Beneath a Patchwork Sky

 Charles Shepherd's farm - Monticello, IN

photo by Rita Bourland
 

 Beneath a Patchwork Sky

Beneath a patchwork sky, an old farmer is laid to rest.  No more tilling the fields, planting the seeds, waiting for rain. He lies in a field outside of town where flowers abound. Flags blow in the wind, stone angels keep watch; birds soar through the air unaware.

All other fields are full of corn.  Row upon row, mile upon mile, the roads are lined with corn.  Standing at attention, saluting those who pass.  Walking between the rows, one hears the wind rustling the stalks, whispering a language unknown to human ears.  

These are the crops that feed the nation. 

Farmers rise before dawn to start their day; it’s just their way.  They tend to the chickens and cows; fix their machines, head to the fields.  Their office is the land, their business the crop.  They know weeds and seeds, sand and soil, drought and torrential rains.  

This year the drought tests patience; the yields are so meager. They wait, hoping God will provide, yet knowing all is lost.  Already they plan for next year’s crop, hoping to have money for the seeds they need to start anew. 

They pray their labors will be blessed.  Sometimes late at night they weep, wondering if prayers matter at all.

The old farmer’s grave will be cared for as days go on and he'll be remembered for all he did.  The seeds he sowed have grown into children of his own and into a farm that still lives on, tended by others who till the land with loving hands.   And so it goes, and so it goes.   

Droughts will come and go – at least one hopes it’s so.   For all we know the old farmer will use his heavenly seeds, casting them down to earthly ground, sending a sign of hope for next year’s crop.   

One wonders how a seed can grow at all, and yet it does – a miracle sown beneath a patchwork sky.

*I attended a funeral in Monticello, Indiana this week for my brother-in-law's father.  I was so moved by the close-knit families and the visual images of this farming community that I wanted to share a few thoughts through my blog.  The drought is simply devastating this year.  
 

Poem: It Really Was That Kind Of Day

 collage and poetry by Rita Bourland

 It Really Was That Kind Of Day

One morning I woke to a glorious sight,

The flowers had grown to a staggering height,

The sun smiled shyly, then took a small bow,

But didn’t let on ‘bout the why and the how,

The birds were all painted in colors quite rare,

They flew through the sky in the warm morning air,

A giant red dog was staring at me,

I patted his head, then sat ‘neath a tree,

I stared at a cloud as it skittered on by,

I laughed then I cried; I didn’t know why,

So many bright wonders in front of my eyes,

I felt like I’d won a fabulous prize,

I kicked off my shoes and stayed there all day,

What can I say,

It really was that kind of day.

Poem - Do Others Cry Too?

Art by Kendra Baird - www.kendrastudios.com 
Poetry by Rita Bourland

 Do Others Cry Too?

So tragic the death,

so senseless the act,

my tears feel misspent,

How do they help

ease the pain from the loss?

Do others cry too?

What should we do

about bullets and guns,

mental health funds,

youth who are lost,

what is the cost

to us all?

 They each had a name,

 life left to live,

people to love,

folks to forgive,

but how to forgive

the man with the gun

who likely was lost,

his life also tossed to the wind?

How to bring change

to a world full of strange, random deeds?

My tears are misspent,

I must be the change that I seek.

I met the artist, Kendra Baird, at the Columbus Arts Festival.  She and I talked about my blog and she gave me permission to take some photos.  When I started writing about the tragic shooting in Colorado, I immediately knew which painting I wanted to use.  Please visit her website.  She is a gifted artist.  

Toying with Nature - Raising a 'human' chimp

  Toying with Nature

Lucy Temerlin – (1964-1987)

Before you read what I have to say, 

just take a moment to really look at this picture.

Lucy, a chimpanzee born in 1964, was raised by Maurice and Jane Temerlin. 

Soon after she was born, she was removed from the Institute for Primate Studies in Oklahoma and raised in the Temerlin's home.  They made every attempt to make her experience as 'human' as possible. This was the Temerlin’s intent and part of their grand experiment.

She learned to dress herself, eat at the table with a fork and knife, flip through magazines, make tea for guests and was eventually trained to use 140 language signs.  She also developed a liking for gin.  Having never been exposed to other chimps, she also enjoyed looking at pictures of humans more than her own species.  In every way, her species identity was erased. 

As she grew, she became stronger and more aggressive and the Temerlins were forced to take her to a chimpanzee rehabilitation center in Gambia.  She never fully acclimated to her new surroundings.  

A graduate student named Janis Carter worked with her for several years trying to assist her in her transition. During that time, Lucy appeared to be depressed and often signed the word ‘hurt’.   Janis eventually had to leave.  The photo above was taken after Janis had been gone for a year and returned for a visit.  Lucy greeted her on the beach, then turned and walked away with a group of other chimps.  Janis took this as a sign that Lucy had adjusted to her new life in Gambia.

One year later, Lucy was found dead having most likely been killed by poachers.  Because she was so trusting of humans, there is some thought that she may have approached the poachers instead of running away from them.

I heard this story on Radio Lab.  I would encourage you to listen to the whole story to get a better sense of all the dynamics at play.   

 I just can’t stop thinking about that photo. 

 Photo from Wikipedia:  Janis Carter saying goodbye to Lucy

at a Chimpanzee Rehab Center in Gambia

Poem: Awake Ye Mysteries

Artwork by Beau Tudzarov – photo taken at Columbus Arts Festival by Rita Bourland

Please check out his amazing website.  Here is a poem inspired by his art.

Awake Ye Mysteries

I may have judged too soon,

seeing the glass half empty

instead of brimming

 with hope,

wondering why

I feel depleted,

like a tank on empty,

merely

needing an infusion

of perspective

replete with wonders

of illusion,

mind-bending tricks

to soothe the realities

asleep at my feet,

awake ye mysteries,

bring on the wonders,

the fun house mirrors,

show me magic,

fill my cup with nectar sweet,

let me see

beyond the glass half empty,

let me see

beyond the limits

set by me,

set me free

to see the gilded gifts

in front of me.

I Am Powerless - Storms through Ohio

 Columbus, Ohio June 29, 2012 - Photo by Rita Bourland

It is the 5^th day without power and I (along with about 200,000 others) am being tested both physically and emotionally.  How to keep my sanity when it’s 95 degrees or higher every single day?  The heat has permeated my brain, making simple decisions quite difficult. 

I Am Powerless

I am powerless,

sitting limply in a pool of sweat

controlling nothing,

Mother Nature

brought the winds,

uprooting trees,

laying them on the ground

in an intricate game of pick-up sticks

for mere mortals to

unravel,

with no relief in sight,

a mirage

would be welcome,

if only to offer images

of coolness and comfort,

I cling to my tentative

 hold

on patience,

trusting power

will return before sanity snaps,

much like the lines

felled by mighty trees

brought to their knees

by the storm.

Planting Is What We Must Do

 Honey Locust Arbor - Photo by Rita Bourland 2012

Our neighborhood is blessed with a canopy of Honey Locust Trees that shade the entire length of our street.  The original owner of our house came up with the idea of planting the trees back in 1970.  She talked to all the neighbors, gained their support for her idea, and began digging.  For over forty years the trees have stood sentinel, offering a gorgeous green awning for passersby.  We are the beneficiaries of her vision.

Planting Is What We Must Do

We plant things every day,

Seeds,

Trees,

Ideas,

Opening our hands

We offer our gifts

Hoping to create something lasting,

Something beautiful,

Wildflowers,

Mighty oaks,

Lyric poems,

Words that embrace,

Songs full of grace,

Planting is what we must do

To ensure something lasting remains

For the folks

Who follow,

Opening our hands

We offer our gifts

Praying

Good things will take root.

How Could Anyplace be so Lovely?

 Columbus Arts Festival – June 2012 – Photo by Rita Bourland

How Could Anyplace be so Lovely?

Seeing the painting of the Italian village dipping its toes into the sea transported me.   How could any place be so lovely, I thought? 

I envisioned myself strolling down the cobblestone lanes with a basket over my arm, stopping to talk to fishermen and carefully choosing from their catch for my evening meal.   I would purchase some freshly baked bread and a small pastry for dessert from the local bakery.  From a street vendor I would find ripe berries kissed by the sun and tomatoes plucked from the vines that very day.  The owner of a small shop would help me select wine and cheese, adding a flower from a vase and a cheerful ‘Ciao!’ as I walked out the door.  So sublime to be in a place of such beauty, where the sun sparkles through puffy white clouds and the day seems to go on forever.  

Shaking myself from my reverie, I backed up a few paces and then I saw it. 

Framing the artist’s booth was the skyline of my fair city.  Puffy white clouds floated by, the sun delivered rays of warmth and the river floated by just steps away.  The day offered surprises around every corner.  Food booths beckoned with international delicacies, one-of-a-kind ice cream (Jeni’s) and sugary festival food.  Musicians performed, poets read, mimes strolled and people smiled in languid enjoyment of the day.  How could anyplace be so lovely, I thought? 

And then I snapped the picture.  

If Only we had Known - Inspired by the art of A.E. London

‘Patriarch’ by A.E. London

Photographed by Rita Bourland at the Columbus Art’s Festival

This is the second in my series of posts based on art I photographed at the Columbus Art’s Festival.  When I passed the booth for A.E. London, I was stunned by the beauty of her work.  I found it haunting, direct, soulful and raw.  There was something in the lion’s eyes that simultaneously mesmerized me and made me want to cry.  Anne (A.E.) let me photograph one of her pieces and I chose this one entitled ‘Patriarch’.  Please visit her website where you will learn more about her techniques (this picture includes the use of coffee), her trips to Africa, her work for endangered species and her ongoing pursuit of artistic expression.  Her website is really gorgeous.   Below you will find my poem inspired by her art.

If Only We Had Known

Anger grows

As I contemplate the fate

Of creatures who roam

Far off lands,

Never dreaming their life

Might fall to a force

Mightier than their roar,

Man broaching their land,

Seeking power over beasts

Of the earth,

Not sensing that extinction

Of one species

Might be a harbinger

Of something larger,

 Might be a sign

Of something so severe

That all powers, all prayers,

Will fail to amend the loss,

If only we had known

The dominoes would fall,

We might have stacked them

Far from the animals

Whose souls

So mirror our own,

If only we had known.

Here's a video of A.E. London at work.

My Mighty Perch - inspired by the art of Ella Richards

 Artwork by Ella Richards

Photographed by Rita Bourland

The weekend of June 2^nd I attended the Columbus Arts Festival.  Over two days I visited many of the 200+ artists’ booths.  I conversed, took pictures and got permission to use some of my favorites for my blog. 

Over the next couple of weeks, I will share a piece of art and write a poem or story inspired by the artist’s creation.  The picture above was done by Ella Richards of Greenwich Village, NY.  She meticulously cuts her drawings out of black paper then glues them onto white paper using a special Japanese glue pen.  The results are monochromatic and powerful.  The picture above is behind glass.  For more information about her process or to purchase her art, please go to her website.  She is a gifted artist.  Here is my poem inspired by her art:

My Mighty Perch

I’ve come too far to fail,

Scaling the mountain was the goal,

No one told me the descent would

Be so treacherous,

Victorious I viewed my elevated

Status with glee,

On bended knee I vowed to never

Again be lowered,

Unequal in a world where tallness

Means power,

So much to see and learn

From my mighty perch,

A feeling I want to know,

To own,

But I need to get down

and there’s no one around,

I guess I’ll just give

A loud holler,

I’ll wait to scale mountains

‘til I’m a bit older,

By then I’ll know

More about power.