Go to Walden's Pond
Our book club will be reading On Walden's Pond this fall; one of our members, a teacher, received a grant for study, and will be leading the discussion. NPR had a very nice report this week on the same topic, with lots of multimedia and other links posted, beside the audio report: http://www.npr.org/programs/morning/features/patc/walden/index.html.
I must admit, I tried to re-read it last year, and found him so ... out there ... I had to quit. Didn't think I was measuring up.
A quote from Thoreaux: Goodness is the only investment that never fails. -- Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Higher Laws, 1854
Quote of the day
Oh the irony of this quote on a blog! But my friend WK-B and I are amazed at the breadth and depths of the opinions of others!
Nothing is more conducive to peace of mind than not having any opinions at all. -- Georg Christoph Lichtenberg
I don't know--the older I get the more I appreciate less opinions and more peace of mind! Perhaps I am getting too forgiving as I get older...but I just can't help it. But I notice that some folks--my in-laws, for instance, seem to get LESS forgiving, more opinionated. I wonder what the difference is? And is it so much caring, or not caring? Moral relativism leaving its mushy mark on me? Christian forgiveness? Stay tuned.
An experiment, I plant the bushes
On the southern face of the house.
Just marked-down plants, K-mart
vintage, a pink, a red, a yellow.
A little fertilizer, a little compost,
A lot of watering this dry summer.
Fingers crossed, knowing that
It is winter's depth and breadth
That will tell the tale. I notice
Buds, here and there, on the
Bushes, and my gardener-self knows
These should be pinched off:
Too much stress on these new plants.
But I long for the color, the satisfaction
Of flowers blooming, and I water a little extra,
And let them go.
I'll clip them before they're fulling out,
I think--I'll take them in the house.
But I am beat to the punch.
Or the snip. After work I take snippers,
And am ready to cut--but what's this?
Where a yellow rose should be,
Is shreds--long, brown shreds of rose.
And beetles--round, shiny, agressive
Japanese beetles. I'd not seem them
In our yard before. But here they are.
Invited by the rose--the sweet scent
A siren song of love for them!
As it was for me. But whose
Roses are they? I focus my anger
On these interlopers--they're not native anyway!
And shake them off and step on them!
Away, villians! You're destroying my garden!
I take my clippers and snip the other,
Just emerging, buds, saving them from
The beetles' jaws.
So now the roses are denuded, stripped,
And I wonder--just who is the biggest pest
In the garden?