- - julie gard - - series of all sorts - -

Try On Someone Else's Eyes

2011-12-02T08:20:00.000-08:00

These worlds are brought to you by Twin Cities photographer Kristi Rasmussen and reposted with her permission.

Stone Arch Bridge

Delicate

Ready to Take Flight

My Brother Made This

2011-09-06T14:14:00.000-07:00

It's amazing the things that brothers do.

page 180

2011-07-07T14:34:00.000-07:00

Virginia Woolf

What was it then? What did it mean? Could things thrust their hands up and grip one; could the blade cut; the fist grasp? Was there no safety? No learning by heart of the ways of the world? No guide, no shelter, but all was miracle, and leaping from the pinnacle of a tower into the air? Could it be, even for elderly people, that this was life? - startling, unexpected, unknown? For one moment she felt that if they both got up, here, now on the lawn, and demanded an explanation, why was it so short, why was it so inexplicable, said it with violence, as two fully equipped human beings from whom nothing should be hid might speak, then, beauty would roll itself up; the space would fill; those empty flourishes would form into shape; if they shouted loud enough Mrs. Ramsay would return. "Mrs. Ramsay!" she said aloud, "Mrs. Ramsay!" The tears ran down her face.

- V. Woolf, To the Lighthouse -

I Want To Be a British Teenager

2011-06-08T06:33:00.000-07:00

Check out these photographs by Eleanore Leonne Bennett -

Happy Poetry Month!

2011-04-19T08:57:00.000-07:00

Reading of Tiny Plastic Mouse

(scroll to April 19)

Reclaiming Power in the Aftermath of the Budget Repair Bill

2011-03-23T10:40:00.000-07:00

4 Colours of Solidarity - Eddie Malone

We work the system, steal taxpayer dollars, and are incompetent to boot. We don’t deserve what we have earned, and we certainly don’t deserve a voice in our working conditions. Our years if not decades of preparation and training do not make us worthy to earn what many of our students will make within a few years of leaving our schools and colleges. Rather than providing an essential service that keeps the economic engines going, educating future workers and good citizens, we are portrayed as manipulating and mooching off the system.

These are the messages about educators lately, in the newspaper/in the air, and even though we have been labeled a social problem, we are supposed to solve social problems – with chins up! We are not supposed to become cynical, because after all, they are overpaying us to inspire. We must stand proudly and confidently in front of our classes as indefatigable super-teachers after taking a good bashing in the morning paper.

I’m a third-generation educator on both sides of my family, honored to continue the tradition with my own twist and emphasis on communication, writing, and creativity, but sometimes I feel like I’ve landed myself in a fine mess. Did my grandmother have it harder or easier in her one-room Kentucky schoolhouse? Did she have such a difficult time keeping her head above water and staying strong, proud, and focused on teaching and learning?

I have felt so demoralized lately, trying to sort out the high demands on and expectations of educators along with the assault on our rights and the blaming of teachers for societal problems that, in my opinion, have almost everything to do with poverty, economic inequality, and the ever-increasing gap between rich and poor in our country.

At first, I thought it was just me. My overly sensitive psyche and body were just not handling the stress well; surely the math, econ, and trades instructors were of hardier stock and doing just fine after the passing of the “budget repair bill” in Wisconsin. I figured it must be the long winter, because surely no teacher in her right mind would let Governor Walker affect her sleep patterns and appetite. But then we started sharing stories and I found out my colleagues were breaking out in hives, experiencing jags of sorrow and rage, and feeling powerless and incompetent. And these are talented, stable people.

One colleague told me that a feeling of helplessness is the greatest cause of stress, and some research led me to this description of burnout: “exhaustion and passive responses within a work environment. . . [which occur] after prolonged uncontrollable events [that] cause the worker to think more narrowly about the options they have for responding” (Beaumont, 2009). Part of helplessness is not only feeling that “outcomes no longer depend on actions,” but also a sense of personal incompetence (2009). So here we are, three weeks after we lost our collective bargaining rights, an 8% pay cut coming down the line, difficult retirement decisions for some, and employment uncertainty for all. We fought the bill with all we had, and it passed anyway.

What can possibly come next? According to Beaumont, “The opposite of learned helplessness is learned mastery, learned optimism, and hardiness. Control—the ability to change things through voluntary action—is the opposite of helplessness” (2009).

I’m a longtime fan of the serenity prayer, and it’s a simple fact that there’s a heck of a lot I simply can’t control right now. Our country is in a fair amount of economic and political turmoil, and this isn’t going to change anytime soon. But I can set aside time each week to send emails to legislators, support the union, and work toward longer-term change. (To maintain my sanity, I probably cannot keep checking the WisPolitics Budget Blog every hour.) I can take good care of myself physically and emotionally, and I can rededicate myself to my work. My professional focus can stay on the classroom, where I can continue to be an enthusiastic and effective teacher.

Our students need us now more than ever, because even – especially – in difficult times, there is much to learn and teach.

_________________________
References:
Beaumont, L. (2009). Learned Helplessness. Retrieved March 23, 2011, from Emotional Competency: http://www.emotionalcompetency.com/helpless.htm
Malone, Eddie. 4 Colours of Solidarity (photo). Retrieved March 23, 2011 from flickr: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/16/20312604_122d6b5123.jpg

Solidarnost (Madison Musings)

2011-02-27T18:41:00.000-08:00

Contorted sleeping bags, inflatable mattresses, the smell of sleep and bodies and a waking, stirring, marble, windowless building full of college students stretching and eating bowls of cereal: the Capitol felt inhabited, lived in, was. Drums beat strong at ten a.m., the pounding on of buckets that was the heartbeat at the center of the rotunda, is the heartbeat of this movement.

In front of every entrance and cordoned-off set of stairs, police officers stood and watched, the cops in their world and the protesters in theirs, officers standing sharply and protesters fluid and sprawling, crouching, stretching, eating, but with no animosity. I spent an hour just wandering, looking at signs and posters, post-it notes on carved marble, neoclassical paintings and the central dome always beating, sometimes faintly and then so strong my insides moved.

The women’s bathroom was inhabited too, and one sign read, “Thank you Capitol staff for keeping our home clean.” Another, taped to a bag of pads, said “Take as needed.” One woman breastfed; another passed toilet paper to her mother under a stall door. The only acts of vandalism in the building were on the plastic toilet paper roll, where the brand name SCOTT was amended in one stall to read “Impeach SCOTT Walker” and in another, “SCOTT is an asswipe.”

In the gallery of the Assembly Chamber, during the long hour before the session started, the woman behind me quietly outlined the traits of a sociopath and compared them to the governor. The hall below filled with a sea of clean-cut, well-fed white men in dark suits on one side and a diverse crowd of men and women in bright orange shirts - “We Support Working Families” - on the other. I create a false dichotomy, yet one that was visually striking from a distance like plumage to a birdwatcher.

Those of us in the almost-full gallery sat and waited, and after the roll call, the Minority Leader took the floor and his reprimand to the Republicans for rule violations the previous week turned to shouting, and the opposite wall of the cavernous room became a thin membrane that vibrated with the roar of the protestors on the other side, as if they were about to break through, as if they had.

Somewhere in the building, I assume, the man under discussion sat behind a large desk, not yet revealing strategy to an imposter millionaire, sticking to principles of his own that I could not fathom – trickle-down economics; the inalienable rights of the private sector. I felt only anger at the callous handling of dignified lives.

As did academics, community members, old and young hippies, Wisconsin Public Radio reporters, college student organizers, Jesse Jackson standing on a milk crate, firefighters marching in rotunda circles to drumming, tired police officers, fired-up octogenarians, Senator Tammy Baldwin, a determined youth with eerily Leninesque eyebrows, a scraggly Teamster – “Honey, here’s a sticker for your sign,” a curious dread-locked college student stopping by after class – “What union are you in?”, sheriffs – a lot of sheriffs in day-glo vests, a lot of firefighters from Beloit, a British preacher in a white suit, children in strollers – “We stop by every day for a half hour or so,” a man with a scrawled-on yellow umbrella, a bookish young woman gathering signatures and recovering from a migraine, polished television reporters, shaggy and watchful photographers, and throngs of calm teachers with angry signs – reasonable, measured people.

We were the first domino; we had to lean into that mean forefinger, because if we went down, everything could. So we stood and pushed back, as in a trust exercise with no trust. The people moved in and out of their building, and the violent thing never happened except for the violent thing that was happening.

February 23, 2011

Welcome, New Year

2011-01-04T07:01:00.000-08:00

view from our window on the morning of December 22

What Is Women's Prose Poetry, and Is It?

2010-11-11T08:34:00.000-08:00

Holly Iglesias' thought-provoking critical work entitled Boxing Inside the Box: Women's Prose Poetry is now fully available for viewing, page-turning, and even reading at Google Books. Personally, I'm glad I had a hard copy because it's a book to dialogue with in the margins. For example, from page 24 -
-
Why does fabulism = template. Both part of their vision?
-
but is this truly still true?
-
YES
-
I don't always agree with Iglesias, but I do treasure this book.

Winter's Bone

2010-09-24T13:59:00.000-07:00

One to see and see again. . .

http://www.wintersbonemovie.com/index.html

Breathing in the Baltics

2010-07-23T04:26:00.000-07:00

We recently spent two weeks backpacking through Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, travelling light and gathering impressions (along with a creepy, hand-knit, button-eyed bird and a small round "rag" rug woven by a babushka out of plastic bags). Here's an image from each country.

Morning of Umbrellas in the Old Town, Tallinn, Estonia

Art Deco Sculpture I Developed a Crush On, Riga, Latvia

Suspended Teapot (or Best Corner Ever), Vilnius, Lithuania

Fiddleheads and Canned Hams

2010-06-01T06:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, so these two current obsessions probably merit two separate posts, but then again they may mingle nicely and inspire me to procure a canned ham and surround it with fiddleheads, not on a plate but in a yard.

Here's a lovely turquoise canned ham (a.k.a. vintage trailer) -

http://sweatergirlsknit.com/index.php/album/slideshow_front/Gallery

And here's a dreamy one on a beach -

http://tinyhouseblog.com/tiny-house-concept/teardrops-tiny-trailers/

Go to that first link to see how cool they are inside, too.

On to fiddleheads: yum yum yum. We've got a patch of them (grove? thicket?) growing along the side of the house, exceptionaly thick-stemmed and sturdy, and the ones I refrained from picking and eating are growing into happy, unfurled ostrich ferns.

http://www.crabcoll.com/journal/fiddleheads.html

There's a nice article from Maine about fiddleheads and preparing them at the above link, although most sources I've read, including Teresa Marrone's Abundantly Wild: Collecting and Cooking Wild Edibles in the Upper Midwest, suggest boiling the ferns for ten minutes and disposing of - not reusing - the water.

Delicious. Here's to the season!

Radio Piece

2010-05-05T17:56:00.000-07:00

Yvonne Rutford, Ryan Vine and I talked writing with Jay Anderson on WTIP Community Radio in Grand Marais. . .

PRX » Piece » Poetry Times Three Features Duluth Minnesota Writers

Children listening to radio, Calgary, Alberta, circa 1920s

Reading in Grand Marais

2010-04-07T07:35:00.000-07:00

If you're planning a drive up the North Shore this weekend, join poets Yvonne Rutford, Ryan Vine, and Julie Gard (that's me) for a reading in beautiful Grand Marais, MN.

It's at 7 pm at the public library, and I heard a rumor that there'll be cookies.

Here's what we look like, so you'll know that you're in the right place --

Meet the Imperious Yellow Pig

2010-03-05T17:06:00.000-08:00

Somehow February went by and I didn't post a single time, though I did post on my teaching blog as part of the Ed Psych class I'm taking. I am just like my students: give me three points and I'll do it, no points and I won't.

I met this pig today at the Salvation Army Thrift Store. Odd and abandoned craft projects are pretty much my reason for living (along with partner, child, nature, and art). I experienced a serious moment of recognition. Mutual, I like to think. This pig would simply be quaint if it weren't for the googly eyes, which make the pig.

Here's a detail of a garage sale lamp from a few years back - broken plates and buttons cast in yellow.

Wile Away a Wintry Week

2010-01-30T07:00:00.000-08:00

I can't think of a better way to spend a week in hibernation mode than by watching the British documentary series "7 Up," which starts with a group of schoolchildren at age seven and checks in with them every seven years, up to the most recently made film of the group at 49. The earliest films are best, but still it's fascinating to see what's become of the participants and their families. I often find myself thinking of Neil in particular, who's had the hardest go of it and has so much wisdom to share in the films. Here's a link to just a bit of his wonder as a seven-year-old.

Sip, Sip

2009-12-31T17:53:00.001-08:00

What She Saw

2009-11-15T18:26:00.001-08:00

We spent last weekend visiting family at Leech Lake, and my daughter took these pictures with her cell phone. I am a proud and intrigued parent.

Yummy Spooky Trees

2009-09-07T08:55:00.001-07:00

Painting from Enfold Series by Liz Tran

Girl Sweeping

2009-08-07T05:06:00.000-07:00

in front of a bombed school in Mingora, Pakistan (Swat Valley)

Photo: Michael Kamber for the New York Times

Someone, broom in hand, still recalls how it was.

- Wislawa Szymborska, "End and Beginning"

Goodbye, Lavurn

2009-06-28T20:50:00.000-07:00

For Those Who Love Scraps More Than Wholes

2009-06-24T07:41:00.000-07:00

Agnes Varda's documentary The Gleaners and I takes the viewer across France to visit fields after harvest and the people who find food in them - or sculptural materials in trash bins, or dinner in trash bins for themselves and their neighbors, or heart-shaped potatoes and clocks without hands.

The film resonated with my favorite biblical quote as of late - "The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone" (Psalm 118:22).

What is discarded is essential. . .

Not Shopping

2009-05-13T08:08:00.000-07:00

We went to the aquarium at the Mall of America on my daughter's 15th birthday. We were practically underwater together - my partner, daughter, sister-in-law, nephews and I - encountering turtles, sharks, stingrays, and all kinds of fish. Fish with whiskers, fish with purple spots, fish that were calligraphy, silky bumpy fish. I had a raging headache from the mall, but it was dulled by all the water. The hand above is not my daughter's, but it captures our encounter - touching life just on the other side of glass.

Art of Recovery

2009-04-15T19:20:00.000-07:00

On April 26 from 1:30-3 pm, I'll be reading prose poetry at the sixth annual Art of Recovery literary reading (Minnesota State Arts Board - 400 Sibley Street - downtown St. Paul).

The poems are part of a series entitled Thin Bits of Evidence, which I wrote off of objects purchased at a thrift shop in Mandan, North Dakota. Our neighbor worked at this thrift shop, and he also set our house on fire. (Rather unsuccessfully, I'm glad to say.)

Further information about the reading and exhibit -

http://www.arts.state.mn.us/calendar/2009_AOR_invitation.htm

Deep Sea Jelly Candle, 30¢

Main Street, under construction, is suddenly underwater in an early morning dream. Waves drench signs for the fall election. The mayor almost died from heart failure last year, his daughter from cancer this summer. Now they coach sixth grade girls’ basketball. I love to watch them breathe. The rumor flies he is out on bail, but I walk to the store anyway. My partner keeps fixing the porch. Our daughter plays in her Halloween wig and everything moves a bit slow. I return home with canned sauerkraut and call the county jail. It is not true. See how we go on.

- from Thin Bits of Evidence by Julie Gard

Good Work

2009-02-21T07:31:00.000-08:00

http://faculty.evansville.edu/rl29/art105/img/nevelson_skycathedral.jpg

You see, I think that we have measurements in our bodies. Measurements in our eyes. Look, dear, we walk on two feet. So we're vertical. That doesn't mean the work has to be vertical, but it means there is a weight within ourselves, or this flight. All these things are within the being: weight and measure and color. And if the work is good work, it is built on these laws and principles that we have within ourselves. So when you use a vertical line or a horizontal line, or a texture or the way the shadow falls or a thinner piece or a heavier piece, it all kind of satisfies something in the soul - or, I don't like the word soul, satisfies something within the deed.

You add or subtract until you feel. . . the form, the principle, that something that makes the house stand, that makes you stand.

- Louise Nevelson. Dawns and Dusks: Conversations with Diana McKown. New York: Scribner's, 1976 (120).

On Earth

2008-12-27T11:29:00.000-08:00

Enough said.

2008-11-05T14:48:00.000-08:00

http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/44715000/jpg/_44715109_obhug_getty466.jpg

Wild Food

2008-09-13T18:37:00.000-07:00

http://www.wildfoods.info/wildfoods/chokecherry.html

My latest obsession is stuff you can pick off trees and eat, like chokecherries and wild apples. Blackberries are heavenly too, though they grow on bushes, prickly ones. I am apparently willing to bleed for food. Sweet, tart, rich, juicy food, anyway.
*
There's a chokecherry tree across the street from our house, in a patch of brush and trees that (I believe) is public land. . . No one scolded me, anyway, when I planted the ladder to pick the higher berries. There were still ones far above my head I couldn't reach, which was frustrating and I felt like I was living a parable. I could suddenly understand why people do dangerous things for foolish reasons. Just a little bit higher; just a few more chokecherries. . .

They are very good boiled and strained into a syrup made with fructose. Of course, you can also use sugar. The syrup is excellent on vanilla ice cream; it is fine on pork chops. You can also drink it straight and collapse on the kitchen floor in wild fruit ecstasy.

Novgorod Is Old

2008-07-22T05:04:00.000-07:00

We took our daughter to Russia this summer; it's where she's from. Here's a small church in Novgorod which I thought was exceptionally nice, and a mural on the wall of the disabled children's center/part-time tourist hostel where we stayed. Novgorod means "new city," yet it's the oldest city in Russia. I brought home sand from the banks of the Volkhov River, and a stone for AnnMarie.

House of Fools

2008-06-16T12:15:00.000-07:00

You must see this movie - directed by Andrei Konchalovsky and starring Julia Vysotsky - if you're into accordions, mental institutions, Chechnya, and/or Bryan Adams. See it even if you're not into Bryan Adams, as long as you value the divinely and absurdly tragi-comic. I've started dreaming about this movie - not good dreams, exactly, but ones I want to have.

Let them eat cake and ride on trains!

2008-05-13T13:29:00.000-07:00

The literary journal Caketrain did a nice plug for my chapbook, including an excerpt. They publish interesting work and have a great website.

http://www.caketrain.org/recommendations.html

Here's the caketrain I would like to ride on:

http://www.lakeland.co.uk/product.aspx/kitchenideas/exclusives!11521

Farewell, Aunt Bert

2008-04-16T18:46:00.000-07:00

My great-aunt, one Bertha Curliss Goshey, died this March. I hadn't seen her in many years, but have fond memories of her husband's glass bottle collection (many made in their hometown of Millville, NJ), my aunt's quilting talents, her mesmerizing assortment of thread spools, the warm black heater grate in the middle of their living room floor, and the incessant, loving bickering in which she and my Mommom engaged.

Above is a picture of the two of them, which Mommom labeled "Hannah and her kid sister - 1930." Bertha's on the left and Hannah's on the right. They are together in front of the Ocean City Music Pier, which looks just like it does today.

The second picture is labeled 1931 and is of my great-grandmother (Nan), two of her three children (my Aunt Bert and Uncle Dave), and my great-great grandmother. I have no idea what she's holding. I am fascinated by this woman.
*
Click on a photo for an enlarged (and fairly high-resolution) version.

'Tis March. . .

2008-03-01T05:16:00.000-08:00

. . . which means that February is over. The snow will melt any month now, but not before a few more good skis. Next time I fall, I will bend my knees to prevent the brain slosh I experienced last time, flying forward down the hill onto my shoulder. It was exciting.

I wish I had pictures to post of the lake every morning for a week, or a shot of the three deer I saw yesterday, crossing the road together, but these words will have to do.

Here's a bit of Lake Superior five years ago, from deep in my photo archives. It is not so different now.

Without Leaving the House

2008-01-09T10:26:00.001-08:00

Frost is very close - on the other side of the window. Here's the view from ours on an icy December day.

A great photo of frost "vines" and comments on how they form (click on image) - http://www.flickr.com/photos/addieplum/3548833/in/photostream/

William H. Johnson

2007-11-06T17:25:00.000-08:00

I was first exposed to the art of William H. Johnson in a graduate seminar on the Harlem Renaissance. It was a great class taught by Prof. John Wright at the University of Minnesota. I'm not always sure why I'm drawn to certain works of art or why they move me, but I crave this painting sometimes.

Swing Low Sweet Chariot * William H. Johnson, 1939. * Oil on board, 38.5x26.5''

http://northbysouth.kenyon.edu/1998/art/pages/whjohnson.htm

Haunted Books

2007-10-16T18:01:00.000-07:00

Hiroshi Sugimoto

2007-09-02T08:09:00.000-07:00

Photographer of found objects and buildings and seascapes. . . just found him this morning, and am glad.

http://www.hirshhorn.si.edu/sugimoto/photography.htm

Chaps & Dags

2007-08-18T15:10:00.000-07:00

My chapbook came out in July, and I think that Finishing Line Press did a bang-up job. Obscura is now available online at http://www.amazon.com/, as well as at the press website.

I've learned all sorts of interesting things lately about chapbooks and daguerreotypes. First, on chapbooks -- here's some good historical info, at the link under the nifty picture of Ye Olde Chapbooks.

http://www.sc.edu/library/spcoll/britlit/cbooks/cbook1.html

I was also fascinated to discover that there are modern daguerreotypists who are doing wonderful work. Go here to explore - http://www.newdags.com/index.html

Daguerreotype by Chris Bierrenbach

Some folks have expressed interest in seeing the photographs that correspond with each prose poem in the book. . . My plan is to get them all up on this website (or a personal webpage) in the somewhat near future.

Obscura: The Daguerreotype Series

2007-05-24T08:02:00.000-07:00

I have a chapbook coming out this summer! It consists of a series of prose poems I've written based on family daguerreotypes that were a gift from my paternal grandmother. A daguerreotype is the earliest form of photograph, and the word is most commonly pronounced "dag-AIR-oh-type."

Ordering a Chapbook

If you would like to order a copy of my chapbook, it's currently available with free shipping through June 20. Orders will be mailed on or soon after July 20, 2007. You can order the chapbook online through Finishing Line Press or at amazon.com.

My Reflections on the Project

My people are quiet, at least about the past, and they pass down objects with few words to accompany them. Ten years ago, my grandmother gave me a box of thirty old photographs in small pressed cases. I asked her who was pictured and with a couple of exceptions, she had no idea. My great-grandmother, who died twenty years before I was born, had labeled only a few of the photographs and some of these with question marks.

I feel a need to connect somehow with my family’s distant past. I search in these faces for mutual understanding and release, for the message that I can write what I must and live as I must. My ancestors are kind, but consumed with their own struggles of conscience, nagging toothaches, and burdens of responsibility. They have only so much time for me and only so much patience for invention, be it artistic or scientific. They lent their images first to daguerreotypists and then to descendants. I am grateful for what they’ve revealed, and I respect what they cannot.

Click here to see all of the daguerreotypes.

Others' Reflections

Julie Gard’s Obscura: The Daguerreotype Series is a mysterious and rich literary photo album. Each ekphrastic prose block reinforces—by its elegance of phrasing, by its very shape—a meditation on the visual. Gard’s writing is crisp, elusive, nuanced, and shadowed. Obscura is a gorgeous book.

- Denise Duhamel, author of Mille et un sentiments

Julie Gard’s remarkable Obscura is a series of precise, delicate and searing portraits. Gard looks deeply into each daguerreotype and finds the compelling idiosyncrasy in each face. Her writing is at once distilled and generous, whether she is describing Emily Dickenson or an anonymous child. Julie Gard’s honest, provocative, haunting images mark her as a writer to follow.

- Valerie Miner, author of After Eden

“The process was science and alchemy,” Julie Gard writes in Obscura: The Daguerreotype Series. And in these lyrical portraits, she weaves a similar blend between the precision of description and the transformative empathy behind the act of imagination. In deft and painterly prose, Gard captures the wildness and longing within each unknown, human life.

- Rachel Moritz, author of The Winchester Monologues

More Information on Daguerreotypes

Multidimensional

2007-02-18T18:46:00.000-08:00

My friend with the multidimensional hair has achieved greatness in yet another way. Janelle Masters' song "It's Happening Now," as performed by Tom Schreck, is listed on Neil Young's website "Living with War Today."

Listen here - (#1331) - http://www.neilyoung.com/lwwtoday/lwwsongspage.html

Rutabaga Teaser

2007-02-18T10:07:00.000-08:00

I realized that my earlier post about the rutabaga was vague and incomplete. What I meant to say was that I’d never had rutabaga until this January and that it turns a nice orange when cooked, magically deepening, and its taste is a wondrous combination of earthy potato, sweet carrot, and the slightest wacked edge of turnip. Rutabaga soup is perfect on a darkened winter’s eve – with barley, garlic, onions, a fine assortment of other root vegetables, and whatever else is starting to sprout in the refrigerator.

The locomotive of Trevithick , 1804

Steam is the common thread between trains and soup.

http://www.sapiensman.com/old_trains/english.htm

Diospyros Nikolaevich

2007-02-17T14:50:00.000-08:00

The persimmon is an unexpected fruit. Look at this one I found in the yard, pushing out of the snow.

I think it means we’ll have an early spring.

Algae, Weeds & Bread

2007-02-16T09:02:00.000-08:00

My daughter's forearm as she feeds a black swan --

Newness

2007-02-15T19:45:00.000-08:00

This blog is completely new, and I am completely new to this blog. We will be exploring topics such as literature and education together if we find that we are compatible. Thank you for your visit; we appreciate your patience.

George Eliot, looking very patient.

And nothing like a horse, no matter what Virginia Woolf said.

Rutabaga

2007-02-15T19:36:00.000-08:00

The rutabaga is an incredible vegetable. Let's take a look.