Carpe diem and all that

posted by Helen

Watercolors

While helping my parents sort through the tangle of their belongings in preparation for a move, we came across the set of watercolors pictured above. They were given to me for Christmas when I was around 7.

At that age, I loved to draw. Someone noticed and tried to give me the tools to develop my creativity. I treasured those little tubes, but I didn't want to use them up and not have them any more. So I kept them safe. And they dried up.

I discovered their useless state when I was 19; I abandoned them at my parents' house when I left for college later that year. It took time, but I did learn the lesson that in saving something for too long, we risk losing it. Thrift and caution are not always good.

I never had the pleasure of squeezing those bright pigments onto an artist's palette and seeing them blend under the soft bristles of a sable brush. I have other watercolors now. I don't use them often for other reasons, but I think I will get them out and see what develops.

Tell me a story

posted by Helen

The Stinson House, Quechee, April 2005

We've heard a lot of stories about the yellow house since we moved in 5 years ago. We've been told at various times that our house is haunted, was built from the first lumber out of the Dewey Mills sawmill, belonged to a successful Quechee businessman named Mr. Tinkham, is the oldest house in Quechee, was a major party house in the 1980s, had a front door painted lavender, and was once condemned.

Some of these things are true: one of the partiers who lived here is a friend. Some are false: the Dewey Mills churned out woolens and satinet, not lumber. Some things we made up ourselves.

As to the question of ghosts--it's easy to understand why one would assume we are haunted. We are situated near the old and new Quechee cemeteries. The old, "inactive" cemetery is just across Old Quechee Road. It's a lovely place, and the destination of a Valley Quest treasure hunt.

The new cemetery is at the top of the hill behind our house. You can see a corner of it in the photo above. I walk Cammy there from time to time. I haven't investigated how many plots are still available, but fresh graves appear regularly. Some of the grave markers don't have death dates--a kind of planning I'm not capable of yet.

But we do not appear to have ghosts. Sure, we get spooked walking by the cemetery at night, but have seen no evidence of paranormal phenomena. Sometimes when I'm home alone at night, I'll look up from what I'm doing and wonder about all the people who have passed through these rooms, treading the uneven, creaking floors, living through their own moments of joy or sadness. So odd that they seem not to have left a trace.

Summertime

posted by Helen

Rosa Granada

Yesterday was everything a summer day should be -- sunny and hot. I went to the Norwich Farmer's Market in the morning. The local strawberries are in; the peonies are abundant. In the afternoon, we went swimming in Lake Pinneo. The water was so cool and fresh.

Coming back from my morning walk with Cammy, I noticed three roses in full bloom in the front border. They smell heavenly. They are right next to a stand of peonies that I transplanted from a shadier border four years ago. The peonies finally started blooming last year and they have a lovely rose-like scent.

The garden is doing so well. Right now the goldflame honeysuckle is the star. I didn't prune it as severely as I have in the past and it has taken over the central part of the fence. It is frequented by a ruby-throated hummingbird -- always a delight to see.

I wish I could say I knew what I was doing with this garden, but it's a lot of luck. I inherited some of it, but have tried to focus on adding new perennials. A lot of the plants I inherited are listed in my flower encyclopedia as "tending toward weediness." This seems to be polite gardenspeak for "don't touch this with a ten-foot pole." I've tried to contain or eliminate the more aggressive of these species, and have met with some success.

Still Life with Labrador

posted by Helen

Cammy O'Rose, June 22, 2005

She is old, but not old enough to sit quietly while I work.
Her cold nose bumps my left hand, warm tongue
Slipping out to taste the salt of my palm.
She sits back and waits; staring at me implacably,
Her liquid eyes saying: "Take me walking now."

Midsummer Night's Update

posted by Helen

Garage/Office, June 21, 2005

It's taken almost two months, but some wood finally went up on the garage today. The site work was difficult; those difficulties were compounded by weeks of rain. But today, at last, the smell of freshly-sawed lumber was in the air.

Here it is -- the actual summer solstice. I could take the gloomy point of view and say it is all downhill from here ... the days are growing shorter and shorter until we're deep in the heart of winter darkness.

Or I could say, it's a beautiful night and we are going to go walk Cammy in the moonlight.

Today is the Longest Day

posted by Dave

Shifty and friend, Revels North Solstice Festival, June 2005

Today I will try to remember the earth on its journey around the sun. Funny how easy it is to be confused about who's doing what to whom in the universe. The whole notion of the sun rising and setting is false. Why do we persist in thinking that the sun does the moving rather than the earth. The earth spinning . . . the velocity of the universe . . . it may all be too much to comprehend. Makes me dizzy just thinking about it.

Poem 2-15-01

I dream of you as we ride the earth into another day. Confident, breathless, joyful. The wind has tossed our hair, the misty spray in our eyes as we gallop together bareback between land and sea.

I get out of bed slowly, bracing against the G Forces while the earth thrusts down the silver thread of equilibrium between fiery destruction and aimless wandering that defines life as we know it.

And as I watch you dress for another day, I can't help but appreciate the beautiful dance that is you -- smiling -- turning to me in the face of this intricate balance that is our world.

Sun shine out strong

posted by Helen

Solstice Festival Stage, June 2005

The sun came through just before we gathered for the opening of the 2005 Revels North Summer Solstice Festival. It was brilliant.

We spent most of the day watching the skies -- the sun would break out from time to time and then showers would sweep in again. It was beginning to look as though we would be celebrating in the Marion Cross School gymnasium. But by 5 PM, blue sky and wispy clouds moved in from the north west and we had a beautiful clear evening ahead of us. The three-quarter moon rose between the tall pine trees to the east of the festival site at about 7 PM.

The festival began with a small parade that included the most amazing butterfly puppets I have ever seen. I had to search my mind for the word "puppets" to describe them and it does not do them justice. Unfortunately I did not get a photograph of them in daylight. I have a couple of night shots when they returned lit up for the last song of the concert. They were created by the utterly fabulous Gabriel Q of White River Junction.

After a brief introductory song and dance, the chorus spread out among the festival-goers and participated in the many activities. Many worked as behind the scenes volunteers serving food or helping at the popular silk scarf painting booth, while others participated in Dan Hertzler's excellent shape note singing school and contradance workshops run by the Green Mountain and Maple Leaf Morris teams. There were other activities, too numerous to mention.

At dusk, the concert began with a short dance performance choreographed by Carol Langstaff, the founder of Revels North. I can't objectively describe the concert program because I was singing in it, but it was a pleasure to sing and worth the time dedicated to rehearsing over the past three months.

The evening closed with a circle dance to the tune "O How Lovely Is the Evening." Or at least it closed for the audience. The revelers in the chorus and working "backstage" spent the next hour clearing up the site before relaxing at the cast party.

The Longest Day, Communing with Nature and Other Diatribes

posted by Dave

The longest day of the year is not until Tuesday, June 21st - but I will be celebrating it in a couple of ways today. First, there is the Revels North Summer Solstice Festival - a free event that takes place in Norwich that usually draws 1000 or more participants. There's singing and dancing, food and crafts. Most of all there's an awareness of the season and a sharing of the awareness of the moment through song with a bunch of friends. Thanks Revels for making it all possible!

Tonight, there's a summer party at Jo Jo's, which is another type of communion for me. There's only a few things that top getting on stage and playing extended jams into the night with my rock star brothers. There's a place we go where I swear we converse. Not with words, but with notes and volume dynamics. The audience picks up on the conversation too, and becomes a bigger part of the sharing. Together we channel the energy back out to the universe.

Helen and I sing in the St. James Church choir in Woodstock, so we go to church A LOT. Every Sunday, I spend time trying to figure out what communion is all about. Today, I will commune with my friends with a stomp on the ground and a shout to the sky. That's how I'll celebrate the height of the summer solstice. I'll leave church to tomorrow.

posted by Helen

Hot-air Balloon "Party Time," June 2000

Morning On the Ottauquechee

posted by Helen

Ottauquechee River during ice-out, April 2005

We live across the street from the Ottauquechee River. It's a popular trout-fishing spot and several fishing guides lead their charges to it during spring, summer and fall. We watch them park across the street; friends know they can park in our driveway.

One of the guides, Marty Banak of Wilderness Trails, has beaten a path through the brush down to the water's edge. I'm leery of the brush. Our first summer here I developed a whopping case of poison ivy after a walk down there.

During the summer, you can barely see the river from our front porch, but you can hear it. During the winter, it is quite visible. But it is silent. We always know spring has truly arrived the first night we lie in bed and can hear the rush of the waters after ice-out.

posted by Dave

I live in the house by the side of the road with Helen. Hi, my name is Dave Clark and I consider myself lucky for the most part. But more about that later. . . Our house contains our hopes and dreams. Maybe its because we both work at home and we are together pretty much all the time. Maybe its because we are the first house that you see when you enter Quechee Vermont from the south, and generally people smile when they see us out on the front porch playing music, or working in the front yard. Its quite an affirmation when people smile and wave and they dont know who you are. I don't want to sound trite or shallow, but in our case the state of our house symbolizes how successfully we live.

I wrote a song called "Friend of Man" based on the Sam Walter Foster poem that Helen published. It goes like this:

In my house by the side of the road.
I watch the world go by.
There are teachers, lawyers, mothers, theives
Some are low and some are high.

I would not trade my life with them
I'll just do the best I can.
In my house by the side of the road
I'll be a friend of man.

In my house by the side of the road
by the side of the road of life
I have friends who smile with the joy of hope
and others who live in strife.

I do not judge between right and wrong
among this merry band.
In my house by the side of the road,
I'll be a friend of man.

In my house by the side of the road
I will live my whole life long.
With friends dropping in from near and far
we will fill it with happy song.

I'll never take for granted
where my new life began.
In my house by the side of the road
I'll be a friend of man.

The House By the Side Of the Road

posted by Helen

by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner's seat,
Or hurl the cynic's ban;
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears
Both parts of an infinite plan;
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish- so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat
Or hurl the cynic's ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.