silent sunday
Author: Barbara Rodgers
sculptures, flowers, creatures
38th Annual Sculpture in the Garden
This was the first time I visited the annual sculpture exhibit at the botanical garden without Tim. It was also later than usual, in November instead of once in September and twice in October when we went before. The sun was noticeably lower in the sky and offering a different sort of light for photography. It was good having Sally with me this time, though, and we had a good time identifying plants and commenting on the artwork. There were 74 sculptures but I’m only sharing 13 of my favorites. Even so, this post will be way too long! I just had to add some flowers, a couple of anoles, and a couple of adorable squirrels, too.
Paperboy depicts a paper wasp drying its wings in the sun.
It is made from scrap metal including old tools, canisters,
and bearings with the head that spins 360 degrees.
A mosaic dedicated to the elusive blue lady, an abstract human form.
(cement and glass)
Growing up and traveling in the South, you cannot go far without seeing weird little creatures such as the opossum and the armadillo. These animals are so intriguing and fascinating in their movements, characteristic, and appearance. This piece enables the two to interact, socialize, and (of course) gossip about their observations of the selfish, preoccupied, and distracted nature of humans.
(stoneware)
Inspired by industry and organic bone forms, Genesis II is a bridge between these seemingly opposed realms. The overall form radiates outwards from a singular core seed. The marks of my hammer and welding gun linger on the graceful steel form. Metal manufacturing techniques are paradoxically used to create a sculpture which feels fluid, natural, and timeless.
(cor-ten steel with railroad tie base)
Outdoor totem reflecting on the nature of clay and its unique properties. The Nature of clay in the natural world.
(ceramic, steel, cement)
My apologies to the creator of the sculpture that this anole (above and below, front and back) is sitting on. I neglected to get your name, or any other information off the sign, because I was so surprised to see this tiny creature sitting on it. It might be a baby. I’ve crossed paths with a few tiny anoles in the past week or two and AI tells me late-season anole eggs frequently hatch throughout October and November.
I take great joy in spotting mushrooms that pop up unexpectedly along familiar hikes or garden beds. I hope these mushrooms elicit that same simple yet magical feeling.
(stoneware)
(ceramic and acrylic)
I was inspired to sculpt “A Tale of Vanity” after I heard the Cherokee story of “Why the Opossum’s Tail Is Bare.” In this traditional tale, Opossum once had a long, beautiful tail he loved to show off. Jealous of the attention, Rabbit plotted a trick and sent Cricket — the “barber” — to secretly trim off all the fur while pretending to prepare Opossum for a dance. When Opossum proudly stepped into the circle and unveiled his tail, the animals burst into laughter. Only then did he realize it was completely bare. Shocked and embarrassed, he fell over grinning — just as opossums still do when they are surprised. I hope you enjoy my visual interpretation of the shock the Opossum must have felt!
(clay, glazes, mirror, ceramic shards)
I started this piece by making the baby owls then realized they needed a mama owl and nest. I am amazed by the colors of rainbow eucalyptus, so much more exciting than brown, thus the colorful tree trunk!
(ceramic – wheel thrown and hand built)
As we were leaving I caught sight of this brightly colored maple sapling across the parking lot. A lovely ending to a perfect autumn day.
chrysanthèmes dans un vase chinois
Plucking chrysanthemums along the East fence;
Gazing in silence at the southern hills;
The birds flying home in pairs
Through the soft mountain air of dusk —
In these things there is a deep meaning,
But when we are about to express it,
We suddenly forget the words.
~ Tao Yuanming
(Drinking Wine)
moderate drought by the creek
It had been seven months since Nina, Susan, and I had taken a walk down by the creek! Mostly because of the unrelenting heat and humidity that descended upon us before summer even began. And avoiding ticks was part of it, too. It was very nice visiting friends outside for a change.
I’ve learned to wait until November for the leaves to start changing their hues. On this day there was still plenty of green left on the trees, but with splotches of fall color here and there.
Not sure how the year-long drought has been affecting the leaves, but the water level in Bolin Creek is very low. Time will tell how long this drought will last. For now, the leaves already fallen looked so pretty floating on the water.
But each leaf too has a hue all its own: one of gold, of blood-red, of the slumbering clouds and the strident sun, purple, violet, lilac, we find it all there. And side by side, hand in hand go the quick, the bright, with the old and sere, just as in our world people go side by side, hand in hand, those who are still young and hopeful and those who are weary and sinking earthwards.
~ Sigbjørn Obstfelder
(Seasons)
To love life, really, must mean caring not only for the garden plot but also the wilderness beyond the fence, beauty and mystery for their own sake, because of how meager a world would be without them.
~ Barbara Kingsolver
(High Tide in Tucson: Essays from Now or Never)
remembering our ancestors
Here’s the puzzle I did during the day on Halloween. This is the third stop on my journey around the Wheel of the Year by myself. I don’t have any pictures from past celebrations because in the past I spent this holiday with my ancestors, as it is a time when the veil between the living and the dead thins and they are remembered. I visited cemeteries and did research. They feel closer to me this time of year.
Today, on All Souls’ Day, I am going to share a poem that resonates with me. My daughter found it posted on Facebook and shared it with me. It perfectly expresses my feelings about missing Tim these days.
Your heartbeat was my metronome
My compass
The rhythm I kept
The north I followed
Your arms were my home
My safety
My belonging
The one place I fit
Now I’m alone
I can’t keep time
I can’t find north
And there’s no way home
~ Racheal Bashaw
(No Way Home)
I live too far away from where our ancestors lie buried so I didn’t visit a cemetery. But I did something for Tim and created a memorial page for him on the Find a Grave website. Before he died we had discussed how we wanted to make sure we were buried near where we and our ancestors had lived most of our lives together, and I feel satisfied that I made that happen.
It is the beginning of a new project to add as many of our ancestors’ cemeteries to the database as I can. Since the public can see it without needing an invitation or a password it seems like it will be an excellent way to share the basics. Future descendants might stumble across it and be glad to know where to look for his grave. It won’t replace the pages for the ancestors I’ve posted on this blog; it will be an additional reference. And it’s impossible to know how long my blog will stay online after I’m gone.
And so another year has gone by.
the season of ghosts
Halloween is the border crossing into winter. ….. But winter is a time when death comes closest — when the cold feels as though it might yet snatch us away, despite our modern comforts. We still perceive the presence of those we’ve lost in the silence of those long evenings and in the depths of darkness that they bring. This is the season of ghosts. Their pale forms are invisible in bright sunlight. Winter makes them clear again.
*
Ghosts may be a part of the terror of Halloween, but our love of ghost stories betrays a far more fragile desire: that we do not fade so easily from this life. We spend a lot of time talking about leaving a legacy in this world, grand or small, financial or reputational, so that we won’t be forgotten. But ghost stories show us a different concern, hidden under our bluster: we hope that the dead won’t forget us. We hope that we, the living, will not lose the meanings that seem to evaporate when our loved ones die.
~ Katherine May
(Wintering: The Power of Rest & Retreat in Difficult Times)
fall flowers for ‘fall colors’
In the Walktober post time frame, fall colors in the Piedmont of North Carolina can mainly be found in the flowers. The leaves don’t begin turning in earnest until November. So, while my sister and her husband have been visiting me for a wonderful ten days, we decided to find a colorful walk at Duke Gardens in Durham. It was a lovely autumn day and I hope I get this post in before the deadline!
(I had never heard of this kind orange before)
AI says that while it is generally not poisonous,
eating it causes an unpleasant taste and can lead to indigestion
(I hope it doesn’t think it made it all the way to Mexico already!)
This was my first Walktober without Tim. He died six days after our last one, and three days after I posted it. I wasn’t sure if I could find it in me to participate this year, but after the family had a memorial dinner to mark one year after his death I felt like taking this walk in his memory this year. I know he would want me to carry on and find some pleasure in the activities we used to share.
high surf
They all worship the sea. But not me. I like to be near it but I’m afraid of it. It’s so powerful.
~ Emma Freeman Thompson White
(Katie’s maternal great-great-grandmother)
As I watched my granddaughter contemplating this powerful sea my thoughts turned to these words my grandmother wrote to my mother when she was passing on her memories for the next generation. My grandmother’s father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all sea captains. (And many of her other ancestors were, too.) The “they” she was referring to were her ancestors.
My grandmother’s words resonated with me because I feel the same way she did about the sea. She always told me the sea was in my blood, but I never had the desire to sail the seas the way my ancestors did. Like my grandmother, I did want to be near it, but safe on land!
These pictures were taken with my cell phone Sunday morning before we left for our trip home. I haven’t seen such high waves in a very long time! My app said they were 4′-6′ high. I’m pretty sure the tiny birds were sandpipers and there were dozens of them darting quickly around between the crashing waves. They were only about 6 inches long. I zoomed the cell phone camera as much as I could but they came out fuzzy. Well, at least I have my memories!
If wrecked opon the Shoal of Thought
How is it with the Sea?
The only Vessel that is shunned
Is safe — Simplicity —
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1503)
drizzly day by the sea
Cape Hatteras National Seashore, Outer Banks, North Carolina
The only full day of our visit to the Outer Banks was wet. I only took my camera out of its protective case once, in the afternoon when we visited the Bodie Island Lighthouse. There is a nature trail on a boardwalk extending out into the marsh from the lighthouse site. At the end there are stairs up to a viewing platform that had a roof overhead. So I took out the camera and got a great picture of the lighthouse and another one of a great egret that was hunting in the marsh below. The camera got wet anyway because a breeze blew the rain under the roof. I dried it off as best I could.
I was so glad I invested in a good raincoat earlier this year. (I had made good use of it before, as it rained all day when we buried Tim’s ashes.) Even though I couldn’t take pictures it was a joy to be able to watch my Katie be captivated by all the crabs she spotted in the water, skittering around on the mud between mounds of marsh grasses.
One goal I had when I was younger was to visit every national seashore. Life got in the way, but I was happy to add Cape Hatteras N.S. to the ones I have been to, Cumberland Island N.S., Assateague Island N.S., and of course, Cape Cod N.S.
In the morning we had visited the Wright Brothers National Memorial. I was awed to be standing on the grounds where those historic first four flights took place. They had markers where the plane landed, with the distance of the flight, how long it took, and who flew it. They took turns, Orville went first, so I’m guessing that is Wilbur watching in the photo below. They wanted this sandy spot so they could have soft landings. Each flight was a little farther and my Finn decided we would walk the distance to see all four markers. The fourth flight, with Wilbur, went 852 feet and lasted 59 seconds.
They were the first men in history to fly a controlled, powered airplane.
image credit: U.S. National Park Service
I’m relying on photos donated to Wikimedia Commons to remember the rest of the day. More walking, it was a half-mile walk from where the flights happened to the 60 foot tall monument that was built in 1932 on top of Kill Devil Hill. About 95 feet above sea level, the hill was a huge sand dune where the brothers conducted their glider experiments. What a view there was up there! And then half a mile back to the visitor center, which was full of interesting artifacts and historical information on the whole Wright family.
image credit: Yuming Huang (2017)
After all that walking we returned to our vacation rental for lunch and then headed down to see the lighthouse. After the lighthouse we drove farther south, enjoying the breathtaking scenery. I had no idea that Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge was next to the national seashore! Driving over the bridge in the picture below (I think) we could see these spectacular dunes. (Again, due to the rain I’m borrowing someone else’s pictures.) It was getting late so we pulled into a road to turn around, and that’s when I saw the sign for the wildlife refuge. I have often heard birders raving about this place. According to AI, it is “a world-renowned birding hotspot that has recorded over 370 bird species.” Well, I hope I can come back here and explore someday!!!
Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge, Outer Banks, North Carolina
And so another wonderful day ended with supper, working on puzzles, and enjoying some good conversations, followed by another good night of sleep.