Susan Carol Hauser

Peeping the Land: A Survey

In Uncategorized on October 22, 2014 at 10:54 pm

http://21963ericalanenw.com

Peeping the Land: A Survey
October 22, 2014

It seems that the swans, gone for weeks, have returned to the bay, but I am quite certain that the ones I am watching this morning are not the trumpeters that I watched all summer. Almost certainly they are migrators, tundra swans. They have stopped here to rest and to replenish themselves with mahnomen. Today or tomorrow or soon after they will wheel into the sky. Just south of here they will pick up the Mississippi River, their road, and will follow it to southern Minnesota near Winona and Alma. There they will congregate with tens of thousands of other tundras, resting and chatting, all the while feasting on the gifts of the marshes and the river’s backwaters—pond weed, arrowhead, wild celery.

When they are ready to continue, they will turn away from the Great River, will turn east, their destination the Atlantic coast where they will winter on Chesapeake Bay, tucked between Maryland and Virginia, its estuarial waters mingling with the water of the ocean, sweet and salt coming together, the line of separation blurred the way the line between fall and winter is blurred, warm mingling with cold, cold with warm, the warm ebbing until there is only ice.

How much this is like love, tentative at first, small steps into and out of water, a testing of depth, of rise and descent, the line of demarcation impossible to tell, sweet becoming salt, salt becoming sweet, a migration of the heart, a desire for nourishment and rest, for safe harbor during the inevitable final season.

Wild Rice Harvest

Wild Rice Harvest

Peeping the Land: A Survey

In Peeping the Land on September 17, 2014 at 8:56 pm

http://21963ericalanenw.com

Peeping the Land: A Survey
September 17, 2014

Mushrooms in Clover with Oak Leaves
I want to ask, what kind of mushroom are they? I want a common name, a Latin binomial, a family history, as though to name is to understand, to know in a better way than just looking at them allows. They are as large as salad plates, mottled in color, browns and golds, deep, deep shades of magenta. I know this about them: they have come up under the oak trees for several years now; they are not there one day, and they are there the next, or so it seems; they are ominous somehow. They should not be touched, I think. I walk wide around them, the way I stay clear of some ideas, some thoughts, some desires, some hopes, at least until I can know their common names, their Latin binomials, something, please, of their histories.

100_9441

Peeping the Land: A Survey

In Peeping the Land on September 8, 2014 at 11:04 pm

http://21963ericalanenw.com 

Peeping the Land: A Survey
September 8, 2014 

The garden is almost done with its summer work. I have dug up the potatoes, reds and Yukon golds, and have pulled some of the carrots, though most I am leaving in the ground for Thanksgiving, when I will dig them, probably through snow, and will bring them to the kitchen, the freshness of the garden, the pungent smell of soil emanating from them, filling the kitchen with promise one more time. The green beans are done. I gathered a meager handful from the leggy plants before I pulled them and laid them to rest on the heap of other spent greenery at the end of the garden row, the beans safe in my pocket. The tomatoes I still have hope for. I have brought in one or two a day for the last week, but there are so many still working toward red. There was a light breeze moving through the air as I bent over the beds, and briefly some motion in the mess of weeds I had tossed on the path, a leopard frog moving in and out of sight through the leaves. It stayed away from my feet, but was not in a hurry to leave altogether, as though it, too, would not mind if time slowed down for just a while, just this one time.

IMG_0954

 

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 252 other followers