Category Archives: Wisdom

The Bounty in a Bulb

“Special Glass for Hyacinth Culture,” by Vitavia, February 8, 2017, via Wikimedia Commons.

I had forgotten all about this piece, written over a decade ago, until the blog Garden Rant contacted me about a month ago. They were looking for photos for their guest posts as many had been lost and they were rebuilding their website,
What a gift it was to relive sweet memories.
Wishing for a beautiful spring for us all,
—S.K.


The Bounty in a Bulb


I’ve had my share of bulb fever over the years. It’s always the same, coming on in late summer, intensifying with fall, and eased only by hours poring over full-color bulb-porn catalogs and long, excited lists. I’ve splurged a few times, putting in big orders that included the practical (species tulips, muscari, Darwins) to the extravagant (parrot, fringed, and peony tulips, Allium ‘Globemaster’ and shubertii.)

And I have loved them all.

For me, it began sixteen years ago, during the first fall in the home we live in now, with my first real garden. I wanted bulbs and lots of them. Early in November, eight months pregnant with our second daughter, I planted 180 in one day; dozens of fancy tulips for the front of our bungalow (most lasted one season), ‘King Alfreds’ by the street, drumstick alliums, crocus, and blue ‘Glory of the Snow’. I remember my sister-in-law Victoria’s charming comment on how the husks enveloping the daffs were their “little jackets for the winter.” She helped me dig big holes and instructed me in proper bulb planting–sprinkle the holes at the bottom with bone meal, add enough bulbs to make a nice show.

I ended the day sore and happy. The next spring, in a new home, with a new baby and so much floral beauty, was glorious.

Looking back now, with the girls mostly grown and nearly two decades of gardening behind me, I realize that what made it glorious was not really the bulbs. What filled my heart was springtime itself and our young family (I see it now as a mirror image of the youthful abundance then around us). In a word, love. The bulbs were just icing on the cake. I know this because three years earlier I felt just as happy sitting on a small porch in May, at a different home, with no garden to speak of, and our first baby in my arms. That spring I fawned over what grew in a section of our cramped yard–a few scruffy grape hyacinths (not planted by me), scrawny wild roses canes that came from who-knows-where, beginning to bud, and the antics of a single robin. Simpler, but just as sweet.

That said, I know that hopping on the bulb-buying bandwagon is hard to resist. Gardening, for many of us, is a giving pursuit, and pleasure comes in delighting not just ourselves, but others. When I see a neighbor on our sidewalk, stopping, smiling, pointing at something I’ve planted, I’m thrilled. If you are in the business, it’s pretty much a duty to have a show-stopping garden and first-hand plant education. But for those of you who don’t have money to spend on bulbs for the spring and are feeling blue, to you I say, “It’s okay.” Personally, my bulb catalogs are where they’ve been stashed for the last few years, in the “maybe” pile on the reading table, as in, if something happens where a ton of money comes my way, I’m gonna buy me a LOT of bulbs. It’s not going to happen again this year, and you know what? It’s fine.

When spring comes I’ll enjoy those hardy bulbs that have persisted in my garden, grape hyacinths, the six ‘Globemasters’ that get smaller each year but are still fascinating, the few bright spots of Darwin tulips that always bring a glad surprise, and a patch of those prolific species tulips, the Tulipa clusianas. If I find I can’t live without buying something this fall, it’ll be a small purchase, maybe a box or two of those $2.99 bulbs I’ve been eyeing at the grocery store, or a fragrant hyacinth at the neighborhood garden center to force in a colorful glass (it is a lot of fun).  As the proverb goes, it only takes one to feed the soul.

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The Goddess Flora as Crone

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The Goddess Flora as Crone by Lisa Lister

Several weeks (at the beginning of our Stay at Home Orders in Colorado) I “met” Lisa Lister, Flora as Crone’s creator, via email. This happened through friend/poet/mother/ librarian/more Jessy Randall. (Thank you, Jessy, for, as you put it, introducing one “green woman” to another!) Lisa and I corresponded, got to know one another. Aside from being taken with her painting of Flora (a perfect fit for a Flora’s Forum post!) I learned we had connections as far as our vision for the future of gardens. We were both at a place where we were more attracted to “re-wilding” than gardening! More on that later; for now, enjoy Lisa’s creation of a broader and wiser vision of Flora!—S.K.K.

The Goddess Flora as Crone

Flora, the Roman goddess of flowers and fertility is overwhelmingly depicted in imagery as a youthful, innocent-looking, yet voluptuous maiden. (Hmmm…I wonder how many of those artists were men?) As she represents spring, it is, perhaps, understandable that Flora has been primarily represented as young. But why, I wondered, shouldn’t she be seen as growing old, a natural part of life? Shouldn’t we uplift not only the radiance and energy of a youthful woman, but also the seasoned and vibrant being of the same woman, but aged . . . an elder, a crone?

I envisioned the woman in my painting “The Goddess Flora as Crone” as sage, with many decades of experience. She helps usher in and oversees spring, protecting blossoms and assuring the seasonal abundance of flowers. I wanted her to exude the confidence of a woman in her full power, yet with a slightly impish and all-knowing glint in her eyes.

In this context, I have also reclaimed the word “crone” which, unfortunately, has degenerated to mean a disagreeable and ugly hag with malicious supernatural powers. Not so! I choose to define a crone as a wise woman, ordinary and yet extraordinary, one who has absorbed the energy of the green and growing earth, season after season, and who uses that abundant energy for good.
—Lisa Lister

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Lisa with elf ear one Halloween

Lisa Fay Lister spent her childhood in Kansas, where vast open skies and wild thunderstorms soothed her soul, even as a young girl. In her gypsy-like twenties, her vision was to live in a peaceful, inclusive and egalitarian world. Her life journey has been joyfully circuitous, but she still holds fast to that utopian vision. Lisa is a retired academic librarian, and now paints in her backyard studio, surrounded by a yard that is slowly rewilding.

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Call Me Harry

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Frame from “Home Rose Garden,” via videoblocks.com, a website for stock video footage.

 

A boy learns about real men—and gardening.
—S.K.

Call Me Harry

Dad overheard me calling our next door neighbor “Harry.”

“Never call an adult by their first name!” Dad scolded me in front of Mr. Wright, “It’s disrespectful.”

I was six or seven years old and agreed with Dad. Yet Mr. Wright had insisted that I, his little gardening buddy, should call him “Harry,” like a friend. After my dad left, he asked that I call him Harry just when my dad wasn’t around. “It’ll be our secret, Tawn,” he said in his warm down-east New England accent.

More often than not, his name came out of my mouth as “Mr. Harry.”

Dad was a white collar man, well-versed in propriety. A Yale educated architect, he rode the train into the city and worked in a skyscraper in a corner office with a great view. On weekends, Dad did mostly the same sort of things that Mr. Wright did. He’d clean gutters, rake leaves, fix things around the house, and fiddle with our ’59 Rambler station wagon, which he’d bought simply because it had the smallest tail fins of any car available that year. (Dad didn’t care for tail fins.) For fun, Dad would listen to classical music on his HiFi tube receiver, play chess, or draw dream houses in his study.

Both he and Mr. Wright were members of the “Greatest Generation,” World War II veterans, but they didn’t think of themselves that way at all.  Now family men in their mid-30s, Dad had fought Hitler and National Socialism in Europe in his early twenties and he’d been in the Battle of the Bulge. Mr. Wright, a blue collar machinist, had been a machinist in the Navy and fought Imperial Japan in the Pacific. From there the differences between the two men, both good fathers, became more pronounced. Mr. Wright drank beer. Dad never did. Mr. Wright had mysterious tattoos that were earned, he said, in battles during the Pacific war. Dad eschewed tattoos and rarely swore. Mr. Wright sometimes swore, well, like a sailor.

But the gruff, flinty New England machinist did something more. Something Dad had no interest in. Mr. Wright grew gardens. He husbanded bursting green vegetable gardens and riotous flower gardens all around his home. In this he took a young lad under his wing and introduced me to the wonder and positivity of growing things.

He taught me how to weed.

“Pull from the base, Tawm, and only when the soil is wet, so you’ll get it all.” And then in his dry, down-East accent: “No, not that!  That’s a daisy!” He also built his own greenhouse. Watching him work with the concrete and then the framing and glass, I was captivated by the thought of one man building a real structure by himself.

Mr. Wright had three daughters. Carol, the youngest, was a young teen and, to me, all grown up. I was waist high to her and she enjoyed my gullibility with some regularity. At Halloween, Carol made a dummy out of old clothes and soaked it with the hose. As I walked in deep darkness down the perfect ambush of Mr. Wright’s narrow garden path, barely able to see out of the eye slits of my Halloween mask, the sodden dummy swung out, wrapping flaccid clammy arms around my face and shoulders, nearly knocking me down! Before I could gather my wits to run, I’d done a little croaking dance to the god of adrenaline, then I took off like a shot! Behind me I heard the mocking laughter of hidden teens.

Gail, the middle girl, I never really knew. She always seemed to be out on some activity.  But Pam, the Wright’s eldest, I just loved. Pam favored corduroy jumpers and turtlenecks and played the folk guitar. Pam would reach down and hug me whenever we met. Mrs. Wright, being a school teacher, once had Pam come and play guitar for our third grade class. She sat in front of the classroom in her jumper and bobbed hair and sang ballads in a clear, sweet voice.

Pam had something wrong with her heart, I was told, a prolapsed or a deviated something. Fixable today, in those days it could not be helped, and so one day Pam died.  I was bewildered, deeply sad, and quite rattled by this. I hadn’t realized that people sometimes died, as in I’d never see them again, ever. How Mr. Wright felt, I never saw.  He kept it to himself. Turning inward, he seemed overly quiet and far away at times, but still almost always happy to see the little neighbor boy who took an interest in him and his otherwise solitary garden work.

Mr. Wright gave me a larger view of the world of men. Real men cared for their families and were dependable workers, sure. But sometimes real men would have a beer. Not all wore a coat and tie. Some men wore dungarees, just like I did! Real men, I noticed, sometimes would not shave on the weekends. They could be gruff and testy and slow to smile. Some such men had strange tattoos, and they weren’t circus people! These were tattoos that they’d “earned,” and I learned not to ask “too many questions, by gaw”! Real men, I saw, were tight-lipped and stoical at the death of their beloved child. And I learned that real men grow gardens. Vegetables, to be sure. Victory Garden holdovers maybe, but also flowers. Real men could grow marigolds, tulips, crocuses, and a rose bush or two so that now and again, for no particular reason they could bring their wife a subtle, sweet-scented bouquet of beauty from the side yard.

Some real men, never very good at talking, let their garden do their talking for them. And this Mr. Wright’s garden did through the years with more depth, affection and sincerity than any words could muster.

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Tom Preble is an essayist for many publications,  including the The Denver Post, Sierra ClubAg Journal, and many magazines and papers. Tom’s work has been nationally syndicated.

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As a Child, Divine

(And aren’t we still all children, deep inside?)

A couple of months ago I began a spiritual quest, trying to pull out of the negativity I felt to be surrounding me (surrounding so many of us). I wanted to get back to a time when I knew, with every fiber of my being, that magic (which to me means LOVE + WONDER + ANYTHING’S POSSIBLE) was absolutely, 100% REAL.

It hasn’t been easy, but I’m getting there. I now spend about an hour each morning meditating and writing, reading, feeling deep gratitude. And my life is changing for the better, every day!

The quote below came from one of the books I’ve been reading, The Magic by Rhonda Byrne. I know that some are not into some aspects of “The Secret” that focus on materialism (I get it), but most of what Byrne writes about centers on positive thoughts, love, and gratitude. This particular book instructs the reader on how to create “the magic” through gratitude in all areas of life (through daily exercises and keeping a  gratitude journal). I liked the book so much I bought extra copies for friends.

Byrne writes: “There is an exquisite feeling many of us had as children, that everything is good, that every day promises more excitement and adventure, and that nothing could ever thwart our joy for the magic of it all. But somehow as we grew into adults, responsibilities, problems, and difficulties took their toll on us, we became disillusioned, and the magic we once believed in as children faded and disappeared. . . . I’m here to tell you that the magic you once believed in is true, and it’s the disillusioned adult perspective of life that is false. . . .”

That resonated with me. A little later, I read this, and connected with it deeply (so I wrote it on a white board).

 

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I choose magic and love and work that is play.  I hope you do, too.

 

Piotruś_Pan_p0081grafika z książki PL-Przygody Piotrusia Pana- publikacja Wydawnictwo J

Illustration from Przygody Piotrusia Pana, published by J. Mortkowicz, Warsaw, Poland, 1914.  Via Wikimedia Commons

 

I’ve also just finished The Seat of the Soul by Gary Zukav. Highly recommended. As is a course I’m taking via Sounds True: Powerful Beyond Measure, by Marianne Williamson.

How is your aura these days? I hope it’s as bright and beautiful as you are.

XO,

Sandy

 

 

 

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Please Don’t Piss on the Petunias—a Memoir

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My memoir is coming out this month!

Yes, I know. I announced that it was coming out “soon” in JUNE (over six months ago). This baby is late, very late. As some of you know, I’m a self-taught publisher. Over the last eight years, I’ve published six issues of Greenwoman, a YA novel (Zera and the Green Man), a book of short stories (Fifty Shades of Green), a few e-books, and many articles and posts. I’ve had the honor and pleasure of working with many talented writers of fiction, creative non-fiction, and poetry. I’d published so many things, but I’d never published a memoir—so here, once again, was another huge learning curve.

I thought I had all the material, all the stories I’d written over the years, and it could be easily put together. Oh, ha ha—wishful thinking! Luckily, my daughters (thank the heavens for them, always bringing me back to reality and keeping the bar set high) told me that the first draft was too incomplete and too inconsistent.

Those were not words I was hoping to hear.

My daughters urged me to rewrite several of the stories in past tense. A significant undertaking.

Then I discovered that the book, about our menagerie of pets over the years (among other things), really needed a story about our dog Chancho.

More importantly, the book needed an “origin” story.

That story took another month of writing, but first I had to time-travel back twenty-five years. (And let me tell you, time-travel is not easy!) The process was difficult emotionally, reliving those days, the tough times back in the early days, before all the fun started with raising kids, chickens, and a garden. Andy and I were just starting out in business and in parenthood, paying student loans and the mortgage on two houses for an entire year, living paycheck to paycheck (having to borrow money at times from his brother Danny to keep the utilities on), as Andy worked seven days a week to fix up a beautiful yet humble home with (finally) a space to garden . . . Oh, and did I mention I was pregnant with Lily and we had no health insurance?

I wrote the origin story. We went over the manuscript, again. And then again, reading it aloud this time and making over 600 more editing changes.

Two days ago I received what I hope will be the final proof. One more fine-tooth comb reading and a only a few (I hope!) minor edits.

I was reminded: Anything worthwhile takes time and thought and care. More than you imagine!

But today, finally, a sneak peek! Here she is. Almost born!

(Consider this an invitation to the baby shower.)

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Now for the backstory on the title, because some of you might remember that it was going to be titled The Chicken Chronicles. A good friend alerted me (thank you, V. G.!) that there was already a memoir with that title, by the illustrious Alice Walker (the Pulitzer-prize winning author of The Color Purple). Her book was also about chickens. So . . . I had to think of another title. Not easy, as that was my “working title” for years.

For a while I was stuck on Mother Hen . . .  but no one seemed thrilled about that one, and the only male beta reader (hello, Geno!) gave it a thumbs’ down in appeal to male readers. A clever friend (again, G. V.) , suggested a few alternatives. Her favorite was Chicken Scratches, which had its charms, but as I always prided myself on good penpersonship, it didn’t connect with me the way it needed to.

Sidenote: Wow, while writing this, I just thought of another title . . . Clucked Up. Ha ha! Maybe that will be the title of the sequel! Goodness knows there have been many more challenges and harrowing adventures this last decade— and especially these last two years!

Anyway, back to the subject at hand: One day I was rattling off title suggestions to Lily, including “Please Don’t Piss on the Penstemons,” the original title of one of the stories about our dog, Broonzy, and his destructive puppyhood. The back story on that title is that it’s a play on the old book/movie title Please Don’t Eat the Daisies, a work I’d never read, but I remembered vividly from childhood.

Lily said, “I like that one.”

Image result for please don't eat the daisies

I said, “I do too, especially the alliteration, but . . . I don’t know. It has a swear word. And I think there are a lot of people who don’t even know what penstemons are!”

Lily said that readers could look up penstemons—and that it wasn’t a big deal about “piss.”

I still thought it could be a dangerous move, a title with both “penstemons” and “piss,” so I decided to change penstemons to another “p” flower. What would sound best? We asked friends their preference: poppies, pansies, petunias or peonies?

“Petunias” won.

Now, to take a look at “piss” (ha). I researched: “book titles with swear words.” It seems that it can actually help sell a book these days!  Who knew? I brought it up to a media-savvy friend (hello, Mary Ellen!) a decade older than I am. She was, to my surprise, very enthusiastic. She said, “Our book club chose to read The Badass Librarians of Timbuktu  because of the title. Do it, Sandy!”

Still searching for a bit more reassurance (this was a big move!), I brought up the subject of swear words in book titles in Facebook-land. My mother immediately commented that she would never have a book with a swear word in the title on her coffee table! (Protecting the grandchildren and great-grandchildren, you see. I didn’t even disclose what the colorful word would be, but she was against it.)

So “Piss” it was!

The book is very sweet (and only slightly pissy). More than anything, it is a love letter to our home and garden, our family, and Nature.

I hope you’ll make a note to buy a copy this month. I’ll let you know when she is born!

With much love and appreciation to all who have helped bring yet another dream to fruition,

— Sandy

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Bee Mine

If you haven’t seen this video yet, it’s a bee-youtiful story. ❤

When Fiona Presly found an injured bee in her garden, she took her in and helped her live out her life. The bond that she and “Queen Bee” developed —  so soulful!

Here’s a link to where you can learn more about saving bees.

And here’s another story, from Scotland (where Fiona lives) on her Bee friend.

It’s amazing to me how scientists are “scratching their heads” – can’t they see and feel our interconnectedness, the intelligence in all things, and know we can communicate?

Sigh . . .

— SK

 

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Monthly Museletter – August 2018

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“Lunar Libration” by Tomruen, via Wikimedia Commons

Hello everyone!

Karla sent me her wonderful newsletter well over two weeks ago, yet I’ve only now published the bits that I feel connect the best to the Flora’s Forum audience. For this delay, I apologize.

I also had a realization. Instead of going through the whole newsletter and creating an online version once a month . . . why not just parcel out these videos, quotes, book reviews and other interesting tidbits, through the month and post more often?

(Why didn’t I think of this before?)  I think it will be more fun to do a few posts throughout the month, and then I won’t be late, and perhaps you won’t be overwhelmed with too much content at once.

That is what I shall start in September. For now, the last Museletter!

(Today, I’m especially excited to share “The Death Cafe” video, which I found to be both heart-wrenching and beautiful.)

Thank you, Karla, for once again sharing your Wisdome News!
❤ —SK

P. S. If you’re from Colorado Springs and would like Karla’s full newsletter that includes local events, you can write her at karlaann45 @ gmail.com.

Love to you all,

Sandy

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“The smile on my face doesn’t mean my life is perfect. It means I appreciate what I’ve been blessed with. I choose to be happy.” —Charles Schulz (Peanuts creator)

Designed with the Earth in mind, the gentle washer, Monono (Japanese for “empathy for all”) washes the equivalent of 12 tees with 5 minutes of hand-cranking, uses no electricity, fossil fuels, or dry-cleaning chemicals, and much less water than our washers (only 18 liters).

Two Colorado College students who came to Death Café last winter made this 10 minute documentary film. Everyone’s welcome to join the conversation; FMI contact Susan Coffey goingmywaydeathcare (at) gmail.com.


Also pertinent: THE GREEN BURIAL GUIDEBOOK by Elizabeth Fournier (2018) is in libraries now. It includes information about non-toxic “green embalming fluids” and alkaline hydrolysis, a non-fiery way of cremation that produces earth-friendly cremains.

Sisters Leah Song and Chloe Smith of Appalachia Rising sing “Resilient.”

“Realigned and on point,
Power to the peaceful,
prayers to the waters,
Women at the center,
All vessels open to give and receive,
Let’s see this system brought down to its knees.”

You can read more about their music here.

What are “STRANDED ASSETS” & why do they matter? They appear to be a mirage, a Ponzi scheme on the part of big oil/coal/gas companies.

A wiser approach?
“The biggest problem for the climate change fight isn’t technology — it’s human psychology.”

Ecological oyster shell “living shorelines” restore habitat and build up beach edges!

Good News for Colorado! 
Sierra Club got Denver mayor Michael Hancock to commit to 100% clean renewable energy by 2030. 

Shea Moisture (established 1912!) is an ethical, fair-trade, family-owned, women-supporting business that will leave you soft, clean, and smelling great!
(I love their Peace Rose soap!)

Another by Charles:
“All you need is love, but a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.” —Charles Schulz

BRILLIANT!
Biologist Janine Benyus, founder of the Biomimicry movement champions the idea that we should take cues from the natural world, because what better teachers exist? This hour presentation, at the Aspen Ideas Festival, is worth listening to — the only thing that would make it more exciting is if we could see the pictures she sees.

A final note from Karla:
“I’m ‘guerilla gardening’ golden raintree seeds in alleys & empty lots in memory of my little sister Elise Marie Clarke. Soon I’ll harvest bee plant seeds to scatter around on my morning walks, then marigolds, cosmos . . . To me, SEEDS are symbols of the ‘unstoppability of Life’.”

By U.S. Department of Agriculture (Seedling), via Wikimedia Commons

By U.S. Department of Agriculture (Seedling) [CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0) or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

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Until next time . . .

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Monthly Museletter—July 2018

 

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“Lunar Libration” by Tomruen, via Wikimedia Commons

 

Thank you, Karla, for sharing your Wisdome News!❤ —SK

P. S. If you’re from Colorado Springs and would like Karla’s full newsletter that includes local events, you can write her at karlaann45 @ gmail.com.

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“We may have all come on different ships, but we’re in the same boat now.” —MLK

YAY for COSTA RICA—no fossil fuels by 2021! (Share if you think your country is capable of great things!)

“The noblest art is that of making others happy.” —P.T. Barnum (in The Greatest Showman movie)

No gas, no license, no insurance, no plug-in . . . a covered pedal & solar-powered trike. ELF- SHARING webs are being formed among friends, family, neighbors, students & co-workers. Hmmm—shall we get Tangerine or Lime or Zebra?

Scientists project that without intervention, there’ll be more plastic than fish by weight in the oceans by 2050.

“We did not leave the stone age because we ran out of stones. Why are we waiting to leave the fossil fuel age until we’ve consumed the last coal, oil, & gas?” cleoinstitute.org

“When your enemy is making mistakes, don’t interrupt him.”— Brad Pitt
(Does this go for presidents?)

“ . . . the larger the animal, the more it has to be fed, and a goat produces five times as much milk in proportion to her body weight as a cow.” —MILK, A 10,000 YEAR FOOD FRACAS by Mark Kurlansky. (Is it time for us to give up raising cows?)

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“Milking an Artificial Goat at Grubighütte” by David Short from Windsor, UK, via Wikimedia Commons

Is your sunscreen destroying coral reefs, which are the supermarkets of the oceans ?

How does the Volcan de Fuego volcano in Guatemala and the Kilauea volcano in Hawaii differ? CBS gives an excellent science lesson about two types of volcanos!

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Photograph by E. Klett on 27 January 1994; U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, via Wikimedia Commons. “Snow-covered Kanaga Volcano in Alaska erupts a small column of tephra, gas, and steam. Kanaga is a stratovolcano. View is toward the west.”

A MUST-SEE!
SING THE WATER SONG with Algonquian Elders & Women & Girls.

Did you know?
CORAL REEFS cover only 1% of the ocean floor, but are home to more than 25% of marine life.

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“Coral Reef, Elephant Beach, Andaman, India,” by Harvinder Chandigar, via Wikimedia Commons

Bee hives and solar panel farms make happy partnerships!

“It may feel dangerous for a woman to actualize her full potential because it may mean risking some form of rejection by her mother.” A friend shared with me she’s taking HEALING THE MOTHER WOUND , an online course from Bethany Webster. Their free 18-page e-book is an excellent way to get the flavor of the course.

Until next month . . . have a beautiful July!

 
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Monthly Museletter for the Merry Month of May 2018

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“Lunar Libration” by Tomruen, via Wikimedia Commons

 

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“Women Dancing with Veils at the May Day Pageant” (not dated or attributed), via Wikimedia Commons

 

Happy MAY DAY! This month we’re busy with spring planting, spring weeding, and spring everything-else so the newsletter’s, I mean Museletter’s, a little lighter. And so are our hearts! Hooray for spring! Thank you again, Karla, for sharing your gleanings with us. ❤ —SK

P. S. If you’re from Colorado Springs and would like Karla’s full newsletter that includes local events, you can write her at karlaann45 @ gmail.com.

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By Alias 0591 from the Netherlands, Honeybee, via Wikimedia Commons

“Honeybee”, by Alias 0591 from the Netherlands, via Wikimedia Commons

“BEES made my lunch. Bees made my lunch. Thank you Bees! Thanks a bunch for my salad, my HONEY, my milk and my munch, cuz Bees, you made my lunch!”
—new chorus for the song DIRT MADE MY LUNCH by the Banana Slug Band

Water conservation worked in Capetown!

A Vimeo Staff Pick: Thomas Blanchard’s DANCE DANCE—flowers freezing & dye- inundated!

“We know that the hidden crimes of slavery and environmental destruction are not just inextricably linked but mutually reinforcing and reach around the planet.”—Kevin Bales, Blood and Earth: Modern Slavery, Ecocide and the Secret to Saving the World (2017)

The best film I saw at the Native American film fest: PEOPLE OF THE STANDING STONE: the Oneida Nation, the war for independence, and the making of America (27 min., 2017) It’s now in our local library system, with 45 reserves already!

“Nobody gets addicted to Kale—we’re addicted to CHAOS!
—Karla

2351_-_München_-_Maibaum Maypole in Munich, by Andrew Bossi via Wikimedia Commons

“Maypole, Munich, Germany” by Andrew Bossi via Wikimedia Commons

Is that a maypole in your village square, or are you just happy to see me?
(I’m almost embarrassed to admit I did not know the symbolism of the Maypole. And now I’m almost embarrassed that I do.) —S.K.
“The Maypole is a popular and familiar image of May Day and Beltane. A phallic pole, often made from birch, was inserted into the Earth representing the potency of the God. The ring of flowers at the top of the Maypole represents the fertile Goddess. Its many coloured ribbons and the ensuing weaving dance symbolise the spiral of Life and the union of the Goddess and God, the union between Earth and Sky.”
For the Beltane-curious, you can read up on May Day here.

SOLAR CELLS GETTING THINNER THAN HUMAN HAIR! 

We Missed Karla’s Birthday! (Happy Belated Birthday, Karla! I love your little birthday poem!)
“Happy Birthday to me. I’m seventy-three. All systems are working! I’m grateful and FREE!”—Karla, April 18

Many animals in my Tribe—The Silver Hairs—are in danger of extinction because of global warming. This film shows why.

“…thank you for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and a blue dream of sky, and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is YES!” —e. e. cummings

By Temtem at English Wikipedia (Transferred from en.wikipedia to Commons.) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

“Honeybee Swarm”, by Temtem, via Wikimedia Commons

This photo reminded me that in Colorado April is “swarm season”. Seeing a swarm up close is one of the most amazing and exciting things ever! There is no need to fear a swarm. These bees are full of honey on their adventure to locate a new home and so are docile—the chance of being stung is very low. If you see a swarm, please contact your local beekeeping organization; they have a network of beekeepers who would love to give these honey-makers a good home. Act quickly, though, as they’ll probably only be around for a few hours!—S.K.

“Listen to the MUSTN’TS, child. Listen to the DON’TS. Listen to the SHOULDN’TS, the IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS. Listen to the NEVER HAVES, then listen close to me—Anything can happen child, ANYTHING can be.”
—from Shel Silverstein’s illustrated poetry book WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS

What if you could make money every time the wind blows? Matt Brown has an idea of how to make this happen for the people of Rhode Island!

Make a note of it: Full Moon on May 29th.

Judy-China-Dahlia

I had to share this beautiful bone china dahlia that a friend gave me in April. (Thank you, Judy!) Every time I look at it I will think of the beauty of of friends and flowers.

Until next month . . . have a beautiful May!

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The Highest Evolution: Working with our Hands

The values we need are of knowledge: of how to live with Nature, of how to care, of how to share.

I think you’ll agreethere’s no one like Vandana Shiva. I hope you’ll enjoy this short film and her wisdom!—SK

 

 

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