Fall Gardener

These are evidence of my Labor Day (early September) planting.  Here, the growing seasons are different than what most people in the northern hemisphere expect. 

This is a "scatter garden", where there are not organized beds.  In fact, vegetable & flowers grow among "volunteer grasses", which serve as "nursery plants" while the others get going.

This is a bee haven, something our world needs. The bees even like the grass heads.  (We have to let it grow longer because of our other plants.  Then we have to literally whack it off with clippers. We can't mow because there's always some other interesting plant coming up in the midst.)

(For your other November & Thanksgiving Day enjoyment, please select the "autumn" or "seasons" tag in the sidebar.)

Green bean flowers

Carrot plants

Pumpkin & flower

Black-eye Susans or purple coneflowers sprouting

October in Northern Arizona

Poem in October

 
It was my thirtieth year to heaven*
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heronPriested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.

My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In rainy autumnAnd walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.

A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.

Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls
But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
There could I marvel
My birthday
Away but the weather turned around.

It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
Streamed again a wonder of summer
With apples
Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
Of sun light
And the legends of the green chapels

And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
These were the woods the river and seaWhere a boy
In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
And the mystery
Sang alive
Still in the water and singingbirds.

And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.
It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven* stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
O may my heart's truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year's turning.                         

---Dylan Thomas, 1944 (Welsh)   

*A person alive 30 years, that far along his journey to heaven.

October in Phoenix

October in Phoenix:
No scarlet leaves in sight;
October in Phoenix,
Still sweltering at night.


October in Phoenix--
First day breaks a hundred--
We all see, crestfallen,
The records we dreaded.


I dream of northern mountains,
Flagstaff maples and aspens;
But I'm down here working,
No matter what happens.

If I were a Catholic
I'd call it "Purgatory";
Ah, since I'm a Lutheran
I lack that category.


Beyond urban confines
The desert grows scenic;
But it's a big city--
October in Phoenix.

Ocotillo

---C. Marie Byars,  (c) 2015



Dreams:

Aspens in Flagstaff, AZ

 

Fall Near Payson, Arizona

Yes, Arizona.

Thanksgiving

The year has turned its circle,
The seasons come and go.
The harvest all is gathered in
And chilly north winds blow.

Orchards have shared their treasures,
The fields, their yellow grain,
So open wide the doorway --
Thanksgiving comes again!    ---Old Rhyme.

 

Extreme Northwest Arizona

Click below links on "desert" to find poems that are reminiscent of this area near Chloride, AZ. 

Autumnal Sonnet

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,
And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt,
And night by night the monitory blast*
Wails in the key-hold, telling how it pass'd
O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes,
Or grim wide wave; and now the power is felt
Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods
Than any joy indulgent summer dealt.
Dear friends, together in the glimmering eve,
Pensive and glad, with tones that recognize
The soft invisible dew in each one's eyes,
It may be, somewhat thus we shall have leave
To walk with memory,--when distant lies
Poor Earth, where we were wont to live and grieve.
--William Allingham (1828-1889) 
* Blast of air that warns or admonishes; here, about death coming

 

The Autumn

Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them --
The summer flowers depart --
Sit still -- as all transform'd to stone,
Except your musing heart.
 

How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind. 

Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.

 

Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!

 

The dearest hands that clasp our hands, --
Their presence may be o'er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh'd our mind,
Shall come -- as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.  ---Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

Share the Reign of God our Lord

Share the reign of God, our Lord,
Spoken, written, mighty Word:
Go ev'rywhere and people call
To His heav'nly banquet hall.
 
Tell how God the Father's will
Made the world, upholds it still,
How He gave His own dear Son:
Who over sin already won.
 
Tell of our Redeemer's grace,
Who, to save our human race
And to pay rebellion's price,
Gave Himself as sacrifice.


Tell of God the Spirit giv'n
Now to guide us on to heav'n,
Strong and holy, just and true,
Working both to will and do.
   
Enter, mighty Word, the field;
Rip'n the promise of its yield.
But the reapers are so few
For the work there is to do!

Lord of harvest, great and kind,

Rouse to action heart and mind;
Let the gath'ring nations all
See Your light and heed Your call.

Jonathan Friedrich Bahnmaier (1774-1841); composite translation

[I bring an unaccustomed wine]

[published at this Thanksgiving time to remind us to share those things for which we are thankful]   

"The First Thanksgiving";  J.L.G. Ferris, early 20th century

I bring an unaccustomed wine

To lips long parching, next to mine,

And summon them to drink.

 

Crackling with fever, they essay;

I turn my brimming eyes away,

And come next hour to look.

 

The hands still hug the tardy glass;

The lips I would have cooled, alas!

Are so superfluous cold,

 

I would as soon attempt to warm

The bosoms where the frost has lain

Ages beneath the mould.*      

 

Some other thirsty there may be

To whom this would have pointed me

Had it remained to speak.

"The First Thanksgiving"; Jennie Augusta Brownscombe, 1914

 

 

 

 

 

And so I always bear the cup

If, haply, mine may be the drop

Some pilgrim thirst to slake,--

 

If, haply, any say to me,

"Unto the little, unto me," **

When I at last awake.

---Emily Dickinson

*She attempted to help someone who was in need & ill.  But the person still died.
**Matthew 25:35.  Jesus said that whenever one of the believers takes the trouble to feed and clothe someone who seems to be "least" among the believers, it is as if they have helped out Jesus Himself. And Jesus indicates that this will be recognized on the Last Day, when He returns.

Autumn

Fade tender lily,                      
Fade O crimson rose,
Fade every flower
Sweetest flower that blows.

Go chilly Autumn,
Come O Winter cold;
Let the green things die away
Into common mould.

Birth follows hard on death,
Life on withering:
Hasten, we shall come the sooner
Back to pleasant Spring.
---Christina Rossetti

Autumn Song

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf

How the heart feels a languid grief

Laid on it for a covering,

And how sleep seems a goodly thing

In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

And how the swift beat of the brain

Falters because it is in vain,

In Autumn at the fall of the leaf

Knowest thou not? and how the chief

Of joys seems—not to suffer pain?

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf

How the soul feels like a dried sheaf

Bound up at length for harvesting,

And how death seems a comely thing

In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

---Dante Gabriel Rosetti, 1840's                             

                                                                                      

Great Is Thy Faithfulness*

1."Great is Thy faithfulness," O God my Father,
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not
As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.

(Chorus) "Great is Thy faithfulness!" "Great is Thy faithfulness!"
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
"Great is Thy faithfulness," Lord, unto me!

2. Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

3.Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thy own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

---Thomas Obediah Chisholm, 1923

*Based on Lamentations 3:22-24: "Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness." (NIV)

O, Blessed Spring*

O, Blessed Spring where Word and Sign 

Embrace us into Christ the Vine: 

Here Christ enjoins each one to be 

A branch of this life-giving Tree. 

Through summer heat of youthful tears,

Uncertain faith, rebellious tears, 

Sustained by Christ's infusing rain, 

The boughs will shout for joy again. 

When autumn cools and youth is cold, 

When limbs their heavy harvest hold, 

Then through us, warm, the Christ will move 

With gifts of beauty, wisdom love. 

As winter comes, as winters must, 

We breathe our last, return to dust; 

Still held in Christ, our souls take wing

And trust the promise of the spring. 

Christ, Holy Vine, Christ, Living Tree, 

Be praised for this blest mystery: 

That Word and water thus revive 

And join us to Your Tree of Life. 

---Susan Palo Cherwien; (c) 1993 

*(A hymn to be sung to the old English folk song, "The Water is Wide [I can't get o'er]"

Pied Beauty (Redux)

Always nice to repeat some of Hopkins work:

Glory be to God for dappled things,For skies of couple-color as a brindled cow,
For rose-moles in stipple** upon trout that swim.Fresh-firecoal chestnut falls***, finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced---fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.All things counter, spare, original, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled, (who knows how?)With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:Praise Him.
---Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1877

*Pied: Having patches of more than one color; i.e. the "Pied Piper"
**Rose-colored dots or flecks
***Fallen chestnuts, red as burning coals

 

Fringed Gentian

God made a little gentian; 

It tried to be a rose 

And failed, and all the summer laughed. 

But just before the snows 

There came a purple creature 

That ravished all the hill; 

And summer hid her forehead, 

And mockery was still. 

The frosts were her condition; 

The Tyrian* would not come 

Until the North evoked it. 

"Creator! shall I bloom?"

---Emily Dickinson

*Tyrian: A shade of purple, named for the dye made in the ancient city of Tyre.

Praise, Oh, Praise our God and King

A Paraphrase of Psalm 136
Praise, oh, praise, our God and King,
Hymns of adoration sing;
For His mercies still endure,
Ever faithful, ever sure.

Praise Him that He made the sun
Day by day his course to run;
And the silver moon by night,
Shining with her gentle light;
For His mercies still endure,
Ever faithful, ever sure.

Praise Him that He gave the rain
To mature the swelling grain;
And hath bid the fruitful field
Crops of precious increase yield;
For His mercies still endure,
Ever faithful, ever sure.

Glory to our bounteous King,
"Glory", let creation sing:
Glory to the Father, Son,
And the Spirit, Three in One!
For His mercies still endure,
Ever faithful, ever sure.
---Rev. Henry Baker, 1861; reformatted c.m.b. 2007

Sing to the Lord of Harvest

Sing to the Lord of harvest,
Sing songs of love and praise;
With joyful hearts and voices
Your alleluias raise.
By Him the rolling seasons
In fruitful order move;
Sing to the Lord of harvest,
A joyous song of love.

By Him the clouds drop fatness,
The deserts bloom and spring,
The hills leap up in gladness,
The valleys laugh and sing.
He fills them with His fullness
And all things will increase,
He crowns the year with goodness,
With plenty and with peace.

Bring to His sacred altar

The gifts His goodness gave,

The golden sheaves of harvest,

The souls He died to save.

Your hearts lay down before Him

When at His feet you fall,

And with your lives adore Him,

Who gave His life for all.

To God the gracious Father,
Who made us “very good,”
To Christ, who, when we wandered,
Restored us with His blood,

And to the Holy Spirit,
Who doth upon us pour
His blessèd dews and sunshine,
Be praise forevermore!
---John S.B. Monsell, 1866; adapted c.m.b., 2009

Indian Summer

These are the days when birds come back,
A very few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies put on
The old, old sophistries* of June ---
A blue and gold mistake.

Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief,

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
And softly through the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf!

Oh, sacrament** of summer days,
Oh, last communion** in the haze,
Permit a child to join,

Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine!
---Emily Dickinson
*Sophistries: subtly deceiving reasoning or artifacts
**Emily was so taken with the natural experience that she equates it with the Lord's Supper (Communion). No, I don't put nature on that par (it doesn't give forgiveness of sins), but the fact that nature is less tinged by the effects of sin makes it sometimes seem almost "sacred."