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Your life renews itself in this moment.
Move forward from here.
Words spoken
I am a great fan of the tangled imagery of Mark Helprin. This description of a day’s routine is from his novel Paris in the Present Tense:
After [his wife] Jacqueline died he had clung to routine: rising; breakfast; the walk [to where he teaches music]; the start of class; music in the presence of young people, animated by energy, vigor, and struggle; lessons and critiques in which he was carried away by the mystical reach of sound; then punishing exercise on the river; wonderful relief as he walked through the city; the train back; shopping; dinner; reading; practice; reflection; memory; prayer; and sleep.
That last litany—reflection, memory, prayer, sleep: I want that to be my evening routine. Sometimes I can do one or two of those things. All of them would be so worthwhile . . . if I could just back up the clock and do them.
Words sung
I am so enamored of the music and the harmonies of the Episcopal hymnal that I sometimes don’t pay attention to the words. But they can be so lyrical:
Like the murmur of the dove’s song, Like the challenge of her flight, Like the vigor of the wind’s rush Like the new flame’s eager might: Come, Holy Spirit, come.
The words are by Carl P. Daw Jr. to the tune known as “Bridegroom.” What I especially like are the unexpected images, like the flame’s “might” instead of what you might expect, the ordinary “light.”
Here’s the last stanza of another favorite, which I love because it’s contradictory:
The peace of God, it is no peace,
But strife closed in the sod.
Yet let us pray for but one thing—
The marv’lous peace of God.
These are words by William Alexander Percy to the tune “Georgetown.” The hymn’s first stanza is also haunting in its foreshadowing:
They cast their nets in Galilee
Just off the hills of brown;
Such happy, simple fisherfolk,
Before the Lord came down.Discovery
It’s been 60 years and more since I last saw this plant, but I recognized it at once. Milkweed!
Milkweed seemed to be everywhere in suburban Minneapolis, especially around Penn Lake, just a few blocks from my home on West 90th Street in Bloomington.
A little research shows that Oregon has at least four native species of milkweed. I guess I just haven’t been paying attention—or frequenting places where milkweed grows wild. I found this plant in a garden on Southeast Taylor Street.
Milkweed is crucial for the survival of monarch butterflies. Their caterpillars feed exclusively on milkweed leaves. The species is in danger because so much milkweed has been eradicated.
So, if you are looking for an unusual planting with a purpose, consider Asclepias syriaca, common milkweed.
Maple things
Maple trees
In my travels in the neighborhood, I see dozens of maple trees loaded with seeds. I’m ignorant: I don’t know whether these will be on the trees all winter, being released in spring, or whether certain species cast their seeds abroad in fall.
Even the experts at Portland Nursery couldn’t tell me whether some maples drop seeds in fall.
I have found some fresh seeds on pavement. Maybe more will follow.
Maybe it depends on the species of maple. If you know, please leave a comment.
Portland maples
Maples are popular in Portland. Nearly 23 percent of all trees counted by city tree wonks are some form of the genus Acer.
Norway maple (A. plantanoides) is the most common tree in the city, representing nearly 9 percent of all trees. Norways were widely planted as street trees and in parks for decades before the city decided in 1991 that they were a nuisance. There are still thousands of them, because maples live a long time.
Norway maples take up a lot of room on planting strips; they are invasive; and their root systems are just weak enough that they may topple over in heavy wind or ice storms. Nowadays you can’t plant them, but neither can you remove them. According to OregonLive, if you cut down a healthy tree you owe the city a fine.
Red maples (A. rubrum) represent 7.1 percent of all Portland street trees, and lovely, tender, delicate Japanese maples just over 2 percent.
Maple trees make soothing summer shade and glorious fall color. They have a lovely form, and messy but very cute seeds. Those are officially called samaras, but most of us know them as helicopters. They are designed to catch the wind and be deposited far enough away from the tree so the new growth won’t compete.
Maple syrup
Sugar maples aren’t common enough in Oregon to tap for maple syrup, but in Vermont, where one of my daughters lives, the practice is common. Lyza and her partner own 27 mostly vertical acres, with plenty of sugar maples. In the past, they have tapped those trees for sap to make maple syrup, but the whole process takes an immense amount of time and energy.
Vermont homesteads often contain shacks that are used solely for boiling down sap. It takes days of boiling to get the sap down to syrup: 40 gallons of sap to make a gallon of syrup.
Back in the 1980s, Consumer Reports ran a taste test of various pancake syrups. The participants rated real maple syrup low compared to products like Aunt Jemima. It just didn’t have the body or the cloying sweetness of the artificial varieties that folks were used to.
Maple streets
There’s a Southeast Maple Avenue in Portland’s Ladd’s Addition. It is lined, unsurprisingly, with maple trees.
Portland’s Maple Street is home to this mansion. The classic cars parked in the street are a Cadillac El Dorado and a Buick Continental.
I first saw another Maple Street, in unincorporated Oak Grove, south of Milwaukie, from a passing bus, and it evoked my Minnesota youth. I can’t say exactly why.
I returned to explore the stretch of Maple Street that runs for about two blocks between Southeast McLoughlin Boulevard and Oatfield Road. It is a little sad. No sidewalks. Small one-story apartments and modest homes with cars and RVs parked on the lawns. Boulders or tree stumps sit alone on dry summer grass.
On one end of the street, a stately old maple; on the other a few businesses: Auto Electric Specialties (“We build starters”) and a self-storage unit.
Maple bars
Just down McLoughlin from Maple Street is a bright pink Voodoo Doughnuts outlet. Until I discovered Voodoo, my least favorite doughnut of all time was the maple bar. This is because I despise artificial maple flavor.
When I was a kid, my mother used to make “maple syrup” by adding imitation maple flavoring to sugar water. Disgusting!
I also didn’t like maple walnut ice cream, a staple of school lunches in Minnesota, where surplus dairy was always making an appearance. Again, artificial flavoring.
Then, there’s Voodoo. Do they make a maple bar! Not only is the frosting made with real maple syrup, there is even bacon on top.
In 2015 The Oregonian printed a recipe for Voodoo maple-bacon doughnuts. One of the ingredients in both the doughnuts and the frosting is bacon grease. No wonder they taste so good.
And snaps to Voodoo for making “doughnuts,” not “donuts.”
Maple pepper
A condiment I favor is Maple Pepper, made by Island Foods, a small family company on the coast of Maine.
I like the original product, a simple mixture of sea salt and pepper with maple sugar granules. It really brings out the taste of grilled salmon. Other flavors incorporate onion, garlic and habanero.
Not finding a local outlet, I’ve had to buy it mail order.
Maple furniture
Maple is a hard wood, clear and warm-toned. Its light color and gentle grain move in and out of fashion. When we lived in Sioux Falls in the mid-60s, my mother brought home some pieces of maple furniture from a nursing unit at the hospital where she worked. When they remodeled, this beautiful, well-crafted furniture had to go.
I still have the dresser. The craftsmanship reminds me of Mom and her appreciation of fine work even when it wasn’t in fashion.
Poem
Texture
The feel of stroked feathers, Softer than a horse’s hide. Bone beneath the skin, Teeth and tongue and beak. Remember small animals When you stroke them? Bunnies, kitties, puppies— Bones, soft skin, fur and toenails. The texture of rich earth, Grit to gravel to boulders. Asphalt is hard to tread on, But sand yields and moulds to your feet. Texture is the wind’s breath. Ridged petals, soft rose blossoms. Roughness of brick and pavement, Glass and china, oh, so smooth. Trip on a marble floor, break a tooth, Scrape your knee on concrete. Strings callus your fingers, But the violin’s body is slick and tender. Inches and ridges and circumstance, Soft clothes in your closet. Good paper is soft, too, Welcoming to the ink. Crunch carrots, mash potatoes, Let the Champagne bubbles tickle. Lichen makes wet rocks slick, And pinecones crackle underfoot.
Check out
I have a new meditation, on the subject of “journey” over at Juke. These short items are meant as prompts to encourage the reader to reflect, meditate or pursue other avenues to creativity.
String cheese wisdom
The clear plastic wrapper from a piece of Galbani string cheese is printed with a little activity idea:
“Take time to ______________ today,” it suggests. And the choices are:
Read
Meet someone new
Relax
I like all those options. I hope you have done all of them recently.
Paying attention
Noticing is one of the best ways to align yourself with the world and its wonders. Now that it’s September, try keeping track of the trees in your neighborhood. Soon the leaves will start to wither, then change color. Maples may release their helicopters. Apples and plums will continue to fall, followed by walnuts and acorns.
The season is turning. Turn with it; make it yours; breathe in concord with the wind. The next full moon, on September 17, is the Harvest Moon.
And up next . . .
In coming weeks, I hope to write about cookbooks, the Dvorak keyboard, Green Stamps, lonely shoes, dollhouses, creative recycling, regret, sweetness, small-batch coffee roasters and invasive plants. Or, more likely, new topics as they swim into my consciousness.
I hope that what I write will be continue to be fresh and semi-original. Oh, and poems. I want to keep writing poems for strangers.
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What is —30—?
Many months ago, I explained that —30— was the code reporters typed to indicate the end of a story. One way to compose a story was to type separate paragraphs, each on its own half-sheet of cheap newsprint paper. The reporter, or an editor, could shuffle those pages to change the way the narrative was presented. They just had to make sure the last page ended with
—30—
Another fun article. Lots of good stuff about maples. We're looking to plant a Japanese or similar maple in our front yard this fall. I told Jeff he could give it to me as a birthday gift. That relieved him of wondering what to give me. And the furniture: I still have an old maple wood chest of drawers that I plan to give to my daughter when she moves into her forever house. And thanks for the bit about -30-. Never knew about the different graphs on individual pieces of paper, though. That's bizarre, but it makes the reporter write the important facts in a way that won't be shuffled to the "forever file." You know ... that round bin next to the desk. I cherish old time journalistic writing with its rite tite structure and non-repetitive verbiage. Internet writing is the exact opposite to trigger the bots. BLECH!
delightful read this Sunday morning, thanks Fran! 30