photo by author

My friend Len was concerned about me because I hadn’t written on my blog since February. What? I didn’t? Nope, I had to look for myself. Actually, there is nothing to be concerned about.  I stopped writing on another website about that time as did a lot of other writers whose work I had appreciated there. The algorithms they were now using meant that a lot of us were no longer getting viewed or commented on. Something had changed and many switched to another site altogether. I decided I have enough writing on my plate just for Kendal- sometimes people are asking me if I would write something for their occasion and with my own projects, I am kept as busy as I need to be. Looking back, I see I just didn’t feel ready to get back online for a while.

That said, here I am, catching up from March to the end of May with a few poems.

The Plot at the End of March

Three weeks ago, the pond was covered in melting ice.

Today, bright green duckweed mats are melding.

Mated Canadian geese part them effortlessly

as they swim to the far end of the pond.

Their usual nesting spot is hidden beyond

a small forest of last year’s dried canes.

Some lie broken on the water creating a raft

for a sunbathing palm-sized turtle.

Around the perimeter of the pond

tiny frogs trill croaks of love and territory.

Tree frogs continuously chuckle soprano gulp

up in the balcony above my head.

I see hoof prints in the mud along the road.

A deer was here.

Pussy willows are purring,

early daffodils are almost blooming

and away from the frogs, more and more

distinct birdsong can be heard.

The field is full of winter-dead wildflowers.

Seeds are long gone but tasty insects are stirring.

I can almost hear new stems stretching beneath the ground.

Even in my room, I saw the first tiny ant

emerging from the baseboard where the plumbing chase

is a yearly highway for ants in my building,

reminding me that spring stirs everything

outside and inside of me and my home on this plot of earth.

None of us can ignore what is happening in our country and the world. I have written many poems to try and integrate the dismay we are all feeling. When I first saw how much money had initially fled my investments this poem arose.

Unlike Flocks of Starlings 4/8/25

Unlike a flock of black starlings flowing as one

graceful murmuration in the sky,

words and numbers etched in black ink

are flying away in frenzied chaos.

Disruptive change is healthy

for organisms creating new growth.

Organic destruction of dead matter is embedded

with intelligent patterns of renewal. 

The ripple effects of panicked incoherence

destroyed what once was.

We long to know that our flock

will land in safety again.

This universe is based on expansion and contraction,

always reverting to balance,

when healthy order inevitably returns.

May our flock lift wings together with that surety.

Which brings us to April. I wrote this back in 2007 when a Shad (other names are Serviceberry and Juneberry) tree was blooming right outside my bedroom window when I spent many hours in bed from my MS exhaustion. There is an Ohio version of this tree right outside my window ripening into berries as I write.

The Shad Tree, ‘07

Every spring the Queen of Lace

holds court outside my window.

The royal decree is trilled aloud

by avian courtiers perched in her graceful branches.

“Build nests in field and forest and

by June shall our white blossoms become red berries,

a feast for you and your kin.”

Unlatching my window

I receive the royal summons

on the first warm sunny day.

She nods to me in the breeze.

I curtsy deeply

inhaling all that grows, crawls, flies,

and swims upon her earth.

This year of recovery

I match her abundance.

With a trilling cry of my own

she and I are become

this season of rebirth.

I will build a nest in her arms and learn to sing.

In fact, I am no longer able to sing my own songs that I have written since coming to Kendal. I have lost the ability to keep in pitch. I have made friends with a very talented musician, writer, pianist, singer, engineer in Oberlin- who kindly has transcribed 10 of my songs that I want to use as an album to give to Kendal marketing to use as they wish. I am distributing this collection of songs to musicians and singers, both residents and staff, who will record them with another resident who is also a sound engineer and singer himself. This project has also kept me very busy and by the end of the fall, I hope it will all be done and available to stream online somehow from Kendal’s website. The logistics I leave up to those who know what they are doing. I am very happy to know these songs won’t languish in my head but can be appreciated by others.

Now onwards to June, which is just around the corner…

First berries in Courtyard Garden

Strawberries are here. A friend went picking them at a local farm and delivered me enough to bag and freeze for weeks to come and still more to cook down into a syrup that will enhance my morning oatmeal sundaes.

Spring is rapidly maturing into summer here in northeast Ohio. We had several days of 80+ degree (F) weather already, though the nights are still cool. Hot humid weather is difficult for me, as wet heat slows down neurological transmissions to muscles. MS already shuts down those connections, so I get out on my mobility scooter as early as I can before the sun has time to heat up my campus. I don’t complain- Emilia’s good friend is visiting the States with her son from Delhi, India. It is over 120 degrees (F) there.

Out for a family stroll

Many goslings are already gawky teenagers and smaller birds are on their second broods. Cedar waxwings have moved in around a nearby Juneberry tree defending the small red fruits from aggressive robins. Tiny rabbits, squirrels, and chipmunks are rapidly learning the ways of their kind.outside.

Small squirrel silhouette on feeder seen between my blinds and plants

And of course, the diversity of flowering flora is an unending delight with daily discoveries. A former biology professor from Oberlin College (one of several) has taken over our most beautiful community Courtyard Garden. One of the most spectacular displays is the cactus garden (yes, a cactus garden in NE Ohio!) which also blooms in June.

Hard to describe the intense contrast of thorns and luscious blossoms

He installed a small water feature that is home to painted turtles named  Brutus, Woody, (who may both be females, no one is sure), and a tiny new one as yet unnamed and hard to spot. Brutus comes up to investigate onlookers from time to time thinking he will be fed. I had no idea turtles could be conditioned that way.

Brutus, ever hopeful for a handout.

This month has an underlayment of nostalgia as it brings both Father’s Day and Richard’s birthday. Our family remembers him for his birth and death day by eating ice cream. ‘Tis the season for ‘frozen dairy delight’ as he used to call his favorite treat. May the sweetness of the season find smoother sailing with the bitter nature of our tumultuous world politics.

My neighbor getting his small craft ready for sailing.

I was asked to write a poem for our latest Spring Fling community gathering.The theme this year was Pollinators. We had a scientific explanation from our well informed head of grounds here at Kendal as well as songs and dances and skits all celebrating spring and its pollinators. I added my piece which was used at the very end. It got chuckles and appreciation so now I pass it on to you, my family, friends and readers.

The Hummingbird, the Honeybee, and the Butterfly                     

One June morning, sitting on my front deck, eyelids closed against the strong sunshine, a buzzing sound annoyed my ear. As I opened my eyes to swat away an insect, a hummingbird had helicoptered over to check out my brightly colored blouse. I was all show and no sugar, so he zipped away to chase off the other guys vying for their drinks at the red and yellow feeder.

My cat came stalking back from adventures in the forest to show off the best way to sunbathe. As she languidly climbed the steps to join me, I noticed a honeybee in the grass. Not a big carpenter bee who drilled holes above my window frame, dusting my bureau with delicate sawdust, but a small earnest honeybee diligently visiting white clover after clover, imprinting his wiggle dance to map exact directions for the hive.

Over by the garage, a monarch butterfly landed on some few remaining milkweed plants. Their poisonous sap could harm our newborn lambs who delighted in escaping beneath the fence, though the mauve flowers the plants produced would seduce the nose of an angel. I watched the female fluttering upside down quickly depositing a single egg beneath one chosen leaf, and then another. Her larvae would ingest the toxins repulsing very hungry caterpillar eaters.

I called out,” Hola, Señora Mariposa!“ because she had just returned from Mexico to leave the next generation behind her.

These three pollinateers fly in and out of our landscapes every year. Seeking sweet nectar, they and their kin nurture beauty and carry the survival of our crops on their wings. In return, let’s pollinate the idea that we carry their survival in our grateful hands.

The Pipes of Pan: Before the Eclipse, 4/7/2024

The house finch dipped into powdered rouge

touching up his head and chest,

that sexy stripe between his folded wings.

The goldfinch leaves his nest

half-dressed, molting from olive to gold-

spring summons love for the ladies.

Geese zoom in for splash landings,

raucusing amongst themselves,

raising cane in joyful havoc.

The pipes of Pan haunt

in wild and mysterious keys.

Called out of darkness,

through all seasons,

ears attuned for Love,

we fly and make a joyful noise,

ascending from note to note,

to unlock the vault of the sun.

In 1968 Richard and I saw a partial eclipse of the sun when we were freshman at Emerson College in Boston. I no longer remember how we ‘saw’ the event but I do remember the awesome feeling of standing on the street with hundreds of strangers in a hushed moment. The city paused and held its breath as relative darkness washed over us in a primal revelation of how much we depend on the sun for light and warmth and life on Earth. How small we are in the cosmic alignment of star, moon, and planet.

Living where I do in Northeast Ohio, we are in the direct transit line of this current event. And, living in northeast Ohio as I do, it will likely be at least partly cloudy as the local forecast says. Nonetheless, our whole community has been issued viewing glasses and many families have reserved a local place to stay and to visit their loved ones at the same time. There is a real buzz of excitement that is catching and joyful in anticipation for the entire afternoon’s careful preparations for one and all.

Darkness and light, moon and sun, earth and all of its inhabitants, we breathe and live together invisibly connected through the stream of life. Spring erupts around us in myriad delightful ways. May we all be fortunate enough to be touched by the inevitability of growth and give thanks at least several times every day for the diverse gifts that abound.

June. It used to be the month we celebrated my husband Richard, first as a father on Father’s Day, and then a week later for his birthday. Now it is a month for memories and four years after his death, sweet nostalgia. My daughters and I have each our own Papa-stories and I look forward to sharing some of them with his grandsons as they grow older. I am thinking today of our time down by the Sawkill river that bordered my grandmother’s field in Shady, N.Y. We moved boulders out of the way together to make small swimming holes contained by our newly constructed rock dam. We often cavorted there as teenagers, young adults, and later as parents when we brought our two daughters to experience the joys of a Catskill mountain stream.

I have always been stunned by the unfolding beauty of June. The excitement of early spring bursts of color gives way to fully leafed trees, exuberant newborn critters, and a steady progression of flowers no longer worried about sudden frosts but perhaps a dry spell. So far, we are experiencing unusually hot weather for northeast Ohio but nothing like the deadly heat in the south and west of the country. We also do not lack for water where I am- Kendal at Oberlin was built on wetlands which required strict legal adherence to the proper way to construct our seven ponds around the campus. Water lilies abound at the edges of the ponds and the waterfowl have easy access to the grass and lawns that surround them. Rows of goslings line up behind goose and gander for swimming and grazing lessons, with little regard to our human presence. Frogs glurk and croak while the occasional turtle steadfastly makes its way across your path. June.

In contrast to this orderly blossoming, our world is painfully engaged in war, political, and financial upheaval, while COVID still flourishes in its destiny of viral mutation. Islands of sanity prevail as the January 6^th committee hearings are staged for primetime American audiences- but who knows if reason-based reality TV will make a difference when it comes time to vote. Our Ohio governor has made it legal for schoolteachers to have 24 hours of training for them to have guns in the classroom. It is very hard to bear the mentality that supports such thinking. It is easy to say things like America values guns over children. Or that it is easier for an angry young man to get legal assault rifles than a frightened young woman to get an abortion. True, as of right now, but I am wary of all reductionistic thinking. I do not want to feed soundbites on either side.

I know where I stand but find the work of keeping my mind and heart open as we head into this heat wave of anger a fulltime background to my daily life. Getting outside on my scooter as often as I can to circle Kendal’s campus is my touchstone to ground that inner work. I have been writing many haikus whenever a thought strikes me. I write about everyday happenings and find the structure of limited syllables a great support in saying what I mean to say in a clear and direct manner. So, I’ll end with this one from May:

Morning Raga   5/23/22

The drone is mowers

Songs of praise from all the birds

The tabla, my heart

Celebrations in May 2022

May 01: May Day, Beltane

May 05: Cinco de Mayo, Kodomo-no-hi (Children’s Day in Japan

May 08: Mother’s Day, V-E day in Europe, My youngest grandson’s fifth month on the planet

May:09 Russia Celebrates End of War (different time zone)

May 26: World Dracula Day (who knew?)

May 30: Memorial Day

Here we are in May. The earliest spring flowers in Ohio have been and went and now we are well into the next phase of bushes and flowers and leafing trees all anticipating summer. We had early morning frosts last week, but it feels as if those may not return and we might finally settle into enduring warmer weather. Or not. It is hard to predict what the weather is supposed to be like anymore.

And it is hard to predict what will happen on the geo-political front as well. We are dreading May 9^th with good reason. What will Putin do to show his policies are succeeding in confronting the West? It is frightening to contemplate as he continues to decimate what he can of Ukraine. We are cheering the Ukrainians on as we watch the destruction of their country in sadness and horror. The world focuses on their valiant struggles for freedom and democracy vowing support and unity in unprecedented ways.

Meanwhile in America, we are watching the erosion of our own fundamental democratic ideals. The insistent rhetoric of lies has become acceptable to the Republican party. (By no means are Democrats always truthful, but this current trend is on a different scale.) Truth is no longer the basis for making a case for your beliefs. The efficacy or lack of efficacy of proven results in government no longer matters. The fear of living in such a distorted world is rampant and fear is the food that feeds autocracy. When the world runs amok people crave rigidity to counteract being so out of control. Much of the world is leaning towards or already in the grips of autocracy. We might well be on our way there ourselves as we appear to be so apathetic as a nation.

Now we know about the leak of the Supreme Court draft laying out the archaic reasons for overturning Roe vs. Wade. Perhaps it is my turn to feel like the minority as millions of other Americans have felt for so long. Some small percentage of ultraconservatives  will sigh in relief as their beliefs are confirmed, while mine are devastated. I live in a progressive bubble in a progressive college town while in my state of Ohio senators in Trump’s camp are being voted back in.

What to do? Where lies hope? I explore my own fears and hopes. How do I contribute to fear or hope in my daily life? Where do I turn away from facts and insist the world be as I want it to be? Where do I make a difference and contribute to the world? How do I participate as an American and as a world citizen?

I invite myself to the party of hope and belief in the fundamental truth of love. This month, l’d rather celebrate that in whatever large or small ways that I can find.

The doors to our Stephen’s Care Center area where I live in Kendal at Oberlin, were finally reopened on the 1st of May. They had opened for a few days and had to close after a staff member who worked among us tested positive for Covid. Now again we were able to move around the rest of our community. Several people stopped to say- “Oh- you have stepped out of your zoom box. Amazing!” It was a terrific feeling to be part of the whole and to freely speak to others free of being timed or escorted as we had been according to Ohio health mandates.

On the day before Mother’s Day I was picked up by my son-in-law to spend a week at his home with my daughter and grandson. I no longer have to quarantine inside my room for two weeks on my return to Kendal. I hope to return here for weekends around the influx of friends finally able to come and visit them and for their own summer travels to visit friends and family in Texas. My time here is full of the delight of watching my grandson and his parents grow as a family unit. I am so nourished to partake of the flow of life in a vibrant young household.

Spring Bride 5/1/21 to the open doors in SCC at KAO

A redbud tree from the garden plot next door

has dumped a flower girl basket of pink petals

all over my patch of brown mulch

I looked to see if I could catch a glimpse

of Spring’s bride passing down the aisle

I saw a brownish fuzzy creature

perched between my stone frog’s bulbous eyes

turning its head from side to side

joining me in my search

With binoculars in hand

I saw it was a juvenile robin

half downy feathers

fluffed out against the stiff breeze

Darts of sunlight streaked over his head

disguised as goldfinches

flitting back and forth to ride the swinging birdfeeder

the robin’s ground-feeding parents

likely raised him on their fallen seeds

A small rabbit scurried across the ground right in front of him

likely late, late, for a very important date

and without his parents

the robin fluttered

off to find his fortune

Looking across the road at the trees

waving wildly with the groom’s sprouting new green love

their joyous uplifted arms

may already have welcomed the bride

and I may have missed her earliest procession

Sister Summer wafts along behind

and by her grace I renew my life vows 

once again released from these quarantined halls

I see the wind has already swept away every last petal

making way for new paths

Judi Bachrach