September

A poem by Helen Hunt Jackson from the late 1800's captures the essence of the season so well. Not quite where I live here in the desert; but here too the seasons change, and if I want to imagine asters by the brook-side, so be it. Enjoy.

The golden-rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.

The gentian's bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest,
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook.

From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.

But none of all this beauty
Which floods the earth and air
Is unto me the secret
Which makes September fair.

'T is a thing which I remember;
To name it thrills me yet:
One day of one September
I never can forget.

Qualified

The Peace Corps waiting continues. I was unhappy to read an article recently in the LA Times about severe budget woes in the Corps, largely due to the falling dollar overseas. And even a budget increase in '09 will be delayed because it's an election year; Congress will likely keep us in continuing resolutions for some time. So right now, many volunteers are seeing their departure dates delayed.

The good news is that I did get a letter yesterday informing me that I am medically and dentally qualified. Obviously the last minute scrambling before my vacation to provide additional cardiological documentation paid off; the "provisionally" has been removed from my qualification. This means that I can go to any country. This, I think, reduces my chances of being delayed. I'll wait another week or two, then if I haven't heard anything, I'll send an email to the placement office to see how these delays may affect me.

Yes, going a bit crazy.

Dad and his Train

My father is a mechanical engineer by training, a machine shop owner by trade, a train aficianado by heart, and retired by choice. Hence he builds steam locomotives in his shop up in the woods. His first was a pretty little Shay engine, which was really Dad's practice engine. The dream engine is the new one, a D&H model (Delaware and Hudson). And he belongs to a railroad club that has a track where they all run their engines. When I was home, we visited the track. No, I didn't get to see his engine in action - these pictures were from Steam-up back in the spring. But I did get to ride around the track behind a deisel engine and learn about what these people do. They get a lot of young people out during their open houses and its a wonderful opportunity for people of all ages to experience steam first-hand. I don't know, Shmoo, if you could open the steam valve, but it would sure make for a fun day. And I had fun learning more about an activity that makes my dad happy.

Summer Vacation

There was a long gravel path down a small hill to a wooden cabin.
There was scrabble played on the sturdy wood table next to the windows overlooking the goldenrod.
There were warm visits with old friends and family.
There was splashing with happy children in cold lake water beneath a clear blue sky.
There were blackberries, bog orchids, maidenhair ferns, and the thumping of a pileated woodpecker.
There were s’mores, and the bounty of the Morris farmers’ market – beets, carrots, tomatoes, and the twin culinary highlights: blueberry pie and Tina’s white corn.
There were miles over South Hill and Crumhorn Mountain, around the Finger Lakes, the Butternut Valley, and the Susquehanna.
There was the eagle, tail and head shining, circling the river as we pulled over and gawked.
There were chestnut trees pushing upward against history, against all odds.
There were the simple graves, the long relinquished houses of the old folks, the ones who started it all here for me.
There was Otsego County in late summer glory, sunshine and rain, a maple here and there turning.
There was joy in letting go and holding on.
Mom
Dad
Jenny, Todd, and most of the kids