The Sun Rises, The Sun Sets

Over all for me, the best time of year is the last of October and early November when the colors have turned to oranges and reds and browns. The air is crisp, even cold. The sky is clear and bright. The sun mixes warm earth colors to shades even more golden than usual.

It all lasts such a brief time and cannot be duplicated the other 50 weeks of the year. Unlike some changes in nature - a stream or patterns formed by tree branches - the effect of autumn leaves and sun will likely return creating similar views.

I can depend and take comfort in this. But other changes, designed and implemented by man, disturb me greatly. For example -

Our federal government is putting "recovery dollars to work." They are repairing much of the stone walls along the Blue Ridge Parkway. This is a necessary effort. The walls were built in the '30s and have begun to crumble. However, this will require the closing of my favorite segment of the Parkway. The entire length of Doughton Park will be inaccessible (there is uncertainty even by the locals whether Bluffs Lodge and Coffee Shop can be reached) for a long two year period.

Many of the photographs that appear in this blog were taken in the park. It even seems the growth of my family over the years has been punctuated by visits and memories shared there.

Times do change. People seem to enjoy nature in its raw form less now than in years past. The bluffs will still be there, the grasses and windblown trees, the families of deer and of course the amazing sunsets.

Too Soon

The woodland animals, even insects, were restless today
Cool air and sunshade-leaves spread over every limb and rock and path
They call me out to notice
To remind me this will all be gone in days
Will turn brown and dead and frozen

Grandmother Great

There aren’t many things I have of my grandmother’s. Perhaps because she had 4 children, 11 grandchildren and 9 great grandchildren. An afghan she made that reminds me of her deformed thumb from crocheting so much for so many grans (she had this strange way of holding the threads); her notes and notebooks from teaching so many Sunday School classes over the years; her childhood jewelry box and the figurine pictured here. I loved these monkeys as a child. I thought they were the wisest. Grandmother lived with us and used to tell of “Speak-no-evil, See-no-evil and Hear-no-evil.” They were real beings to me; there they would sit on her whatnot shelf watching over me to be sure I complied. As I grew, it became apparent how difficult in today’s world keeping that simple charge could be. I still don’t know which is more difficult – minding the tongue or keeping oneself from being affected by potentially evil or unhealthy situations. So the three little guys still keep watch in my sitting room, and Grandmother-Great's wisdom lives on.

Veritas

Memory and anticipation can reduce the pleasure of the moment. But sometimes what is displayed before us simply demands complete attention. Nothing remains to be satisfied.





And yet we still want more. Even if it means making it perform for us.





But perhaps, it is we who perform.



I am okay with that. For how could I not follow the path to promised wonders?

Standing Still

Every now and then life gets really weird. Things change that have always been the same. People move. Trade jobs. Retire. Get married. Go in the hospital.

You would think nature would be comforting. The same trees, streams, mountain peaks. But tree limbs break. Streams divert. Seasons blossom and die across the hillsides.

What is it all moving toward? I’d like to know in case I’d choose another direction. They say, to keep from getting taken by the river, you must paddle slower or faster than the current.

Yet sometimes I prefer to just, stand, still.

"Meteors Are Not Needed Less Than Mountains"

The title quote is from "Shine Perishing Republic" by Robinson Jeffers

For Jeffers the hawk or falcon displayed a stoic realism and represented a serene nobility that he did not find in humanity. And yet, the quote that titles this post refers to life; it is good whether brief or lengthy. In this we see the contradiction that typifies Jeffers' writing. Even as he uplifts the symbol of the hawk, it has a dark side, living by death. And even though there's pain in the early loss of a loved one as a meteor burns bright and is gone, they are "not needed less" than a life that remains far into old age. But I would ask the poet, if human life is merely a fading spark as a "bubble in the molten mass, pops and sighs out, and the mass hardens," then why give it value?

What You Do Not See

Usually the change of color this time of year begins and ends before I can even stop long enough to take it all in.

This season will be different.







But part of the problem is that it doesn't happen anywhere in the city at the same time. And not even the same kind of tree exhibits the same rate of change.

It is as if the sun recognizes this and lends a hand.







Even deep in woods it reaches -
Organic photography for its timeless portfolio.

Change

Change seems to be the topic of choice lately. After all, we are living in times where technology shows no sign of slowing its pace of innovation with promises of machines so powerful, few of us can imagine the culture that will receive them. I attended a workshop recently on “digital natives,” that group of young folks born with laptops and iPods in hand. One message delivered was that information is being sought through video or audio more frequently than not. People would rather view a video clip to remind them how to “cast off” when they take up their knitting project again than read about it. And many would rather listen to a bestseller.

I don’t intend to debate the good or the bad in all this, but to reflect on a few related questions. Why are we so protective of our own experience? Cursive writing is no longer taught in many schools so most everyone prints these days. Is it even necessary to teach people how to write by hand? After all, keyboards communicate the same message, and young adults 25 and under rarely Email anymore, they text. Phones are on hand in greater numbers than computers and pen and paper for that matter.

The paper news industry is drying up. People would rather check Online for their news; it’s more current, cheaper and environmentally responsible. The same writing appears on the wall for the printed book industry as well; digital book publishing is in full swing.

And with that last one I have to groan with fear that in a flash, centuries of knowledge could be lost. Already, we approach an age where thought and correspondence will not outlive their originators. Who keeps old Emails? How will future generations retrace their history or build on prior knowledge? More importantly, who will own knowledge in the future? The man with the “key” to the power plant?

Still, I can’t help but recall the historical initial resistance to the first mechanically printed books. And how did people overcome the fear of writing down traditional story in the first place as opposed to preserving it orally? If you no longer had to memorize and “tell,” it would be forgotten eventually, and you would be at the mercy of the scribes. What if they did not preserve it accurately?

I do not believe the evolution of technology will be governed.

And I am troubled by the fact that on a recent visit to one of our national parks, there were no digital natives sharing a picnic meal with their families under the shade of mountain trees or playing in the golden afternoon sun.