Friday, June 12, 2009

MY FAVORITE PEEPS - AND A NAUGHTY DOG


MY SIS, GLORI, AND MY NIECE, KELSEY
(NEPHW MIKE SKIPPED OUT BEFORE THE PHOTOS)

I was taking pictures at graduation recently, when I happened to look at the writing on the paper sleeve of the instant camera. It said, use by (xxx month) 2007. 2007?? Gaah - I freaked out. I had not realized the camera was that old. Thankfully, I had known there were only a few shots left on this film, so I had brought along another camera and was able to finished my picture taking.
I was aware that I might not get any good pictures at all from film that old, but I had them developed anyway. I was pleasantly surprised to get what I did.
I apologize for the quality of these pictures. Some are dark, and in some, I had to crop out a lot of red (see upper left corner of first picture). So, consequently, they are not the best, but they do at least give some glimpses of my favorite people! (All the pictures look better enlarged, so just click on the photo to enlarge it.)
As I indicated, the first picture is of my wonderful sister and her sweet daughter. Kelsey, by the way, is one of the VALEDICTORIANS of the BHS class of 2009. Kelsey, we are extremely proud of you. Yeah - we're a little club - two smart sisters and their two smart daughters. All four of us were either valedictorians or graduates of highest distinction in high school, college and/or graduate school. My mom would have been so proud!




KRISTEN AND DAN

Then, a photo of my dear daughter and my beloved husband. When I saw this picture I knew exactly how old the camera was. These shots were taken after Dan drove Kristen's new (used) car out to Washington, DC in March 2007!! (Yeah, you wouldn't see them sitting outside in shirt sleeves in March in ND!)

And finally, my wonderful (ahem) dog, Gracie, in a series of three photos that tell a little story:

ME: "Hi, Gracie, whatcha got?"

GRACIE: "Just an ol' stick I found."


ME: (Sternly) "I don't think that's an ordinary old stick. That's one of the slats from the baby gate that was meant to keep you in the kitchen.

GRACIE: (Looking very guilty) "I sorry, Mom!"


GRACIE: "But not so sorry that I'm gonna quit chewing on it!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
NOTE: Fifteen minutes after I posted this, Gracie overturned a full bowl of au jus on the table (I thought it was out of her reach.) Dan had a bunch of letters and papers on the table, and they all got soaked. Gracie is dis-graced. There's never a dull moment around here.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

WHAT IS SO RARE AS A DAY IN JUNE?

"And what is so rare as a day in June/Then, if ever, come perfect days", wrote the poet James Russell Lowell.

Well, so far the June days in North Dakota have been rare, and not in a good way. This past Saturday, the city of Dickinson, about 90 miles west of Bismarck, had two inches of snow!! Now that's a rare June day! I had argued with my husband for years over whether or not it had ever snowed in North Dakota in June. I maintained that it had not.

I have been proven wrong, and not only by last Saturday's snow. The TV newscasters and meteorologists trotted out old records to show that that it has indeed happened in the past. (I will continue to maintain that it has never snowed in ND in September - I suppose I am wrong about that too. Maybe I grew up in the Camelot area of ND??)

It has also been really cold here this June. Yesterday it was in the 50s F when it should be in the 70s. Dan and I have only been able to dine out on the deck once all season. And we are still getting frost warnings as of June 10, when the average last frost in ND is May 21!!.

My friend from Dickinson sent me a photo of their snow, but I am not going to re-print it here. Too depressing. Instead, I will show you a beautiful flower!


CLOSE-UP OF HESPERIS MATRONALIS


As I have been driving to work in the mornings on Avenue C, I have been noticing the sweet rocket - also known as dame's rocket - that a lady (must be a lady, right?) has planted on her boulevard corner. Hesperis matronalis, as it is known botanically, is rarely used here as a garden plant, making it such a treat when I do spot its lovely lilac-colored flowers.
I've only ever seen sweet rocket in two other places in Bismarck-Mandan. Some plants annually grow in an undeveloped lot with scruffy trees in a semi-industrial area of town, and it grows profusely along the train tracks in Mandan.
My first memory of sweet rocket is seeing a stand of them in a wooded lot across from my Grandma's house in Crosby, ND (long since developed for housing). I thought they were so cool, not only because they were extremely pretty, but also because they seemed to have sprung up in the woods all on their own without human help. I suppose they could have escaped from someone's garden, but here's the catch: People in North Dakota just don't plant sweet rocket!
Sweet rocket has been cultivated for hundreds of years. It was a favorite of Marie Antoinette's, who was enamored of the double white variety. When she was imprisoned, the concierge daily brought her bouquets of pinks, sweet rockets and tuberoses. It is a popular cottage garden plant in England, and came to America with the colonists.
But because it can be invasive, it is shunned by "responsible" gardeners here in America. What a shame! It is attractive to bees, birds and butterflies, and in the evening it releases a heavenly scent. Because of this, it is also called "Mother of the Evening" (how pretty!). Other names are Damask Violet or Dame's Violet, because its scent is reminiscent of the violet.
Sweet rocket, as indicated above, thrives in lightly-shaded woodlands, but it can also grow in sunlight. It is the epitome of the old-fashioned flower.
A member of the mustard family, sweet rocket has been described both as a biennial and a perennial. It is sometimes erroneously called "wild phlox" (I have been guilty of this myself), but it has four petals, not the five petals of the phlox flower. There are white, lavender and purple varieties.
Sweet rocket has been classified as a noxious weed by some states. Wisconsin, for one, has had problems with it shading out the native wildflowers of the forest. However, since we have few forested areas in North Dakota, I don't see it being a problem here, especially if gardeners remove the flower stalks as they are fading and do not allow seeds to set.
(NOTE: A beautiful plant that is classified as a noxious weed and banned in North Dakota is purple loose strife, which can clog up waterways. I was sad to have to give up my loose strife (which was not saved from the list even when nursery growers declared their cultivars to be sterile).
I wish more people would plant old-fashioned flowers - hardy annuals or self sowers - instead of the usual petunias and geraniums. Some great old-fashioned flowers that come to mind are candy tuft, larkspur, poppies (not oriental, but papaver somniferous), bachelor buttons (cornflowers), Chinese forget-me-nots, cosmos, bells of Ireland, cleome and hollyhocks.
I also love lady bells (adenophora) and let them come up wherever they want. However, some people consider them a noxious weed too. But I argue that while ladybells can become overgrown, they are easy to pull out. I do find one old-fashioned flower to be way too invasive, and that is lavatera. I still haven't gotten rid of it!!
SWEET ROCKET AT SISSINGHURST
CASTLE GARDENS, KENT, ENGLAND

Sweet rocket or dame's rocket may be shunned here, but it is certainly valued enough to be showcased in one of the most famous gardens in the world, created by the English novelist Vita Sackville-West and her husband Nigel Nicholson. (And also at Thomas Hardy's cottage in Dorset, according to Rowan - see her comment.)

I hope the remainder of our June days will be "rare" too - but rare as defined by Lowell. Following is his entire poem:


**********
"WHAT IS SO RARE AS A DAY IN JUNE?"

AND what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,
An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,-
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?
Now is the high-tide of the year,
And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
We are happy now because God wills it;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
We may shut our eyes but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;
The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,
That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
That the river is bluer than the sky,
That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For our couriers we should not lack;
We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,-
And hark! How clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,
Tells all in his lusty crowing!
Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;
Everything is happy now,
Everything is upward striving;
'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,-
'Tis for the natural way of living:
Who knows whither the clouds have fled?
In the unscarred heaven they leave not wake,
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,
The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;
The soul partakes the season's youth,
And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.

~James Russell Lowell

Saturday, June 6, 2009

MARY STEWART IS MAGIC

A couple of days ago I finished reading "The Crystal Cave", the first book in Mary Stewart's Arthurian quartet. I can't believe how much I enjoyed it. I should have known better than to doubt I would. After all, Mary Stewart has been one of my favorite authors since the mid-1960s, when I was a teenager.

However, I had become angry and disappointed with Ms. Stewart and refused to read her anymore when I found out she had, in beginning her Arthurian saga, changed her literary direction.



Let me explain. I first discovered Mary Stewart when one of my friends and her mother recommended "a great book" called "The Moon-Spinners". After I finished it, I wanted to read more of Ms. Stewart and looked for her books wherever I could find them.

This was not so easy at the time. I usually only had access to the small Crosby public library and the Crosby Rexall drugstore, which sold some paperbacks. Twice a year our family traveled to the "big city" of Minot, ND, where I was usually able to snag a couple of her books.

"The Moon-Spinners" was not Stewart's first book, but it was the one that made her so popular with Americans, because Walt Disney made it into a movie starring Hayley Mills and a movie tie-in edition of the book was released. (Please, please do not watch this awful movie. Poor Hayley Mills was terribly miscast in the role.)

For all its failings, however, the movie did expose Stewart to a wider audience, and the publishers brought out paperback editions of her previous books for American readers eager for more Mary Stewart.

As I grew older and joined book clubs, I was able to purchase her books in hardcover as they were released.

How I loved these modern mystery-suspense-romances. They were almost always written in first person from the point of view of a plucky, intelligent, capable heroine. These English ladies were no Gothic governesses, no wilting wildflowers dependent on a man to rescue them. However, there was always a man in the picture. He and the heroine would slowly fall in love while together solving the mystery. (These were certainly not bodice rippers.)

The one mystery which remained an enigma, and which I have never figured out no matter how many times I read "The Ivy Tree", was whether or not Annabelle was an imposter or the long-lost biological daughter!

Equally important to the story and the characters were the surroundings. Stewart took us to such exotic locales as the Pyrenees of France, the Lippizaner stables in Austria and the rugged Isle of Skye in Scotland. Some reviewers have said that her descriptions of the landscapes were so good that they overshadowed everything else. I never had that impression but do feel that this overwhelmingly evocative sense of place lent a great deal to the books. In fact, I was so intrigued by the magical Greek Isles of "The Moon-Spinners, "My Brother Michael" and "This Rough Magic" that my husband and I decided to honeymoon in Greece.

So, I continued to snap up every Mary Stewart book that came along, until "The Crystal Cave". For some reason, at the time I felt she had betrayed us faithful readers by delving into the great myth of Camelot: of Merlin, Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot. Why did she feel the need to re-work such old ground? I never even bothered to pick up one of these history/fantasy books and give it a try.

Eventually, in the late 1980s-early 1990s, Stewart again wrote books in the genre of her early novels, set this time closer to home in the British Isles: "Thornyhold," "The Stormy Petrel" and "The Rose Cottage". They were quite a disappointment to me, as I felt that Stewart had lost her edge.

"The Rose Cottage" was especially frustrating because it left the story hanging. Later I learned that my book club's edition had inadvertently left out the ending!! They did send me a revised copy, but I wasn't interested enough to re-read it.

As years went by without any taste of Mary Stewart, I decided to give the Arthurian saga a try, looking in used bookstores for copies. Recently, I finally found the last one I needed, which happened to be the first in the series.

Now I wonder why I had waited so long, for Pete's sake. "The Crystal Cave" is as good as any early Stewart novel. I should have known better. A good storyteller is a good storyteller no matter the subject.

"The Crystal Cave" focuses on Merlin, up to the time when Uther Pendragon rejects his bastard son Arthur. I can't wait to begin "The Hollow Hills", which, I assume, will start up with Merlin taking in the young Arthur.

Checking the web today, I was surprised to find that Mary Stewart is still alive. Born on Sept. 9, 1916, she will soon be 93 years old. Mary Stewart is not a literary pseudonym but her real name. Born Mary Florence Elinor Rainbow, she was a university English language and literature professor until she married Sir Frederick Stewart of Edinburgh University in 1945. Now Lady Stewart, she taught school for about 35 years until retiring.

Having lost all the Mary Stewart books I had purchased in a home fire in 1982, I scoured used bookstores until I found them all again, either in hardcover or paperback. Looking at her bibliography today, I discovered two books I did not know about: "The Prince and the Pilgrim", which some lists group with her Arthurian saga, and "The Wind off the Stormy Isles", which was not published in the U.S. (And which I will not be getting anytime soon, as there are only two copies available, at outrageous prices.)

I highly recommend you look for some of Stewart's books too, either in used bookstores or on amazon.com. Aside from her children's books and poetry book, here's the list:

The Arthurian Books:

"The Crystal Cave"
"The Hollow Hills"
"The Last Enchantment"
"The Wicked Day"
"The Prince and the Pilgrim"

Romance-suspense-mystery novels and their locales:

"Madame, Will You Talk?" (France)
"Wildfire at Midnight" (Scotland)
"Thunder on the Right" (France)
"Nine Coaches Waiting" (France)
"My Brother Michael" (Greece)
"The Ivy Tree" (England)
"The Moon-Spinners" (Greece)
"This Rough Magic" (Greece)
"Airs Above the Ground" (Austria)
"The Gabriel Hounds" (Damascus)
"The Wind off the Stormy Isles"(The Canary Islands)
"Touch Not the Cat" (England)
"Thornyhold" (England)
"The Stormy Petrel" (Scotland)
"The Rose Cottage" (England)

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

AS FASCINATING AS THE CELTS

Picture a woman working in rich dark soil in a garden featuring corn, pumpkins and sunflowers along the Missouri River near Bismarck, ND, on a hot summer day. A boat draws up to the bank and a couple of people step onto the shore with a catch of fish. Frolicking nearby are several children and their dogs.

Have you got that image fixed in your mind? Great! Now revise it to picture, instead of a motorboat, a bowl-shaped bent willow boat covered with buffalo hide. Picture the people, not as whites, but as Indians - Mandan Indians, to be specific.


"MANDAN VILLAGE " - George Catlin

I, who feel such a bond with the Ancient Celts of Britain that I have begun to study them in earnest, found myself wondering why I had been ignoring an indigenous people who at one time lived almost next door to me and who bear such similarities to the Celts.

So I began to learn about the Mandans of the Upper Missouri, Heart and Knife Rivers of North Dakota, and discovered a people who are just as fascinating to me as the Celts. And as quickly as I learned to admire the Mandans, I had to mourn them, for they have, as a pure race, been wiped off the face of the earth.


"PTIN-TAK-OCHATA (MANDAN WOMAN'S
DANCE" - Karl Bodmer

The Mandans were a sedentary tribe, as opposed to nomadic Indians like the Dakota (Sioux). (In this post I will be using the term Indian exclusively, since the term Native American was not substituted - for purposes of political correctness - until the late 20th Century). They lived and farmed in the extremely fertile river bottom lands, only traveling and setting up tipis when hunting the buffalo.

They were also different from the Sioux and many other Indians in that they were a friendly, peaceful lot, always eager to offer the peace pipe and trade goods to strangers. (However, although they were never the first to start a conflict, they were always prepared for war and fiercely defended their villages when attacked.)

Lewis and Clark and their crew encountered such hospitality from the Mandans that they decided to overwinter with them in 1804-1805, building an encampment called Fort Mandan, named in honor of the tribe.

"THE INTERIOR HUT OF A
MANDAN CHIEF" - Karl Bodmer

The Mandans lived in dome-shaped earthen and timber lodges, usually perched on a high bluff overlooking a river. Villages consisted of about 40 lodges, with each lodge being home to about 10 people. They grew the aforementioned sunflowers, corn and pumpkins, plus other gourds, beans, squash and tobacco.

They traded those crops (especially the corn), their excellent Knife River flint, buffalo robes and other furs for horses, guns, knives, blankets, tools, cooking implements, beads and cloth. They first traded with other Indian tribes, and then also with white trappers and traders. They became experienced middlemen in a trade system that reached north to Canada and south to Mexico and extended to both coasts.

But far and above agriculture and trade, the buffalo (properly, bison) was the key to the Mandans' daily life. The buffalo provided food, clothing, tools and more. Indeed, the Mandans used every part of the buffalo. Every year, they held a very important "Calling the Buffalo" ceremony, a ritual dance meant to draw the buffalo close enough to be killed.

Another extremely important ceremony was the four-day Okipa, a variation on the Sun Dance held by many Plains Indians. It featured gruesome self-torture ordeals through which the young warriors proved their courage and gained the approval of the spirits. Only men were allowed to attend this event. However, the Mandan women held their own dance, Ptihn-Tak-Ochata, The Dance of the White Buffalo Cow Society. The leading woman wore a robe made of the sacred white buffalo hide, and each woman wore a hat made from it.

"BISON DANCE OF THE MANDAN

INDIAN" - Karl Bodmer

During the hunt, the Mandans took only what buffalo they could use, unlike the whites who slaughtered thousands of buffalo and left the carcasses to rot on the plains. After the hunt, it was the women of the tribe - along with dogs pulling travois - who had to pack out everything and then prepare the hides and process the rest of the animal. But at least at home, the women's position was better, for they were the mistresses of the fields. The crops - and the lodges - belonged to them, and were passed down through the female line.

After their gardening, cooking and multiple other domestic chores were done, the women quilled or embroidered beautiful patterns on their clothing. They had also learned to fire decorative clay beads, and made beautiful clay pots. The men hunted and learned fighting skills. Painter George Catlin noted that the men had plenty of leisure time to play games and sports.

Women usually wore long deerskin dresses belted at the waist. Their fancy dresses featured elk teeth, cowrie shells and embroidery. Men wore buckskin tunics, breech cloths and leggings. Ceremonial men's clothing was highly decorated with beading, porcupine quills and feathers. The chiefs wore eagle feather war bonnets, but instead of the feathers spreading out in the usual fan shape, they were fashioned so as to cascade down the wearer's back. Both men and women wore moccasins, and buffalo hide robes in the winter.


"FOUR BEARS" - George Catlin

The Mandans had some very interesting cultural traits, including a creation myth which said that some of their ancestors climbed to the earth's surface on a grapevine from their underground home beside a subterranean river. They liked the buffalo and fruit of the plains so much that they decided to stay above ground. Their great mythical hero was the Lone Man, and a sacred cedar post representing him was always placed in a central plaza among their lodges.

Tribes were divided into clans, each clan possessing a bundle that held objects believed to hold sacred powers bestowed by the spirits. Those holding the bundles were also considered to have sacred powers and thus were considered the priests or leaders of the clan and tribe.

The Mandans' first recorded contact with Europeans was with the French Canadian explorer Pierre (Sieur) de la Verendrye in 1758. Other notable contacts were with artists who recorded the Mandan way of life, including Catlin, an American, and the Swiss painter Karl Bodmer. Both artists painted the great Mandan chief Four Bears (Mato-Tope or Mah-To-Toh-Pe). Each lived among the Mandan for a time in the 1830s and amassed a pictorial history of their daily life and ceremonies.


"FOUR BEARS" - Karl Bodmer

The Mandans' greatest difference from other Indians was in their physical appearance. Some members of the tribe were described as being "nearly" or "almost" white ("half white" according to William Clark) because they had European features; had light skin; hazel, grey or blue eyes and sported fair hair - either blonde and as fine as silk or a light silvery grey no matter the person's age.

Catlin, who found the Mandans distinctly different from all the other Indian tribes he had studied, wrote that "A stranger in the Mandan village is first struck with the different shades of complexions, and various colors of hair which he sees in a crowd about him, and is almost disposed to exclaim that these are not Indians." The Mandans, he said, had "a most pleasing symmetry and proportion of their features."

Along with others, Catlin believed that the Mandan were the "Welsh Indians" of folklore, descendants of Prince Madoc ab Owain Gwynedd of Wales! Supposedly, Prince Madoc and his followers immigrated to America from Wales in 1170. The Welsh settlers, the story goes, headed west and eventually arrived in North Dakota where they were assimilated into the aboriginal culture, giving the Mandans their European appearance. It was also reported that the Mandan language was very similar to Welsh!


Another explanation set forth for what was sometimes described as the Mandans' somewhat "Nordic" appearance is that they had contact with the Vikings during their Pre-Columbian foray into the New World. Some Scandinavian scholars have found remarkable similarities between Mandan lodges and dwellings used by Nordic Greenlanders.

Both theories have been generally discredited. Lewis and Clark and John Evans, a Welshman sent to search for Madoc's descendants, separately concluded that Welsh-speaking aboriginal peoples did not exist.

But if not Welsh or Scandinavian, "then who?", asks Charles W. Moore in "The Mystery of the Mandans". What is the answer to all their differences? How did they come to be in possesion of myths - not exclusively Christian myths - shared by people from the four corners of the earth, such as a deluge story, the fall from grace of a primal mother and a virgin birth of a child who later performed miracles?

"The Mandan mystery may never be solved," concluded Moore. Or as Catlin put it, the Mandan lived "just long enough to be imperfectly known."


"MANDAN BULL BOATS AND LODGES" -
George Catlin

In the 1750s, when the Mandan were living in nine villages along the Heart River, they numbered about 3600 people. After suffering epidemics of white men's diseases like smallpox, typhoid and whooping cough, and repeated attacks by the stronger Sioux and Assiniboin, the Mandans were forced, on several occasions, to move ever farther north up the Missouri. By the time Lewis and Clark arrived, they numbered only about 1600.

The friendliness, hospitality and trusting nature of the Mandans, in my opinion, led to their downfall. The first, smaller epidemics had been brought by white traders. A catastrophic major smallpox epidemic in 1837-38 again arrived with the white man, via a steamboat from St. Louis. The terrible scourge, to which they had no immunity, killed 90% of the population, leaving only about 125 Mandans alive!

The few survivors moved to Fort Berthold for protection and were assimilated into other two tribes, the Hidatsas and Arikaras. They are now known as The Three Affiliated Tribes, and many live on the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation which was created "for them" in 1870.

To add insult to injury, the Garrison Dam, built in the 1950s, flooded some of the most fertile agricultural land in the world, and many Mandan settlements were inundated.


"MINK (SHA-KO-KA) - MANDAN INDIAN GIRL"
(age 12, with grey hair) - George Catlin

The last full-blooded Mandan Indian died in 1971, and their language barely survives. By the 1992 there were just six Mandan speakers left on earth. However, there are those who are trying to preserve the language, as well as the heritage seeds of the early-maturing corn and other crops hybridized by the Mandans.

Four Bears, the Mandans' famous chief, had always considered white men to be his lifelong friends and brothers. But although he had in his words "loved the white man", at the end of his life - with his people dropping at his feet like flies - he reviled the whites. Their smallpox, he said, left his face so rotten that after death even the wolves would run away from him. The whites, he said, were "black-hearted dogs" for repaying a hundred of years of kindness with such a horrible pestilence.

Today, I'm hoping, Four Bears might be smiling a bit as his people exact some revenge on the whites, making money hand over fist at their casino in New Town, ironically (to me) called Four Bears Casino and Lodge.

"CATLIN FEASTS WITH THE
MANDANS" - George Catlin

There is so much to admire and learn from these people who lived so lightly on the earth. The Mandan culture can be studied at On-A-Slant village at Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park south of Mandan, at the Double Ditch Historical Site just north of Bismarck, the Lewis & Clark Interpretive Center at Washburn, the Fort Clark Trading Post Historical Site near Washburn and the Knife River Indian Villages at Stanton.

As I stand in one of the cool, empty reconstructed earth lodges at On-A-Slant, I think about those people so like the Celts, and just as misunderstood. Both lived in settled, agrarian lives but were falsely accused of being savage roving barbarians.

Both were so closely connected to Mother Earth, nature and the turning of the year. Both were very spiritual, and believed that all living things had supernatural powers. The Celt knew that when he died he would pass over to the Otherworld. The Mandan hoped that at death he would traverse the subterannean lake and return to his ancestors' original home in the Underground.

"DOG SLEDGES OF THE
MANDAN INDIANS" - Karl Bodmer

Both groups wore vibrant clothing, were fond of ornamentation and decoration and were proud of their appearance. Both painted their bodies for war (the Mandan, however, did not use tatooing as extensively as the Celts.) Both tribes traded goods coming from a large area of the world. The Celts were famous as inventors and the Mandans, according to Catlin, were very skilled in the arts of manufacturing. Both had strong oral storytelling traditions. Both were well versed in the use of native plants for food, medicines, dyes, etc.

Both were given their names by others: the word Keltoi comes from the Greeks, but they called themselves the Pretani. The Mandans were named by the Sioux, but called themselves Numakiki (people). Both were assimilated into other cultures (the Celts were absorbed by the British Romans/Anglo Saxons) and Christianized, their belief systems and societies destroyed.

But how could these things I say be true? How could any Indian - how could any Celt - be so attractive, so intelligent, so well off, so civilized, so interesting?

Catlin was among those who, in the 19th century, held the view of Indians as "noble savages", and I think he believed the Mandan to be the among the noblest of all. He was fond of these "extremely courteous and civilized" people," who were "interesting and pleasing in appearance and manners".

"SIH-CHIDA AND MAHCHISI-KAREHDE,
MANDAN INDIANS" - Karl Bodmer

"Their fate is sealed, their doom is fixed," was Catlin's all-too-accurate premonition for the Mandans, of whom he said "a better, more honest, hospitable and kind people, as a community, are not to be found in this world."

"Not to be found in this world," laments Charles W. Moore. "We can only be profoundly saddened by the tragedy of their passing."

Yes, indeed, we all should be profoundly saddened.


"OLD BEAR MEDICINE MAN" - George Catlin

Friday, May 29, 2009

AND THEY CALL IT LILAC LOVE


"THE TIME OF LILACS" by Sophie Anderson

Is there anyone in the world who loves lilacs as much as I do? Well, apparently painter Sophie Anderson did, as evidenced by the paintings above and below. How we love to pick lilacs, all the while knowing that they do not last long as a cut flower. But there's a lot to be said about having a vase of lilacs by one's bedside while drifting off to sleep.



"GIRL WITH LILACS" by Sophie Anderson

I must declare, the best time of the year to live in North Dakota is the last part of May and the first part of June. The flowering fruit trees are still in bloom, though some pink and white petals have begun to drift onto the streets and lawns.

The dwarf purple iris, my favorite of the entire iris family, has exploded into rich purple velvet ecstasy. Any bleeding hearts which have been sheltered in warm nooks are nodding on their long graceful stems. A few late tulips are still abloom, some appearing very blowzy, as in Old Masters' paintings.

My sturdy-stemmed lavender irises will soon bloom, and the bridal veil spirea bushes - so nondescript the rest of the year - will be turned into plumes of foamy white. Then the peonies - talk about blowzy ladies - and the sweet yellow shrub rose, and the almost-too-proliferous lily of the valley. I can't wait.

But there's no need to be impatient, as the lilacs are out!!!! The very air is heavily perfumed. It is almost too heady as it assails a person walking out the front door of a morning. It certainly does unsettle the brain and render one utterly useless as the glorious scent is inhaled and all thoughts of practical life are left far behind.

I had lunch at a certain restaurant today SPECIFICALLY because the exit road is lined with lilacs. I parked my car, got out and spent a good 10 minutes sticking my nose into lilac blossoms. And I did not care one whit what people thought of me. In my yard I have an ancient lilac tree which I cut way back to discourage it from blooming only on the highest branches. However, it still has this problem, and yields precious few blooms to boot (it is just too shaded). I am going to try to go walkabout the neighborhood on a lilac quest, though my knees - yes both knees - are giving me problems.

Around here, lilacs seem to be used quite often as hedges. I'm not used to that but I think it is delightful. A little building that used to be a family home but has recently housed various small shops abuts onto the Broadway Dairy Queen property. An enormous hedge of lilacs sits at the west edge of the property, blocking out the DQ parking lot. I think a visit to the DQ is imperative, if only to sit in the car and indulge in a sniff-fest (okay you know me too well, I will probably have a chocolate-dipped vanilla cone too).

Now in my third spring of blogging, I think I have said as much as I can about lilacs, so I am just going to post links to the 2008 and 2007 posts. For the 2009 post, I will just trot out a very few sentiments about lilacs that my long-time readers already know.

Lilacs are my favorite "Marcel Proust" sense memory flower. A whiff of them takes me right back to my childhood.

And of course, I can't write a post about lilacs without trotting out a few lines of Amy Lowell's poem that goes "Lilacs in the dooryard, holding quiet conversations with an early moon" and Walt Whitman's "When lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed" which is really not about lilacs but about Abraham Lincoln.

However, Whitman's imagery touches me deeply because so many abandoned North Dakota homesteads still have lilacs blooming by the foundations, and because so much of my early imagery of lilacs was seeing those purple and mauve blossoms framed by old, silvery-grey, weathered wood.

Here are my lilac posts from the last two years, which are basically the same except for a little bit of different baggage each year (you will get the essence from just one of the links - no need to link to both except I may have used different photos!)

May 2008 post: http://celticanamcara.blogspot.com/2008/06/lilac-time.html

May 2007 post: http://celticanamcara.blogspot.com/2007/05/when-lilacs-last-in-door-yard-bloomed.html.

I hope that where ever you are this spring, you are able to participate in the sensual feast of the blooming of the lilacs.

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This year, instead of photos I am including paintings of lilacs. Except for the Sophie Anderson paintings, I am sorry to say I do not know the artists of the other paintings below. A Russian e-mail pal sent them to me, knowing how much I love lilacs. They may (or may not) be by Russian painters. If anyone knows these artists, please let me know.






This is my absolute favorite. Could the scene be from some old Russian country dacha?

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

BRITISH PLUCK AND DETERMINATION


WARE HALL HOUSE, NORFOLK, U.K.


MAY SAVIDGE CARRYING TIMBERS
TO THE MOVING TRUCK
(Doesn't she remind you of Tasha Tudor?)

By now, everyone with a TV or computer knows about the amazing story of British (Scottish) opera singer Susan Boyle, who has wowed everyone with her appearance on Britain's Got Talent. She's been lauded by critics and viewers alike for her pluck and determination.

Thanks to Annie at "Bimbimbie", I have learned about another amazing British woman - albeit from another era. Meet May Savidge, who single-handedly dismantled her 15th Century home, had it trucked 100 miles from Hertfordshire to Norfolk and rebuilt it brick by brick! She did this in defiance of developers who wanted to demolish her house for a road project.

"I just won't have such a marvellous old house bulldozed to the ground," she once said. "I've got nothing to do all day, so I might as well do the job myself."

Accompanied only by her beloved dog, Sasha, May spent 23 years on the project, moving oak timbers and ceiling beams, hand-cut floorboards, roof tiles, Tudor fireplaces, Elizabethan leaded glass, and all. May began her project circa 1969 and worked up until her death in 1993 at age 82. Sadly, the house was still not finished. In tribute to May, her niece, Christine Adams, finished the house and turned it into a bed and breakfast called Ware Hall House.

May was also a collector extraordinaire, and Adams was able to finance the completion of the restoration by selling May's belongings and memorabilia.

Adams has now written a book about May called "A Lifetime in the Building: The Extraordinary Story of May Savidge and the House She Moved" (by Christine Adams with Michael Mahon, Aurum Press May 2009).


The book is not just about brick and mortar. It also details May's life, including her two tragic love affairs - the first ending with the death of her fiance and the second with her being jilted after a 17-year courtship by a man whom she believed would marry her.

I plan to purchase this book as soon as I can find a used copy. I truly admire this woman. She puts lazy ol' me to shame.

In 1971 she told an English woman's club: "My mother brought us up on the maxim that there's no such word as can't." Talk about British pluck and determination!

Here's a link to a feature story about May Savidge:

www.mailonsunday.co.uk/property/article-1185210/Movinghouse-how-little-old-lady-spent-23-years-single-handedly-dismantling-cottage-brick-brick-rebuilding-100-miles-away.html

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NOTE ADDED LATER:

This book has just been published and may only be available in the U.K. at this time. Amazon.com has listed it but it is out of stock. (PS - They list it as "Lifetime in the Building..", not "A Lifetime in the Building."

Friday, May 22, 2009

NURTURING THE SOUL


My friend Gemma from "Wild Woman" (http://www.untamedwoman.blogspot.com/) recently interviewed me. Somewhat like a meme, this mini-interview was fun to do because Gemma individualized the questions for me. She asked me:

1-What are some ways you nurture yourself?

As an empty nester with a "self-sufficient" husband, there are not a lot of demands on my time after my work day is over. Therefore I do have time to nurture my soul, through reading, writing, creating collages, finding beautiful art for my blog, listening to music, playing with my dog and enjoying the natural world.

One cannot forget to nurture the body as well. During the week our meals are very simple, but during the weekends Dan and I try to share special meals served with a good, but inexpensive, red wine. Red wine is good for the heart! So is dark chocolate, and I knew it is good for nurturing the soul too. I prefer dark chocolate over milk chocolate, and when I feel low I treat myself to a 1/4 of a bar of Hershey's Special Dark Chocolate.

2-What is your favorite quote or line from a poem? Why does that resonate with you?

"Ring the bells that still can ring/Forget your perfect offering/There is a crack in everything/That's how the light gets in." - "Anthem" by Leonard Cohen. This has been re-phrased in a popular e-mail as "Blessed are the cracked, for they let in the light."

I think the people I admire most in life might be called a little "cracked". Yes, bless them. They don't hide their quirky light under a bushel basket. They are not content to be a "rat in a cage" or a "another brick in the wall". I have been like that at times, although not as often as I would have liked. I'm reminded of the line Luke Wilson's character says to Sarah Jessica Parker's character in "The Family Stone": "You have a freak flag, you just don't fly it." I think we all should fly our freak flags more often - let ourselves be in the moment and dance, sing, be silly, wear hats, chase butterflies, act a bit crazy.

3-If you could live an imaginary life in a different century, where, when and what would you be?

I feel to the depths of my soul that I was born to wear long silk and velvet dresses and a cone-shaped "princess" hat with a veil, which puts me right at home in Medieval times (preferably in England). I also know in my bones that I would have been a high-born lady and not a peasant. However, I would not sit idly by in my tower with my embroidery. I would be a herbalist. I would have an apothecary where I would dry and grind herbs and create medicines, which I would use to treat all who came to me for healing.

4-You have one hour and $20.00 to spend in an office supply store what would you buy?

Oh, dear, $20.00 is not enough to buy any Photoshop-type software, so I would content myself with browsing in the paper and stationery area. There's some nice ivy-bordered paper I've had my eye on at Staples, and I would definitely pick up some parchment paper for a project I'm working on right now. I'm assuming that the $20 is given to me? Because I can't afford parchment paper at $15.00 a ream.

5-What brings you the greatest joy?

Aside from my family and friends, nature brings my greatest joy. Although I am a girl from the prairie, I feel most at home in forest, meadow and lake country (it must be an ancestral memory buried deep in my DNA). I have spent some of my happiest times in central Minnesota. I get excited when I see the "Prairie to Pines" sign soon after one crosses from Grand Forks, ND, into the Land of 10,000 Lakes. At Itasca State Park, near Bemidji, I have walked across the Mississippi River (its source is at Itasca, where it begins as a tiny stream one can walk across).

I have floated down that infant river on a pontoon, basking in the strengthening sun and contentedly listening to the red-wing blackbirds trill along the banks. I have hiked through the spring woods, marveling at the light green of the tamarack, or larch, the only deciduous conifer. I have been thrilled beyond measure at the sight of pink lady slipper orchids, white trilliums and marsh marigolds. I have camped on Star Island and heard the evening call of the loon broadcast over Cass Lake.
Many of these memorable times began with Memorial Weekend. This Memorial Weekend, as in the past 27 years, I am hundreds of miles away from Minnesota, but I am enjoying spring here too. The song goes "June is bustin' out all over", but right now May is bustin' out all over, with a city full of ethereal clouds of pink, white or magenta blossoms of plum, crabapple and apple trees.
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If you would like to have a tailor-made set of interview questions, leave me a comment with your e-mail address saying: “Interview Me”. I will e-mail you five questions of my choice and you can then answer the questions on your blog {with a link back to my blog}. If you participate, please post these "Individualized Meme" rules.

Friday, May 15, 2009

FOR THOSE WHO LOVE DOGS

NINA BAGLEY'S SPRINGER SPANIEL, ASPEN
(copyright Nina Bagley)

I first learned about artist Nina Bagley while reading "True Colors: A Palette of Collaborative Art Journals". I fell in love with her beautiful collages and was thrilled to learn that she has a blog called Ornamental (http://www.ornamental.typepad.com/). I was amazed to learn that not only is she a beautiful artist, photographer and jewelry maker, but an astounding writer.

Nina's blog is the type of blog that I aspire to write, but have failed miserably. I cannot begin to write as well as Nina does. Her posts about her home in the North Carolina mountains, her nature-inspired creations, her parents, her two sons, her dear sister, her cherished friends and her beloved dog evoke and stir so many feelings, emotions and insights. She writes with soul and heart and passion.

Having followed Nina's blog for quite some time, I (and her other readers) were aware that her dear Aspen, a springer spaniel, was aging, and at 16, was showing signs that he would not be with her much longer.

Sadly, Aspen died May 11. Yesterday, Nina said "goodbye to the dearest friend I ever had". I just had to re-print part of her post here. She expresses what I have not been able to write about my most recent dearest friend, my golden retriever Penny, who passed on January 6, as well as our other dear boys and girls: Beau, English Setter, age 14 1/2; Brandy, German Short Haired Pointer, age 14; Lady, cocker spaniel, age 16 1/2.

I felt I had to share this loving tribute, for all of us who love dogs and feel, as does does Mary Oliver (below) that the world would be a sad place indeed without dogs.

"Ornamental", May 15, 2009 - copyright Nina Bagley:


i loved this boy so much, so very much - loved him in a different way than loving another human being, which is an altogether different brand of love, you see. aspen loved me absolutely and without condition; he expected nothing of me except his breakfast and dinner and to be near me at all times, whether awake or asleep. i've never been loved before like that; perhaps i may again, when a springer spaniel puppy comes back into my life, but to live alone with a dog like this - a dog i had in my life for fourteen of his sixteen years - is to know the meaning of love in its purest, truest form. i could look into those big brown eyes and know that everything was going to always be okay, as long as aspen was there by my side. i snapped lots of photographs of him in the last couple of years of his life; i knew that i'd cherish them once he was gone, knew that i'd sorely regret not having them if i didn't . . . the photo below (see Nina's blog for this photo and others) is the very last one that i took, late last week, when he was lying below this green table right next to my feet; the peace that was felt in those moments was a tangible thing - touchable, something to reach out and embrace. he did all of this for me, simply by living at my side and by loving me right back.

i want to thank the hundreds, literally hundreds, of you who've written me here and have sent tender emails, who've sent cards, who've called, who've wept along with me. i would have felt like the loneliest person in this corner of the world, were it not for your kind, loving words, for the sounds of your voices on the phone. i had no idea that my grief would knock me right from my knees and onto the ground; i had no idea that so many of you would respond in turn with sorrow of your own. so many of you have said that you'll miss aspen, that he was as much a part of Ornamental as i am. that warms my heart, just knowing that he was loved in so many different places across this great big world. i've experienced a veritable roller coaster of emotions these past few days; not many of you knew that last thursday, before i left for robin's graduation weekend on saturday, i was forced to make the decision to leave aspen at my vet's kennel, rather than drag him along with me into a frenzied, unfamiliar schedule. he had grown lethargic, with little or no appetite, had several accidents here at the house and in the car. so left him, i did, with much hesitation and even greater angst; yet once i'd arrived in boone, i realized with relief that i'd made the right decision.


it was not until i was driving home on monday afternoon, feeling a little bittersweet after the graduation and taking my time on the winding, foggy roads, when i also realized that his time with me was drawing to an end. the vet called while i was passing through asheville, an hour from home, and said that he was "trying to leave us", that i should get there as quickly as i could. i missed seeing him alive for one last time by twenty little minutes. twenty. but his eyes were open, and i could swear that he was looking right back into my eyes for one last, beautiful, heart wrenching time. a friend and reader shared this lovely quote from mary oliver today with me, and it took my breath away, as her words so often do:


"We open the door and he [Ben the dog] glides away without a backward glance. It is early, in the blue and grainy air we can just see him running along the edge of the water, into the first pink suggestion of sunrise. And we are caught by the old affinity, a joyfulness -- his great and seemly pleasure in the physical world. Because of the dog's joyfulness, our own is increased. It is no small gift. It is not the least reason why we should honor as well as love the dog of our life, and the dog down the street, and all the dogs not yet born. What would the world be like without music or rivers or the green and tender grass? What would this world be like without dogs?"


i've questioned myself, my decision to leave him, a thousand times since monday afternoon. i'm sick that he was alone, without me by his side, when he decided to leave this earth. yet i also know that he most likely chose it to be that way, to spare me of any greater pain. i'm eternally grateful that i was saved from having to make a decision to put him to sleep; i'm grateful that this didn't happen while i was in boone, before robin's graduation; i'm especially grateful that it now won't happen while i am away from home for nearly a month - it would have been unfair to burden my parents with all of this, had i left him with them as planned while i am away. good dog, aspen. wise dog. good, good dog. i still expect to find him in all of the usual places - at the open door, beside my bed, here at my feet. and perhaps he is here, after all, just invisible to my limited eyes. i hope that is the case.


NINA AND ASPEN
(copyright Nina Bagley)
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"I loved my friend
He went away from me
There's nothing more to say
The poem ends,
Soft as it began-
I loved my friend."
- Langston Hughes

Thursday, May 7, 2009

JOY IS FREE

Is there anything more beautiful than a weeping willow just beginning to leaf out? The baby willow leaves are so much lighter than they will be later in the season. (I'm reminded of the Lipton Tea commercial where the Chinese man talks about the "baby tea leaves").

They're such a light green, in fact, that they border on yellow. With just the slightest hint of a breeze, hundreds of airy chartreuse fronds all sway in unison and the sight could not be any more soul satisfying.


The forsythia are also in bloom here now. What a beautiful combination, the light green of the weeping willow and the yellow of the forsythia.

Tulips are finally in bloom here as well. I wonder, do Bismarck residents prefer red tulips over any other color, or do red tulips just bloom first? It is a delight to drive down any street in town and finally see color - even the yellow of dandelions. I saw my first ones yesterday.



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"Make do, wear it out,
Use it up, or go without"
- Old Adage
I mentioned that the sight of new willow leaves is soul satisfying. I am trying to satisfy my soul without spending any money. Is anyone out there in this economy in the same boat as I am - trying to make do with less and less all the time - and trying to enjoy the process (or at least trying to feel virtuous about it)?
This is not exactly a new thing for us. Vacations, new cars, a boat, even much-needed home repairs have not been in our budget for a long time. I can't remember the last time I traveled out of town. We go out for dinner about once a year, usually on a gift card.
I haven't been to a movie since Christmas, and that was only because Kristen was home. I haven't rented or purchased a DVD in forever.
Within the past six months, I have given up my Netflix subscription and quit buying magazines (not even "Somerset Studio" or "Victoria"). I don't buy new books anymore - Barnes & Noble is only for browsing, not buying. My books come from thrift shops, rummage sales and amazon.com (there are many available for a penny plus shipping). No, I won't quit buying books!
I never, ever shop recreationally anymore. I have put off buying sheets and towels and they are wearing out. I bring my lunch to work. I have never been one to buy a Starbucks coffee every morning.
For years I bought pretty much whatever I wanted at the grocery store, never checking prices. Now I bring a calculator and pinch every penny. For years I bought my clothes at Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Target and T. J. Maxx. Now I've gone a step further and only buy them at thrift shops. For over 20 years I have bought my shoes at K-Mart and Payless.
Just recently, I have been doing without cable TV. I am doing fairly well, but I am Lost without the antics of Kate, Jack and Sawyer on "Lost." I haven't gotten my weekly shot of "Gray's Anatomy" and I can't boo Simon Cowell on "American Idol". I can receive CBS - with good sound but lousy picture - so I do get the national and local news plus a few dramas ("Criminal Minds" - yeah!)
In the past years I have gone from spending hundreds of dollars a year on hanging baskets and bedding plants to merely picking up a few for my deck. This year, I won't even be doing that. It has been many years since we have watered our lawn in the summer.
I no longer have Internet at home, but I am not weaning myself off that as easily as I did cable TV. I have to go to the library every day, if only to check my e-mail by putting a quarter in the slot in the "pay for use" computers there. I'm hoping that this won't be a permanent condition, but if it is I will adjust. (I still have Microsoft Word, so I can write posts at home and then publish them when I can access the Internet.)
Instead of juice, I have been buying Kool-Aid packets. My next thing to give up will probably be Coke. That will be very, very difficult.
But, on the bright side, I have free music at my fingertips, thanks to the radio and my CDs.
My library card is free. Dan has even been asking me to check out books for him. (He has never had a Bismarck Library card, even though we have lived here for 28 years!) I am reading more than I have in a long, long time, finishing a book about every two days. And as the days get longer and longer, I will be reading even more.
The whole of nature is free, and I still have my health, mobility, and all my five senses to appreciate this burgeoning spring: Hearing, to capture the stirring trill of the meadowlark. Scent, to sniff the fresh air and the newly-cut grass. Touch, for the silky down of a prairie crocus (anemone pusillatis). Taste, for a sweet drop of honeysuckle. Sight, for the first flowers now in bloom, and for all the daffodils, lilies of the valley, spirea, iris, lilacs and crabapple blossoms to come.
There will be no charge to watch the Band Day parade on Friday evening, or to see my niece graduate from high school. There's no charge to sit on a park bench and watch the world go by. The sight of baby animals at Dakota Zoo can be had at a nominal price.
Driving down to the river will use up about a buck's worth of gas at most. Sitting on the deck of an evening and watching Gracie careen around the yard will not only be free, it'll be priceless (though I will sorely miss seeing Penny waiting to expertly catch a pop fly (her ball).
The Montana-Dakota Utilities bill will go way down (and MDU has already purchased its natural gas for next winter - at a much lower price than this past year)!
It will be a soul-satisfying spring - and summer - indeed. As my blogging friend Lila says, "Joy doesn't depend on income."