'Well Water' by Randall Jarrell

 

Well Water

  by Randall Jarrell 1969

What a girl called "the dailiness of life"
(Adding an errand to your errand.  Saying,
"Since you're up . . ." Making you a means to
A means to a means to) is well water
Pumped from an old well at the bottom of the world.
The pump you pump the water from is rusty
And hard to move and absurd, a squirrel-wheel
A sick squirrel turns slowly, through the sunny
Inexorable hours.  And yet sometimes
The wheel turns of its own weight, the rusty
Pump pumps over your sweating face the clear
Water, cold, so cold! you cup your hands
And gulp from them the dailiness of life.

From The Complete Poems by Randall Jarrel


In 1914, Randall Jarrell was born in Nashville, Tennessee. He earned bachelor's and master's degrees from Vanderbilt University. From 1937 to 1939 he taught at Kenyon College, where he met John Crowe Ransom and Robert Lowell, and then at the University of Texas.
His first book of poems, Blood for a Stranger, was published in 1942, the same year he enlisted in the Army Air Corps. He soon left the Air Corps for the army and worked as a control tower operator, an experience which provided much material for his poetry.

Following the war, Jarrell accepted a teaching position at the Woman's College of the University of North Carolina, Greensboro, and remained there, except for occasional absences to teach elsewhere, until his death. Even more than for his poems, Jarrell is highly regarded as a peerless literary essayist, and was considered the most astute (and most feared) poetry critic of his generation.
  

A Heavenly Bath in An Old Wash Bucket

As a child, I visited my grandparents in Sixes, Georgia outside of Canton for the entire summer.  There was no modern plumbing system only well water.  All the water used for cooking and bathing had to be drawn by buckets from the well.   I took my bath in a large tin bucket like the one in the picture hanging on the front porch.  In the evening, I bathed on the back porch and the water had to be heated in a kettle on a old wooden stove.  The tin bucket had many uses.  It was used to wash the freshly picked garden vegetables and it was used to wash my behind.

My grandmother made her own soap for washing clothes.  It was harsh and I never used it.  I always prefer catching rain water for my bath.  There was a delight in knowing I was being bathed from the waters that fell from the heavenly sky. Maybe there was star dust floating in the water or it might have been touched by the moon or kissed by an angel. In other words, it was a heavenly bath for a young child to enjoy.

Riverwalk Spirit of Trees

I like pictures with images from different angles and symmetries.  River Walk in Columbus, Georgia has many hardwood trees growing at the river base.  Some were planted but many are wild.  The trees add a spirit to the river that is inviting and alluring.

Florida's Middle-Earth and Giant Oaks

These views are from the picnic pavilion at Stokes Creek.  The trails lead into a dense forest of old oak trees.  I am standing in the middle of five oak trees whose roots have grown together to make a large oak floor between them. The roots were thick and even growing above ground.  The wind blowing around me sound like tree's whispering to each other.  Once again, New Zealand has nothing on Florida when it comes to giant oak trees. They felt like protectors of the forest.  I have my own middle earth in my backyard.

 

Stokes Creek Landing

 

The above is the observation tower at Stokes Creek.  The salt marsh runs for miles as far as the eye can see and in the distance is the Tolomato River.  The Interpretive Trail loops to the tower and intersects with the Marsh Point Trail.  Stokes Landing serves as an outdoor classroom for environmental education, it has been visited by area students and their teachers over the years. The observation platform for wildlife and marsh viewing was rebuilt by St. Johns County students. The students also developed the interpretive trail.

Marsh Point at Stokes Landing

One of the main reasons I love hiking is the beautiful and stunning landscapes along the trails.  Some of these pictures are as beautiful as oil or watercolor paintings.  The landscape is so vivid with a wide spectrum of colors that it affects all of your senses: sight, sound, touch, smell, and taste.  A camera can only capture a small portion of the magnificence.

White Spring Butterfly

 

The white and black color pattern of the White Spring Butterfly is stunning.  It attracts the eye immediately and the green foliage in the background makes a nice frame.

Wedge Spotted Cattleheart

The scientific name of the Wedge Spotted Cattleheart is Parides Panares and it is common to the Americas. I particularly like the green house window background.  The windows have a soft blue hue and accentuates the black coloring of the butterfly wings.

Butterfly Landing Gallery I

I like images of butterflies on various objects such as statues, limbs, chairs. and floors.  The different backgrounds adds more creative interest to the picture.

Orange Slice Butterflies

 

 

Flowers are not the only thing that provides liquid nutrients for the butterfly. They will often feed on fruit, manure piles, sap, and other materials that have dissolved into water.
Even moist sand or dirt often has enough liquid nutrients that the butterfly can get the nutrients it needs. Sometimes even rotting animal flesh will provide the butterfly with food.
If you are out working or playing on a hot day often a butterfly will land on you and drink from your skin. It is drawn to your skin by the salt in your sweat. Sweat has salt, and other minerals that butterflies need.

Molly Hugger Hill - Rocks, Leaves, Bees and Shirtless

Molly Hugger Hill Trail is located on Pine Mountain.  This is the third time for me hiking on Pine Mountain which has 22 miles of trails.  On the Molly Hugger Hill trail there are a lot of tree stumps and rocks.  The rocks are covered by 7 inches of leaves and there are rocks around all the tree roots.  A portion of the trail is currently home to a band of bees, a couple of them tried to chase me down.  Even though, it was early spring the weather was 73F and it became very hot with no shade from the trees.  New leaves had not started growing so a person could see the slopes of the hills through the bare trees.  I became so hot that in order to cool down, I had to take off my sweat shirt and hike part of the way shirtless.  Thankfully, no other hikers were in sight to witness my partial stripe tease.

Mountain Creek Lake

Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Trail located in the Meadowlark Garden area is the .6-mile Wildflower Trail, where native plants of Georgia are featured, including many rare, threatened and endangered species. The trail offers a gazebo, waterfall and picturesque bridge overlooking Mountain Creek Lake.

Meadowlark Gardens

We visited Callaway Gardens at Pine Mountain and hiked the Holly Trail and Thornhill Hydrangea Garden Trail in Meadowlark Gardens.

Evening Sky Moultrie Creek

Moultrie Creek is located  off US 1 South and flows into a smaller creek that runs behind my home. The evening sky reflecting the clouds over the creek paints a different picture every sunset.

The Sea-Bird by Samuel Griswold Goodrich

 

 

Samuel Griswold Goodrich (August 19, 1793 – May 9, 1860) was an American author, better known under the pseudonym Peter Parley. Goodrich was associated with his brother Charles A. Goodrich in writing books for the young. His series, beginning in 1827 under the name of Peter Parley, embraced geography, biography, history, science and miscellaneous tales. Of these he was the sole author of only a few, but in 1857 he wrote that he was the author and editor of about 170 volumes, and that about seven millions had been sold.

The Sea-Bird

Far, far o'er the deep is my island throne,
Where the sea-gull roams and reigns alone;
Where nought is seen but the beetling rock,
And nought is heard but the ocean-shock,
And the scream of birds when the storm is nigh,
And the crash of the wreck, and the fearful cry
Of drowning men, in their agony.
I love to sit, when the waters sleep,
And ponder the depths of the glassy deep,
Till I dream that I float on a corse at sea,
And sing of the feast that is made for me.
I love on the rush of the storm to sail,
And mingle my scream with the hoarser gale.
When the sky is dark, and the billow high,
When the tempest sweeps in its terror by,
I love to ride on the maddening blast
To flap my wing o'er the fated mast,
And sing to the crew a song of fear,
Of the reef and the surge that await them here.

When the storm is done and the revel is o'er,
I love to sit on the rocky shore,
And tell to the ear of the dying breeze,
The tales that are hushed in the sullen seas;
Of the ship that sank in the reefy surge,
And left her fate to the sea-gull's dirge:
Of the lover that sailed to meet his bride,
And his story gave to the secret tide:
Of the father that went on the trustless main,
And never was met by his child again:
Of the hidden things which the waves conceal,
And the sea-bird's song can alone reveal.

I tell of the ship that hath found a grave
Her spars still float on the restless wave,
But down in the halls of the voiceless deep,
The forms of the brave and the beautiful sleep.
I saw the storm as it gathered fast,
I heard the roar of the coming blast,
I marked the ship in her fearful strife,
As she flew on the tide, like a thing of life.
But the whirlwind came, and her masts were wrung,
Away, and away on the waters flung.
I sat on the gale o'er the sea-swept deck,
And screamed in delight o'er the coming wreck:
I flew to the reef with a heart of glee,
And wiled the ship to her destiny.
On the hidden rocks like a hawk she rushed,
And the sea through her riven timbers gushed:
O'er the whirling surge the wreck was flung,
And loud on the gale wild voices rung.
I gazed on the scene I saw despair
On the pallid brows of a youthful pair.
The maiden drooped like a gentle flower,
When lashed by the gale in its quivering bower:
Her arms round her lover she wildly twined,
And gazed on the sea with a wildered mind.
He bent o'er the trembler, and sheltered her form,
From the plash of the sea, and the sweep of the storm;
But woe to the lover, and woe to the maid,
Whose hopes on the treacherous deep are laid!
For the Sea hath a King whose palaces shine,
In lustre and light down the pearly brine,
And he loves to gather in glory there,
The choicest things of the earth and air.
In his deep saloons with coral crowned,
Where gems are sparkling above and around,
He gathers his harem of love and grace,
And beauty he takes to his cold embrace.
The winds and the waves are his messengers true.
And lost is the wanderer whom they pursue.
They sweep the shore, they plunder the wreck,
His stores to heap, and his halls to deck.
Oh! lady and lover, ye are doomed their prey
They come! they come! ye are swept away!
Ye sink in the tide, but it cannot sever
The fond ones who sleep in its depths for ever!

Wild! wild was the storm, and loud was its roar,
And strange were the sights that I hovered o'er:
I saw the babe with its mother die;
I listened to catch its parting sigh;
And I laughed to see the black billows play
With the sleeping child in their gambols gay.
I saw a girl whose arms were white,
As the foam that flashed on the billows' height;
And the ripples played with her glossy curls,
And her cheek was kissed by the dancing whirls;
But her bosom was dead to hope and fear,
For she shuddered not as the shark came near.
I poised my foot on the forehead fair
Of a lovely boy that floated there;
I looked in the eyes of the drowning brave,
As they upward gazed through the glassy wave;
I screamed o'er the bubbles that told of death,
And stooped as the last gave up his breath.
I flapped my wing, for the work was done
The storm was hushed, and the laughing sun
Sent his gushing light o'er the sullen seas
And I tell my tale to the fainting breeze,
Of the hidden things which the waves conceal,
And the sea-bird's song can alone reveal!

The Lily by William Blake

 Since the beginning of time, lilies have played significant roles in allegorical tales concerning the sacrament of motherhood. Roman mythology links it to Juno, the queen of the gods. The story goes that while Juno was nursing her son Hercules, excess milk fell from the sky. Although part of it remained above the earth (thus creating the group of stars known as the Milky Way), the remainder fell to the earth, creating lilies. Another tradition has it that the lily sprang from the repentant tears of Eve as she went forth from Paradise.  This is one of the few lilies that grew in my yard this spring.

The Lily
by William Blake

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble sheep a threat'ning horn:
While the Lily white shall in love delight,
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

Marshmallow Clouds



 
Many states in the mid west are still experiencing snow in early April but in Florida it is now officially spring and sunshine at Marine Land.  Many sea shells were washed ashore and nothing but blue skies, Marshmallow clouds and sunshine.