For a Dutch version, scroll down a bit.
De Nederlandse versie is onderaan de Engelse.
Is it really Memorial day? Where did April and the first part of May go?
Planting season is in full swing and I'd like to say that I'm catching up but I'm not. The blackflies are slowing me down enormously. Those little bastards act as if my blood is the only gourmet dinner miles around. Why not just bite the chickens? They have blood too, you know. They got me in both my eyes, nose, ears, on my hands and all around my neck. Two swollen eyes and a swollen nose, the ultimate blackfly defeat. Staple laundry softening sheets on your clothes I was told, it keeps the bugs away. I'm slaving away on the land, looking like a piece of laundry coming right out of the dryer with sheets stapled all over me and sometimes I feel as if this actually attracts the bastards. Please don't tell me we need insects as food for the birds because the birds can eat grass and seeds.
They are dense this year, and aggressive as ever. On the positive side, the June sun will kill them in a hurry. A couple more weeks and they'll be gone to make room for the house flies. Those don't bother me. The average life span of a house fly is one week and all they do during that week is have sex and leave tiny black spots on my white walls. No big deal.
I picked a huge bouquet of lilacs earlier today and put it in the living room. The whole house smells like heaven although I'm not quite sure what heaven smells like.
****
Is her echt herdenkings dag? Waar zijn april en mei heengegaan?
Zaai seizoen is volop aan de gang en ik zou willen zeggen dat ik niet achterop ben met mijn groenten te planten, maar ik ben tamelijk ver achterop. De zwarte vliegen maken het me onmogelijk om vlug te werken.
Die onnozelaars denken dat mijn bloed de enige gourmet maaltijd is, uren in het rond. Waarom kunnen ze de kippen niet bijten en mij met rust laten? De kippen hebben ook wel bloed.
De zwarte vliegen hebben mij in allebei mijn ogen gebeten, mijn neus, oren en nek. Twee gezwollen ogen en een gezwollen neus zijn het bewijs dat ze gewonnen hebben!
Er wordt gezegd dat je die zwarte vliegen van je af kunt houden met die doekjes tie je in de droogkast stopt als wasverzachter. Ik ben op het land aan het werken met die doekjes vastgeniet aan mijn kleren, ik zie eruit alsof ik juist uit de droogkast gekropen ben maar soms denk ik dat die doekjes de zwarte vliegen aantrekken!
Waarom hebben we eigenlijk insecten nodig? Het is niet om de vogels van voedsel te voorzien want de vogels kunnen gras en zaadjes eten!
Nog maar een paar weken en de juni zon zal die onnozelaars doden. Opgeruimd staat netjes. Dan krijgen we de huisvliegen, maar die doen geen kwaad. De gemiddelde levensduur van een huis vlieg is een week. Gedurende die week, het enige wat ze doen is sex hebben en zwarte puntjes op mijn witte muren achterlaten.
Ik heb een grote bouquet paarse seringen geplukt van de struik die in mijn voortuin statt. De seringen zijn in a vaas in mijn woonkamer en gans het huis ruikt naar seringen.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Ingesneeuwd
Dit is hoe het eruit ziet wanneer ik ingesneeuwd ben.
This is what it looks like when I'm snowed in.
cuppa tea
Water opwarmen voor een kopje thee op een koude dag.
Boiling some water for tea on a cold day.
buitenshuis wonen
Hier zie je een van mijn drie kampvuur ketels. Ik kook gewoonlijk mijn avondmaal boven het kampvuur, zomer en winter.
One of my three firepits. I usually cook my dinner above one of the firepits. They are also being used in wintertime.
Gewonde kip
Gewonde kip, afgezonderd van de andere kippen todat ze weer beter is.
Injured hen, separated from the other hens until she has recovered.
Trying to shovel a path to chicken coop
Mezelf een weg naar het kippenhok banen iedere dag is nogal wat werk. Deze foto was genomen in maart 2008 na een sneeuwstorm.
Making a path to the chicken coop every day is quite a job. Picture taken March 2008 after a snow storm.
Leaving the driveway.
Friends leaving my driveway on their sleds.
Vrienden, vertrekkend van mijn uprit met hun sleden.
Sneeuwdriften in mijn straat
Sneeuwdriften in mijn straat. Foto genomen aan de noord kant van mijn huis.
Snowdrifts on my road. Picture taken from the north side of my house.
Path to chicken coop
Mezelf een weg banen naar het kippenhok. Dat is een dagelijkse bezigheid in de wintermaanden.
Making a path to the chicken coop is a daily job in wintertime.
In de achtertuin
Getting the firepit ready to make dinner. Spring 2007
Een vuurtje aan het opstoken om het avondmaal te koken. Lente 2007
On the property
This is a satellite picture of my home. The house is in the far left corner. The other buildings are barns. The woods are my back yard.
Dit is een luchtfoto van mijn huis. Mijn huis is in de linkerhoek bovenaan. De andere gebouwen zijn schuren. De bossen zijn mijn achtertuin.
Me and Kevin, 1999
Kevin en ik, 1999
Kevin werd geboren op 1 juni 1955 and stierf op 12 maart 2006. Een groot verlies voor moeder aarde en voor iedereen die van hem hield. Het leven zal nooit meer zijn wat het voorheen was. Een boom is ook niet zoals voorheen nadat die een tak verliest.
Kevin was born on June 1st 1955 and died on March 12th 2006. The earth lost a friend and so did everyone who loved him. Life will never be the same again just like a tree isn't the same when it loses a branch.
Ballad for Kevin
A citadel was painted on
the canvas of your days-
I'm humbled by its magnitude,
the beauty of your ways.
Life's walls were draped with evergreen
and morning glory vines;
each fluent shape of stone would tell
how love prevents decline.
The threshold, worn by weight of steps,
held footprints large and small-
as every friend in town would know,
you saved a smile for all.
The garden was your living room,
the essence of your pride-
your Harley and your fire pit
were standing side by side.
The canvas folded much too soon-
dear friend, the paint still flows,
depicting paths now leading to
where sun and moon repose.
Our Shepherd offers providence,
I'll see each morning climb,
revealing gifts you've strewn about
in every niche of time.
Some day, the touch of sun on bark,
the peace of rippled skies,
will feel like nature's arnica
on gently said goodbyes.
In loving memory of Kevin McDermott
By Chris W, March 12th, 2006
Eternity's Refrain
How short were journey's limericks
when versified in time-
demise became a touch of ink,
a never finished rhyme.
I reminisce about a year
as silence lies entwined
with errant tears that slip between
your lyrics in my mind.
Although we can't claim copyrights
on excerpts of our stride,
life's pathways are perennial-
I've seen your prints and cried.
Acceptance is a twilit poem
for bliss of evening spills
on stanzas charged with undertones
that say I miss you still.
When writings feel like chalk on stone,
too weak to fight the rain,
I pause and read your friendship in
eternity's refrain.
By Chris W March 12th 2007
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Cutting of the Tree (Ballad)
While squirrels buried forest gems
within my wooden chest,
I sipped the songs of nightingales
that wandered from the nest.
My feet would snuggle in the ground,
entwined with rabbit holes;
I welcomed nibbles on my toes
of woodchucks, mice and moles.
When autumn snatched the maple leaves
off every verdant crown,
I gave old needles back to earth
but kept my summer gown.
In frozen fields of wintertime
as skies were arching low,
I swayed amidst my family-
green sculptures in the snow.
But once upon a Christmas day
a brush caressed my knees,
two crossing lines of paint on bark-
a sign, condemning trees.
A chainsaw mulched my waist to dust,
exhaling dirty smoke;
its metal teeth bit nerves and veins
until my body broke.
By Chris W Copyright © 2005-2008
within my wooden chest,
I sipped the songs of nightingales
that wandered from the nest.
My feet would snuggle in the ground,
entwined with rabbit holes;
I welcomed nibbles on my toes
of woodchucks, mice and moles.
When autumn snatched the maple leaves
off every verdant crown,
I gave old needles back to earth
but kept my summer gown.
In frozen fields of wintertime
as skies were arching low,
I swayed amidst my family-
green sculptures in the snow.
But once upon a Christmas day
a brush caressed my knees,
two crossing lines of paint on bark-
a sign, condemning trees.
A chainsaw mulched my waist to dust,
exhaling dirty smoke;
its metal teeth bit nerves and veins
until my body broke.
By Chris W Copyright © 2005-2008
Edges (Terza Rima)
Soft echoes tremble, touching walls of night,
the single prints will tell she's come alone;
her gown- a kiss of green on season's white.
In moonbeam- tinctured snow she lifts a stone
to smell the comfort forest soil supplies,
she's silent- life drew edges words can't hone.
While molding stars to fit the tapered skies
she buries dying scents of past and yearns
for laughter's fragrance, rich as edelweiss.
When solitude enshrouds the trees, she learns
that even clustered paths are bound to split
and sudden folds in fate delay returns.
The pearls of malachite once strung in crowns
still match a smile each time the princess frowns.
by Chris W. Copyright © 2005-2008
the single prints will tell she's come alone;
her gown- a kiss of green on season's white.
In moonbeam- tinctured snow she lifts a stone
to smell the comfort forest soil supplies,
she's silent- life drew edges words can't hone.
While molding stars to fit the tapered skies
she buries dying scents of past and yearns
for laughter's fragrance, rich as edelweiss.
When solitude enshrouds the trees, she learns
that even clustered paths are bound to split
and sudden folds in fate delay returns.
The pearls of malachite once strung in crowns
still match a smile each time the princess frowns.
by Chris W. Copyright © 2005-2008
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