We limped along, you and I, I so wanted you to succeed, to be entertaining and fun, not stodgy the written word making smiles, informing, telling the tale of a matchless place, singular in its identity, more than the sum of its parts. It’s that kind of place, full of people with quirky ideas, ingenuity, an earthy connection to time and place. You must be here a long time to be one of us, unless, of course, you get it right away. We’re common folk, whether we have money in the bank, or an empty tank, we are who we are, no frills, no pompous asses, well, maybe a few, but we know who they are, and we accept them – just that way. That’s the story I wanted you to tell, and we did, you and I but – the very big but – you never made a dime, and to continue, you had to, so, I gave you up and regret it still. You are part of my history and the history of this town, though lost to the public, you linger in my garage, a picture of our town as I saw it; as the people who wrote articles for you saw it. As you really are, plain spoken with a heart, beautiful, hospitable, welcoming. That’s the story you told, the story we told together.
I wrote this poem September 16, 2020. I post it here in recognition of (and in some cases in memory of), the writers and contributors who made the Hermit’s Peak Gazette a wonderful hometown paper with heart. It only lasted about three years, from 1997 to 2000.
Bob collected all things John Deere. He grew up on a farm, but farming was not his profession of choice. Anything would have been preferable to farming. Nevertheless, he respected those who chose to live that life and was proud of his heritage. That may be why he had such a fondness for John Deere memorabilia. For him it represented the stalwart nature of people like his dad and mom, salt of the earth people with integrity, grit, and tenacity. His happiest day on the farm came when his dad bought a tractor (not a John Deere) and retired the horses.
ODE TO A BOY Oh, you powerful beasts, muscled and strong, built for labor hitched to heavy wagons or tillers or plows as need may be. You were all so much bigger than he, a wee lad who wanted to please his dad by driving those horses to each chore fearless he, this boy, in days of yore.
That determination stayed with Bob his entire life. He loved his work. He loved his family. He did his best. It warms my heart when people speak of him with respect and affection. His happy place was his office, and his most satisfying activity was taking care of patients. It has been more than four months since he passed from this life into the next. I miss him but am grateful for the nearly 44 years we had together. And, yes, I expect to see him again, someday.
Happy Fall! It’s that time of year when it’s not quite autumn but it sure feels like it. This is my favorite time of year. There is no aroma like that of chile roasting and the vibrancy of color as vegetation sheds its green and prepares for winter, at least in parts of the country and the world. I can’t imagine waking up every day to blooming flowers and greenery in abundance. I like the seasons, all four of them, even that one called spring that blows through like a whirlwind.
AUTUMN MEDITATION A perfect photo op, the single sunflower sits atop a sturdy stem swaying in the wind, it does not break, nor does it bend. Sitting there against a sky of blue its pristine beauty hardy and true. I want to paint it in words sublime as I watch its silent swaying mime.
TREE TROLL There is a troll in my tree, only I can see, that’s okay he will be what he will be and entertain the child in me.
I try to write a poem a day, sometimes more than one, but mostly just one. Sometimes they follow a theme and at others the brainstorm is all over the place, kind of a reflection of what’s going on in my head or in my life. So, here’s a selection from the past week that I hope you will find interesting or entertaining or provocative, or all three.
The photo, by the way, is of a recent Las Vegas, NM rainstorm.
THE QUALITY OF LIGHT How can we not be in awe of God’s creation? Grass shot through with sunlight paints a variety of green in each blade.
Listen to the trill of a hummingbird in search of sweet nectar.
Our world is alive with beauty. May we look at those we encounter with the same wide-eyed wonder, seeing in them God’s hand at work in the beauty displayed by each soul.
LEAVES ALIGHT Have you seen how light streams through leaves making them nearly translucent, as if each leaf is lit from within?
NATURE Trees weep with wonder, raindrops bead like crystal gems the shimmer of life.
LIVING THE DREAM When you’re 17 you think living the dream is to be popular and pretty, your size itty bitty.
By 27 you come to realize happiness isn’t determined by your size, or looks or being loved by all, such thinking leads to a fall.
37 arrives and the stunned face that is your reflection shows no trace of the hopes you had when you were young your songs of happy ever after left unsung.
Time marches us toward tomorrow never knowing if we will face joy or sorrow. Wins and losses clutter the road in our wake, and we hope we give back more than we take.
Where did time go? This is the truth I now know to live each day with kindness and laughter, is to be remembered fondly hereafter.
FRAIL The thing about age is that it carves into my body and brain the impression I am frail, which to a degree I am, and feeble-minded, which I may be, things don’t stick like they use to.
But… that isn’t who I am. I have earned the right to be skeptical about politics –– not leadership, politics –– of every stripe and brand.
I have gained wisdom at the hard school of life.
Silence doesn’t mean I am addled or not with it, but that I’ve learned the sure way to show how much I don’t know is to open my mouth and start talking.
Glittering with refracted light snow makes everything look bright and leads us all to observe with smiles the quirkiness of nature’s wiles. In every single pristine flake dropped to earth for mother nature’s sake it joyfully renews the earth awaiting the glories of spring’s rebirth.
Is it true, gaillardia, you amazing bit of flora, that your common name springs from the bright and beautiful blankets made by Native Americans, pulling inspiration from Mother Nature’s palette? Oh! I do hope so! I’m drawn even more to your astounding blossoms, and think of the unparalleled artistry of Native American weavers leaving threads of history and beauty in the tapestry of life.
It must be the weather. Scorpions (or vinegarroons?) have invaded our home. Yeah, I know, right? Terrifying to a squeamish hater of all things creepy crawly. I know, I know, every creature on earth has its place in the greater scheme of things, but not in my house, thank you very much. And, yes, the exterminator has been here – twice – and the residual effect of the spraying has slowed the creatures down, and in most cases brought about their demise. And yet, even the dead ones give me the willies.
On a related note, my poor husband has the lasting evidence of a brown recluse spider bite on his leg. The reason I called the exterminator in the first place about three weeks ago. The ER doc said the purple-black spot will likely never go away as the spider’s poison killed the cells in that area. Yikes. All the more reason for me to be unwilling to make friends with the creepy crawly world. Strangely, Bob never experienced pain or itching in the small, affected area but it is not a pretty sight.
Curiously, when I mentioned the bite in the company of several women, three said they had been bitten by a brown recluse or knew someone who had been bitten. In a separate conversation on a different day, I got similar responses. So, the buggers (no pun intended) must be on the move. To be clear, these reports didn’t happen recently but spread over time. Still scary to my way of thinking.
Whether the heat has caused robust insect activity is a matter of speculation on my part, but the heat is definitely affecting all of us in one way or another. The day Las Vegas broke the record with a 100-degree temperature is the day I briefly considered getting an air conditioner of some kind. But the question of what kind stymied me. And then it cooled off, kind of, and we had a burst of rain, which really helped. And then… nothing. And it’s heating up again. We have fans going all over the house to move the air around. Insufficient but it works… sort of, more or less. I took the photo at right the day a mix of hail and rain came crashing down. The hail drummed on the roof, knocked branches off the trees and stripped my potted plants. They’re springing back, despite monster grasshoppers taking nips and rips from everything!
Yes, it has been a weird, weird summer. Despite it all, I’ve managed to find time to be creative. Here’s some recent poetry.
TEACUP Floral swirls in colors bright you hold the musings of my heart in each sip of warm tea, taking me down the path of memory.
STAR Set in the heavens twinkling a winking glow alight with your brilliance ruling the night, star of the show.
PAIN / LOVE Pain and love, four letter words filled with angst.
FLOWERS Gardens flourish and flowers bloom, growing hearts and making room for joy to fill us up, an ever overflowing cup.
IN THE STILLNESS Silence beckons; walk into its solitude to find peace.
Time stops. Welcome the comfort of quiet meditation full of light
Breathe deep, slow your mind, attune your self to the stillness.
TREES Trees are said to come from a single root that weaves throughout the world, feeding, nurturing, sustaining the forests, maintaining the beauty we all need. Did it come from a single seed? Did it spring from Eden in the long ago? Is the root instead the Root of humanity, the progenitor of us all? God, our protector.
SANTOS Art emerges under the deft hands of a skilled crafter of retablos and bultos, images sometimes simple and plain, other times brilliantly carved, striking in color and execution. The artisan chooses; God inspires.
Photo of spider – UC Riverside website archive Photo of storm – Sharon Vander Meer (c)
How did you get your name, what lies beyond your flame of colors bright and true that tells the story of you? Splash of green and vibrant red sunset colors dance across earth’s grassy bed, lit from within you glow, and brighten wherever you grow.
I come from a mixed marriage, a brown mom, a whiter than white dad. We never thought we were different until we went to school, me whiter than white, my older brother browner than brown in a most amazing and beautiful way. We never learned Mom’s mother tongue, I wish we had. Spanish is a lovely language, filled with nuance and passion and an element of story rich in days gone by and hope for better tomorrows.
Sharon Vander Meer 