Tug Baker and the Lyman Lion (F)

Tug Baker looked out the kitchen window to see why Macy and Lacy were at the back door jumping up and down and barking wildly. Tug looked and then looked again.

Coming toward the open gate at the back of the yard was the Lyman Lion. Huge, strong, and on the move. Its head was gigantic, jaws massive, drool coming from its mouth.

Tug looped around to the sliding glass door and dashed to the edge of the patio. He pulled his magic sword from the sandbox and then reached for his shield that covered the twins’ barrel of toys.

On came the Lyman Lion at a slow pace. No hurry for that great beast.

“Go back!” Tug shouted. “Go back, or die here today!” Tug hit his shield with his sword.

Still the monster came on with hot breath and dark, dark eyes. When its mouth opened, huge teeth flashed in the morning sunlight.

“No more warnings!” Tug began to stride down the hill to meet his enemy.

Now the Lion stopped, its head tilting left then right. Its jaws opened wide. Was it thinking of eating Tug for breakfast?

Tug raised his sword straight over his head. He put his shield in front of his chest. “Come on, you terrible beast!”

The Lion trotted forward. They were only 20 feet apart. Tug braced himself for the attack.

On came the Lion, drooling and shaking its huge head. Tug bent his knees. Soon the Lion would be on him.

Bam! The Lion’s head crashed into Tug’s shield and Tug had to take a step back. He looked for a soft spot to use his sword on this monster.

Again, bam! The Lion’s front paws landed on Tug’s shoulders and knocked him to the ground. Tug covered his head with his shield. The Lion’s teeth were just inches from Tug’s face.

Tug tried to roll away but the weight of the Lyman Lion held him pinned to the ground. Tug tried to push his foe away. He tried again. No escape for Tug.

“Get back, you evil creature!”

The Lion head-butted Tug. Tug tried push himself away on his heels and elbows. Still, no escape.

“I will defeat you!” Tug brought his knees up and under the Lion. If he could just get the beast off of him.

“Tug! Tug Baker, stop playing with Betsy and feed the chickens!”

“But, Mom….”

“Now, Tug. And close the gate after you get Betsy home so the dogs can come out.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Tug rubbed Betsy behind her ears and got up to his feet. He led the St. Bernard back down the hill and out into her yard. “Good girl, Betsy. See you later, I guess.”

Tug closed the gate and walked back to his house.

Lyman 2021

 

 

Video's Dupe

 I'm an idjit.

Mid-morning I looked out a bedroom window, and perched at the very highest limb of the Grandfather tree was a large bird. First thought, turkey vulture. Then the bird turned its head in the morning sun--a bald eagle. 

First, a context clue to underscore my foolishness. In five years here I have seen 3 adult eagles and one juvenile. 

In a series of rushed moves I grabbed my video camera and slipped on shoes and headed out the back door. Yes, my first thought was to make a TikTok video.

Now about that, making TikTok videos. A neighbor suggested posting videos of some of the stuff growing my yard and in containers. Short, of course, and no running commentary like on my YouTube videos for my parents. Just point and shoot.

Okay, and nearly 300 strangers apparently take a look. A few friends and family members as well. Amuses me to a degree, but simply done.

So I get out about halfway across the back yard and I start filming and I'm trying to be somewhat stealthy and I step into a depression and I lose focus on the eagle. So I pause.

The walk-arounds for the YouTube videos keep my parents posted on what's what in the yard since they are unable to visit. Again, some of the family and one or two friends may watch.

Slowly I ease out to the shed and refocus on the eagle and within a handful of seconds, off it flies. Which I sort of caught on video. The liftoff and then just a blur of trees in the background.

I know my yard pretty much like the back of my hand. The everyday-ness of routine.

Bald eagles, not so much. 

Grabbed my video camera for a TikTok upload and so I missed savoring a moment with one of the "lords of life".

I am an idjit.

Thursday Twofer: Something, Something, Moon...

                         Lover’s Moon

Unfazed, I take in the moon at last light

and know too well the deep of night that follows—

but only for a short while,

the light to come again—

like some welder’s torch delicately glazed the rim,

an arc in time signaling more light to come,

and then into its fullness it should follow,

or perhaps no,

for only this night’s light is given—

but by a faith we believe in the light to come,

darkness to follow,

the light to come,

darkness to follow—

while I stand stoking a fire that skyward chases sparks

that rise like a thousand red bees

flickering into a kind of nothingness,

lost in the starry sky,

and now I so stirred,

will wait to see should the moon come round again.

Ladson 2013

Lune Maladie

Oh, lunatic poets (all liars too)

who would have us romance under a full moon

(closer to be sure than old father sun)

but stepping outside into the frosty air

(such a night so full and bright)

no warmth to come round out there

just a casting of a cold white light

(across the river and through the trees)

that cannot warm a heart 

(not even hands, feet, nary a nose)

as anyone who hears their tunes knows

we have merry songsters (I know not how)

who rhyme the moon to woo as well

might this night be bettered if silent

than crooning tales of long lost love

laboring on behalf of hearts

that too many miles apart

beat unheard,

poor lovers beyond the pale,

now ill-lumined thus, ever to remain.

Ladson 2013

Nellie Long and the Ruby Ring (F)

On a cool September morning, Nellie Long was pruning roses the way she had been taught by Uncle Seve. With each snip she smiled because the work was so relaxing and made her happy.

“Hey, Nellie!” Uncle Seve called out. “Guess what?”

Nellie looked at her uncle and waved. “What!”

“I found that ring I told you about. My aunt’s ruby ring.”

Yes, the ruby ring, Nellie remembered. Uncle Seve told Nellie it came from a place very far away, a special place way up in the tallest mountains of the world.

Uncle Seve walked over and handed it to her. “Here. You keep it, Nellie.” She put it on her right ring finger, but it was a little loose.

“I better keep it in my pocket for now.”

“Okay. Great job on the roses. A+. Talk to you later.”

Later that evening, Nellie sat out in her back yard under the big dogwood tree, the one with a few yellow leaves. She reached in her pocket and took out the ruby ring. It really was very beautiful.

Nellie slipped it on her finger and then placed her right hand with the ring to her heart. She closed her eyes. A soft breeze came up the hill and felt cool on her face.

Relaxed, Nellie took a slow breath, eyes still closed. Under her hand her heart beat at an easy pace. The ruby ring seemed to fit better than it did that morning.

Her eyes closed, in her mind, Nellie could see many tall mountains and behind them even taller mountains. In front of her was a long staircase that went up 300 or more steps to a white building with a high red roof.

Nellie could hear in her head a voice telling her “Be brave, be bold, Nellie!” So up she started. The steps were made of stone and hard to walk on, but she kept climbing.

Up and up and up and up and now her heart was beating faster. She stopped and looked back and could see little houses far below.

Nellie started her climb again. So many steps. Suddenly a Golden eagle flew right over her head. She felt the whoosh of the wings. She ducked her head. “Wow!”

But again she heard that voice: Be brave, be bold! She took a deep breath. Up, up, up she climbed.

Finally, she was standing at the huge wooden door. She took a deep breath and knocked. Nothing. She knocked again, louder and longer. Sure enough, the door opened. By itself. “Whoa!” Nellie said.

Nellie stepped through the doorway and looked left and right, up and down. No one was in the courtyard.

There was another door not as big as the front one. Well, she thought, I might as well keep going. The door was already opened a little bit, so she pushed it and walked on in.

To her surprise Nellie saw a large garden filled with so many flowers with so many colors and so many butterflies and hummingbirds.

And sitting on a big wooden bench was—no, no, no thought Nellie. “Antonio!”

“My, my, my. See who’s here.” Antonio laughed. “Nellie Long. Well, hello, Nellie!” He stood and waved for her to come over and sit with him.

Nellie walked over, shaking her head. “How can you be here, Antonio?”

“Why not, Nellie. You’re here. So I guess I can be here as well. Right?”

Nellie sat down on the bench next to him. “But why are you here?”

“Oh, I sit here with people and help them with their questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Any kind. Any kind at all.”

Nellie thought for a moment. “Am I dreaming?”

“Do you feel like you are dreaming, Nellie?”

Nellie knew her heart was not beating as fast as on the steps. She could feel the bench under her. “I don’t think so.”

The two sat quietly for a moment.

“There are a lot of flowers here, Antonio.”

“Yes.”

“Do you like flowers?”

“Yes. Do you, Nellie?”

“I like the colors. Pink is my favorite. Do you know why I am here, Antonio?”

“This is your path, Nellie. Where you are is on your way.”

“Where am I going?”

Antonio smiled. “Following your path.”

Nellie frowned. “Sometimes you still don’t answer me exactly.”

“I can’t tell you more than I know, Nellie. Folks can’t tell you more than they know. But, I can be your friend and tell you the truth.”

“Will I ever know where I am going?”

“Sometimes.”

Nellie thought for a moment. “Do you know where you are going?”

Antonio laughed again. “Sometimes.”

Nellie saw that the sun was sinking below the garden wall. “I think it is time for me to go in.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I will see you again on my path.”

“You are becoming very smart, Nellie.”

Nellie opened her eyes again. She could feel her heart beating against her hand, the ruby ring still on her finger. She got up from her chair and headed back to her house.

 

Persistence Gardening

From time to time I'll get a comment praising my gardening skills. Mostly, I chalk up whatever successes to persistence. 

I am reluctant even to use the term gardening. The word suggests, to me at least, the gardens of Kyoto, English gardens, or Linda Vater's yard. (See YouTube.) As for me, I think along the lines of growing stuff as in dig a hole, put in the plant or tree, and tend to it. 

Smartly--at least to my way of thinking--I generally go with tough shrubs and trees nearly always suitable to my growing zone, 7b. Tea olives, Knockout roses, Heavenly bamboo nandinas, Roses of Sharon, butterfly bushes, Mexican petunias, azaleas and the like. Good chance of surviving and minimal care. 

Remember, my slogan is managed, not manicured.

Maples, elms, crape myrtles, and dogwoods appropriately are located in the ground here now. Some apple trees, some ornamental plums, a Yoshino cherry, a couple of white fringe trees, too. The almond trees were a stretch, I think, but the spring flowering is showy. The Honey locust, a nice surprise.

The cucumbers and tomatoes do well here--jury still out on sweet potatoes for now. Garlic does okay, or at least my effort does. 

I get more bang for the buck amazement-wise growing things from seed like the French marigolds and the vegetables. 

Of course, I understand the space limitations for a lot of folks these days with the smaller--much smaller--lot sizes. However, let me extoll the virtues of a 4x4 bed or vertical gardening along a fence or tucking a small blooming ornamental tree in a corner out back.

And a lot of my effort turns on not being a grass farmer.  Yes, I understand the time issue for working folks who are also parenting. But, unless the playing fields of wherever you are are needed, how much of the lawn do you use? 

At the very least yard stuff gets me outside, which I prefer as much as the weather allows.

No, not everything thrives. But many plants and trees if they're not completely out of their element are going to root in and survive. Take note of a stand of wild trees--no one watering, mulching, or pruning. Or that dandelion growing in a crack in your driveway. 

That's about how I go about growing things. Get them out there, give them a good start as needed, and let them find their way. They generally do in my limited experience. 

And, no, I'm not going to suggest some analogy with raising kids or nurturing relationships. The world could do with a significant reduction in analogies. Maybe some other time, I'll get around to that topic.

Uh, probably not.

Thursday Twofer

                 Ruminations

Yes, the cup was broken,

then mended.

Yes, the cup was empty,

then filled.

 

From the well of your goodness,

I drank.

Deep, the cup.

Deeper, the well.

 

In you I am

a swimmer in a pool of cool, deep water.

Deep, the water.

Cool, the water.

 

In you, I am.

Ladson 2014

I Bring My Cup

I bring my cup filled

for you to drink or to set aside

as you will.

Cradled in both hands, not in supplication,

rather an offering,

for something more than I can say—

but this, then: My cup for your cup,

and so a betrayal—see, the weakness in me!

Love wrangled by expectation—here, drink.

That I may be back with more—I’m sorry—

that I cannot say.

Lyman 2016

Wooly Bully-ish

 Let's see, vast herds of 8 to 11' mammals weighing 4 to 6 tons roaming the thawing Arctic tundra for the first time in 4,000 years? Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.

Uh, no.

The impetus for this project comes from tech and software entrepreneur Ben Lamm and Harvard geneticist George Church via their company Colossal. Why? Yes, indeed, why?

According to Church their "goal is to make a cold-resistant elephant, but its going to look and behave like a mammoth. Not because we are trying to trick anybody, but because we want something that is functionally equivalent to the mammoth, that will enjoy its time at -40C, and do all the things that elephants and mammoths do, in particular knocking down trees."

Mammoths enjoying--enjoying--life at -40C. But, I'll let that notion slide for now.

Their thinking goes, apparently, knock down trees, expand grasslands. And grasslands are better cover for permafrost regions than trees. But wait, there's more. Bonus notion, as stock use Asian elephants which are dwindling rapidly towards extinction.

Hold on, cosmic neophytes.

Gareth Phoenix (some things you can't make up), professor of plant and global change ecology, has doubts about the effort. "...We know in the forested Arctic regions that trees and moss cover can be critical in protecting permafrost, so removing the trees and trampling the moss would be the last thing you'd want to do."

Even more to the point, a 2020 study published in Nature concluded "...The sensitivity study shows that considerable less herbivore density and hence less snow depth reduction will also have a high  potential to prevent permafrost from thawing. Hence, our study demonstrates the need of much more detailed field studies and experiments about the effect of herbivores, such as reindeer, on snow depth at a landscape scale."

Yes, at scale. Victoria Herridge, evolutionary biologist at the Natural History museum in London, is not so sure about this plan. "You are talking about hundreds of thousands of mammoths which each take 22 months to gestate and 30 years to grow to maturity."

I never played a scientist on television, so my first thought may be pretty pedestrian. Holy methane, Batman!

For me, once again, the slippery slope rule applies. Don't know enough to go forward, then don't. What next, saber tooth tigers because of a prey-predator imbalance? Or, Neanderthals?

Of course the holy grail of modern capitalism--entrepreneurship--may prevail. Rarely doesn't. Wonder what Mary Shelley would think?

Wait, where are her bones interred? Bournemouth, here we come! 

Thursday Twofer: Something, Something, Birds

                    A Pair of Doves

A pair of doves came to my sidewalk today

to peck for whatever it was that might hold them

there outside my front door.

Unruffled, they let me move about the garden

as I pulled Johnson grass and oooed over the first blooms

of this season on a loropetalum

that came not to the better

of the half-dozen newly planted earlier in June.

No, there with flowers was the runt of the litter

that had been stressed throughout the summer

and unyielding to my care.

I thought I might have to unearth it,

a rare casualty among the dozens of flowers

and shrubs I have set into this ground.

The doves fluttered up to the roof.

I laughed, for my want of faith,

and bowing low, returned to the task at hand.

Ladson 2014

Swans

perhaps it is too early in the season

to think that the swans must be going 

 

too early to think of the lake feathered

only by the winds that come with passing cold fronts

 

but on the bank where I sit

I watch

a swan with her young one

as if attached by a lead

never too far ahead or too far behind

 

of late these two have come calling

close to the place that is my perch

(the others paddling themselves into the distances)

 

is it my solitary figure that invites

or at least proffers no warning

 

perhaps some desire taking flight

that I yearn for within my world

where now I count in those trees

the first leaves yellowing that soon will be going

Ladson 2015

Tug Baker and the Silver Gloves (F)

The Bakers’ dogs Macy and Lacy were barking and chasing around beneath the apple trees down by shed. Tug stared at the trees to see if something was out there, something that should not be out there.

Yes, something shiny was hanging down from one of the trees. But what?

Down the hill, Tug jogged. Closer and closer, and then—what? Gloves? Gloves. Two bright shiny gloves. Kind of like boxing gloves. But not. Kind of like his daddy’s work gloves. But not.

They were hanging over a low branch. Tug saw they were very, very large, much bigger than his father’s. But he had to try them on. Yes, much too big.

But wait! His hands suddenly grew larger. The gloves fit just right.  “Awesome!” he said. His hands were as big as a soccer ball, but still shaped like hands. He closed his fingers and made a fist. Huge!

Tug reached up to the branch and—zoom—he pulled himself up as easy as one, two, three. He reached higher and again right up to the next branch.

Right away Tug thought about the elm tree up by the house. He climbed down and ran up the hill to that great big old tree so much taller than the Baker’s house.

One hand reached up to a low branch—up! The other hand the next branch—up! And again. And again. And again. He didn’t climb, he was being pulled. First one hand, then the next.

His hands were so strong. He could just hang from one hand and wave with the other.

What if he let go? No problem! He just reached out and grabbed a branch like he was grabbing a straw out of his mint chocolate chip milkshake.

Now, where was the biggest tree in the neighborhood? The maple in front of Mr. Dixon’s house. The oak at the entrance to the neighborhood. The tall pines next to the swimming pool.

Tug was so excited to try out the gloves, he almost fell. But he didn’t. He caught himself. One-handed! Down he swung to the ground.

“Now, what do I say to Mom?” Tug wondered aloud.

He thought he would take off the gloves, maybe hang them on his bike. Be hard to explain these great big gloves.

Tug pulled off the gloves and set them on the seat of his bike. Before he could turn to go inside, a loud explosion! Boom!

Bang! Bang! The gloves shot up into the air over his head. Pop, pop, pop, pop, like firecrackers. Then a loud whistle and the two gloves flew around in circles. Smaller and smaller the gloves and the circles they made.

He watched with wide eyes. Smaller. Smaller. Smaller. Poof. Gone!

Tug’s mother came out into the yard. “Tug, what in the world was all that noise?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing here to see, Mom.”

“Well, I never, but okay. Make sure you put out water for the dogs.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Tug looked one more time to the sky, but it was all just clouds and sun.

Lyman 2021

My Sweet Potato Fail

Let me cut to the chase, I failed. A young neighbor consulting on this year's edibles suggested adding sweet potatoes to the menu. Sounded good to me. Searched for varieties suited for my planting zone, chose two types, ordered the slips, and into containers they went 90+ days ago. 

Let me revisit a phrase, "into containers".  Say it with me, "into containers".

Now somehow when I started looking into growing sweet potatoes, I never searched best sweet potatoes for growing--yep--in containers.  

Turns out there is a bushing type suited for--in containers. Where was this unknown known when I needed it? 

Unfortunately, I had visions of the plant being trained onto my fence so my neighbor could watch an explosion of twisting, sprawling vines. And of course from time to time I would call out for her to watch the growth.

No, no explosion of twisting, sprawling vines. A fizzling more accurately. Stringy vines, all under 30" long.

Yet with great gusto I rolled the container in my wheelbarrow over to the neighbors' back yard as if I were a Roman emperor entering the city triumphantly.

Oh, whither laurel crown and ground covered with rose petals.

Yes, I brought a small garden fork so she could dig out the buried loot while her brother watched. Of course I did.

Slowly she probed the soil while I tipped the container into the wheelbarrow and she slowly digging, slowly, digging, slowly--nada! Na-Da! 

"Well, there is a second container with a different type, but I guess I'm not so good at growing sweet potatoes."

"You can't say that yet," she kindly observed. "There's a second one."

Is there anything sweeter than the sweetness of children?

In my heart of hearts I doubt much will be different with the second attempt, but I don't know for sure. But I am sure I will slink back over in a month with the container sans fanfare.

Maybe with a little brown paper sack of freshly cut lavender. A distraction, a pittance. 

The gist of this post all along was getting the question right from the get-go. Not after the fact.

Lesson learned? Maybe.

 

Thursday Twofer: Something, Something, Wolves

Coda: New Moon

Basalt under foot,

the thin fur of lichens

to the edge of a sheaf of stone

as if a ramp to the cold black water

 

unleashed, one wolf first

beneath a million stars in the black, black sky

more than a million

 

nose down,

the water all that he could drink

all that could ever be

a howl now

no deep dish of light to steer his way

nose back up

 

an answering, a howl from across the bay

answering, the she that bears watching

who may bring him to heel,

howling, the she in the equation

 

howling again, he

a dip of the shoulder

a howl

black night

her howling

 

tamed now,

he charges back along the run of rock,

she as if night goes on forever

howling

Reprise: Full Moon

across the lake adrift in snow

in this space and time

the moon smudged and haloed round

the more snow to fall

his howling begun

the wind come up

tomorrow’s storm

only a few those stars to steer by

prick the sky in such light 

the one howl he hears

an echo

unleashed across the sound

untamed

unanswered still he lopes

and she

in silence

night’s shadows

beneath a rocky ledge from where the world could begin

he comes apace

one howl and then another

oh he howls

Ladson 2013