing with the stars. She was a hoot. She didn’t like to cook. So she got us all to do  the cooking. I hated cooking. I was put in charge of making creamed onions. Yuck.  Thanksgiving dinner consisted of an overly dry turkey, Creamed potatoes, creamed spinach, creamed peas, creamed onions, yams with syrup poured over, lumpy gravy, and a pumpkin pie that had seen better days. I think her cat walked over it at some point. There were paw prints.

Miss Lilly banged a drum in place of grace. Breathed in deeply, asking us to do the same. Then she would go “Ahhhhhhhh” then we could eat. Discussions ranged from aliens, to horse manure production and what we wanted to be.

“Be yourself, she said “ tell it like it is. Be truthful.” In between mouthfuls of creamed onions.

DAY 2: BANG! BANG! BANG!  5:30 came  early.We could hear singing in the front room, and the banging of metal pots. With a Wooooo and another Woooooo, all went silent.  Then muffled talking.  Miss Lily's prayer group. Miss Lily wandered up and down the hall hitting a metal bowl as loudly as possible. “This is the DAY! Up up up!”  Terrified by the noise we hovered at the edge of our rooms, watching her. “Shopping!” she said, waving her long silky scarf . “Get dressed. We leave in a half hour!” 

We piled into her truck. Off we drove towards Lake Tahoe some 6 hours away.  Lake Tahoe? Really? We jumbled along  for about four hours. Then Miss Lily announced that she changed her mind and we turned around and headed back home. Sore and hot and tired, we stopped at a local mall to take a break. 

People. Kids. Santa. Christmas decorations, bands playing, fashion shows, noise, noise, noise. Kids running. Babies crying. Like out of a Christmas movie. Lineups  at every store. Everything so expensive. The only thing I got was a Christmas decoration ….a San Francisco cable car…..( I still have it to this day). For dinner we had hot dogs on crusty buns, slathered with ketchup. Best meal ever. We watched the fashion show, then squished  back into her truck. She sang John Denver songs most of the way back.

Death valley

DAY 3: BANG! BANG! BANG! 5:00 in the morning, this time. “Get up. We’re off in half hour to the desert”  What? Where? “Death Valley! Shake a leg. Get a  move on. Staying overnight. We’re going camping !”

I HATE camping. I still do. But once again , off we toddled,1 hour and 33 minutes in her old truck. Furnace Creek, Artist’s Palette, Badwater Basin, they all blended into one another. Hot. Hot. Hot. Hot.  We craved water all day long. 

In Death Valley

That night Miss Lily pitched one big tent, in a  trailer park. In the dust. In the sand. She told us not to venture out too far on the sand dunes. Snakes. Rosie Boa, Lizards, Mountain lions. And Coyotes. Up in the hills. Gnashing teeth. Grrrrrr.

She sat outside for ages, looking up at the sky. The stars.  Hoping for a glimpse. “They’re up there, you know, she said. We sat with her. Looking up with her. And the Coyotes started howling. Long and lonesome. Long and dark. 

“ Coyotes be singing tonight,” said Miss Lily. We were scared. We shivered. Then she had us all sing campfire songs , while the coyotes howled their song to the moon. 

DAY 4: We headed back to Beatty. Sandy, tired, happy.  Beatty with it’s museum and Bullfrog-Rhyolite Cemetery , small houses and quiet streets. Miss Lily waved to us as we headed back to school “ Remember to look up. You’ll know it when you see it,” was the last thing she  said before we drove out. 

Thanksgiving 1963

I never saw her again. What an incredible Thanksgiving. It was full of the unexpected. Miss Lily opened her world to us  with no reserve.She always told us to Keep looking up.  

Miss Lily died a few years later, her ashes spread somewhere in Death Valley. I figure she wanted to keep looking up at that big sky and all those stars. They called to her….

 Photographs 2020