Berättare Natt

Mitt-Sommar Natt Dröm

When Midsummer's Eve arrives, when the sun rolls high to the north, and darkness is driven away, the Swedes celebrate the longest day. Herring and Cheese, Smoked Eel and Sausage, Beer and Gamel Dansk and Vodka meet fresh herbs and spices...fruits and berries...rye bread and potatoes. Flowers appear in liquid, flashing eyes and laughing lips... and twine in fragrant locks, bright as morning as smiles. Desire deep as the North Sea roars at passion's gate. The long wait is over. The long twilight shimmers with flowers and nightburn, belly deep and strong. The age old, undertow speaks, seeking this one summer night.


The elders recollect memories unsullied by long years . Lyric voices share them in the tales turned legend. For a singular night, darkness is banished. Light reigns supreme....Ah, and then, beloved, the cycle begins again.




Generations listen, intent on tales they have heard since childhood, certain that nothing has changed. Only they who tell the tales change. Thinning white hair and lined faces, uncertain steps grow ever more ancient. Yet eyes glitter, undimmed by age as the sing-song Nordic voice recalls tales of sea and bird, elk and moose, flowers and fish.






Youth and that ethereal, Scandinavian lightness of being, beauty blooms in the early summer, glows in the fertile breast and belly. Haunted by the long winter dark, this, this is the night when all the Grendels and Goblins and dark, skulking creatures are driven from the heart and land and summer reigns a season long.

Currants, gooseberries, raspberries, loganberries, cloudberries, strawberries, blueberries first to punctuate the green on green undergrowth. Then color bowls of clotted creme, whipped creme and light golden breads.




In the old city, written words come alive. The tale of a witch dancing in a mortar, living in a shack that walks the dark night on chicken legs. A troll, exacting a toll under a stone bridge hungry for a goat leg joint. Men who are bears who eat men live in the earth mother's womb. All the dark underbelly whispers are driven away. This is the night, midsummer night light stays and does not stray.



Another family, fed on the tales and the bounty of that northern finger of land nestled 'tween her Skandi neighbors. Sweden remains.

And I the gardener, half the world and all the culture disperate. I, the "trädgårdsmästare" turn this new found soil. Its fertile fragrance rolling deep, pulling at my core. Heat from the sun and heat from the deep meld and twist in a long inner serpent coil. It's no wonder the Beltane fires are still lit and the May pole, the "midsommarstång" still rise and burn, ecstatic fire on the night when darkness is banished. Both the sweet summer soil and summer's lass look to take seed to self and grow ripe a new generation.

One of the wonders of God is this deep and diverse fecund Spirit that he has breathed into all of his children across this broken world. The rich stories and deep longings, so alike and yet, so unique. I stand in awe at depth and breadth of God's creative power. His Spirit burns bright in Mankind's heart and mind.

Qvack ~ Qvack!

~~~~~*~~~~~

Colorado weather has settled into a Monsoon pattern. Prevailing westerly winds are flowing north and east out of the Gulf of California and the Sea of Cortez. Lazy low pressure systems rise and spin in Nebraska and Kansas, wandering into Wyoming, Colorado and Northern New Mexico.

It rains almost every day.



The garden is drinking up the moisture, delighting in the days of sun. Everything that has sprouted is flourishing. Those who have not yet sprouted, will do so soon and strong. I have staggered the plantings in order to make a prolonged harvest.


It is almost intolerably green! Tis' Ohio River Valley green, Ireland's finest Kelly green, bright young apple green. And I know only too well that this will not last. It's Colorado fate, particularly the eastern slope, to be in the rain shadow of the great Rocky Mountain spine. When the monsoons dry up, so will we. Heat and desert dry will return. Irrigation will be required and the fecund green will turn pathos shriveling, sage and dull. Fruits will grow heavy, with water stolen from the great river basins. Water caught in man-made basins, piped and stored in reserviours, bought and sold. A commodity, some would say, more precious than gold.

The last two years, snow pack has been extraordinary. A wealth doubled by the strong resort, snow based industry. Once it melts come late spring, the reserviors fill and the irrigated fields flourish.

The following two photos, taken from the approximately the same spot, five weeks apart show the drastic change that occurs when the snow melt comes on, exacerbated by the monsoon rains. The river is Clear Creek, which flows down along the Interstate 70 corridor from Georgetown and Berthoud Pass.

Five weeks ago, this was the view looking upstream from the center of Golden.

This picture was taken yesterday from the same point.

~~~~~*~~~~~

Fishing, at this point in time.....is relegated to the lakes, ponds and reservoirs. There are some of the tailwaters below dams whose reservoirs are filling with snowmelt and rainwater. These tailwaters, which are still low and gin clear, are full of trout gorging themselves on hatching larvae and pupae...and the steady chain of hatches and mating rituals, Mayflies and Caddis. -AND- they are full of fishermen lined up shoulder to shoulder. Not what I would call good fishing.

Perhaps, by the first week of July, we will once again don waders, stretch lines and leaders and ply the waters......"standing in a river, waving a stick."

Allow me to introduce you to the man who coined that phrase, using it as the title of a book on flyfishing.

Gentle reader, meet John Gierach:The book to which I refer:

http://www.amazon.com/Standing-River-Waving-Stick-Gierach/dp/0684863294

John lives in Northern Colorado. He fishes the world in a pair of leaky canvas waders, with handmade bamboo fly rods and writes as though Samuel Langhorn Clemens were whispering words in his ear.

He is a true Trout bum...following the seasons and the hatches. Writing of good times and poor, whiskey and women and trucks that have all passed through his life. Yet those cold, trout stream waters and the fish in them still remain.

"I am haunted by waters."

A River Runs Through It - Norman Maclean

God must know that I love this odd thing, flyfishing. He certainly speaks to me whenever I stand in the river casting to that hypnotic four count rhythm, all other sounds washed away by the coursing flow of the water rushing over rock and sand and pushing hard against my knees, washing clean, this old sinner's heart.

~ADDENDUM~

After the rains leave us cool and damp... Sunset calls. I tossed the ol' wooden ladder on the cook table outside the reloading shed and hopped up to take a few picks.

Later, a full moon, far to the south, will pour its magic elixer light into the deep night.

Right now, its clouds and sun and the deep Colorado sky:

Wing Nut ~ Train Wreck ~ Spring Time

~ Gardens ~

I was having a talk with my lawnmower yesterday. Yeah I know. That sounds like some libtard, wing-nut, moon bat thing to do. But you must understand. The lawnmower has been with me longer than my wife! Oh, its a keeper and still starts and runs, doing its job without complaint.

That, and I can talk to it without having to explain or wonder if I have hurt its feelings.

You see beloved it all began like this:

The headmistress over at the KisP institute for Politically Incorrect Cultural Studies:

(http://www.sondrak.com/)

did a little write up on her garden, with photos. Not that she included those photos of her working, as she put it: "In my bathing suit :) " And, that is what prompted the little dialogue with the lawn mower.

This Spring, short work hours finally whittled down to nothing. Full unemployment followed close behind. You want a metaphor?

OK.....Here'tis:

A 14 year old bag of testosterone hanging hot on the tail of a yeasty young blonde thing in tight capris and budding breasts bustin' out of her tank top. That is a train wreck looking for a place to happen.

After all, it is Springtime !

I have way too much free time on my hands. That is both good and bad. The good is that I have time to walk the creekside paths, work in the garden and take photos and ruminate and cogitate and write endless rants on the state of the world.

The bad part?...I still have way too much free time on my hands!

For the first time in at least four years, I have planted a full garden. Its not just a couple of tomato plants and maybe a cucumber stuck in the ground. No sir. For over twenty years, I have been using a modification of "Square Foot Gardening":

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000LBMLTG/sr=1-5/qid=1243629277/ref=olp_product_details?ie=UTF8&me=&qid=1243629277&sr=1-5&seller=

Its based on laying out and planting in blocks of one square foot, using French intensive gardening techniques which allow for multiple plantings in one season. All of the beds are raised and double dug. I've been composting for 12 years adding all the organic kitchen waste, egg shells and coffee grounds and tea bags, plus fresh horse apples to warm it up a bit. The birds love it . I encourage good bugs and earthworms, no insecticides. If it sounds a bit Hippie-Dippie.....you would be right on, man! Long live the Whole Earth Catalog!

Here is the basic layout:
(1) Next to the reloading shed:

- Volunteer raspberries which some bird deposited as a fecal offering some five years ago.

- A row of Russian Giant Sunflowers on the north end of four large blocks containing

- a hill of butternut squash

- a hill of acorn squash

- two hills of jack-o-lantern pumpkins.

(2) Next to the sour cherry tree (which has no fruit this year, thanks to the late freeze):

- four "Early Girl" tomato plants,

- four "Summer Wonder" bush cucumbers

- two "Hungarian Wax" chilies

- two "Italian thin skin" chilies (for roasting)

- one Green sweet bell pepper

- one Orange sweet bell pepper

- one block of Radiccio lettuce

- one block of Romaine lettuce

- one block of curly Endive lettuce

- one block of "Tom Thumb" lettuce

There is also an interesting volunteer coming up on the edge of the compost heap. I can't quite tell what it is...So, I'll let it be and either pull it or help it along once it identifies itself. Umm, and there are always some volunteer parsley and cilantro that pops up unannounced.

(3) Next to the house in a narrow "kitchen garden":

- one block of icicle radishes

- one block of slow bolt spinach

- one block of cylindra red beets

- one block of green onions

- one block of stubby carrots

- one block of red leaf lettuce

Further south I have a mixed perennial/annual herb garden:

- Sage, just beginning to bloom:

- Oregano

- Horehound

- Marjoram

- Thyme

- Tarragon

- Hardy Rosemary

- Tender Rosemary

- Sweet Basil

- Radicchio

- Nasturtiums

The whole jumble is watched over by St. Francis standing amidst flowering containers:

Out in front along the parkway, I have planted six hills of Italian green beans. Three hills were planted two weeks ago, and three hills were planted this week. That will ensure a long harvest period.

Once some of the summer crops are all harvested, I will plant cool weather, autumn harvest crops: leeks, Spanish radishes, snow peas and more spinach. Those will last into October with a little TLC.

Oh yes, there will be contiued reports and more photos as the summer progresses.

In Hoc Signos Vinces ~ II

~ Memorial Day - Part II~

Please Note: For some yet to be determined reason, the comment link on the post below is not available. Feel free to comment here or e-mail me here:
Wlfryder@gmail.com.

In Hoc Signo Vinces

In Memoriam

• Capt. William Henry (Bill) Ripley - USAF b. 03 Apr. 1917 - d. 23 Sept. 1946
• Sp.A.X. Clayton Charles (Chuck) Kemp -USN b. 10 Oct. 1947 - d. 12 Jan. 1967
• Capt. Aaron Boggs (Bob) Anthony - USAF b. 23 May 1917 - d. 21 Sept. 2005
• Maj. Wallace Carl (Wally) Lundquist - USMC b. 11 Feb. 1923 - d. 14 Jan. 2007
• Sgt. William D. (Willy) Simmons - USMC b. 13 Aug 1931 - d. 20 May 2007
  

They all served willingly and well.

There is one more addition that need to be added to my list:

Lance Corporal Chance Russell Phelps
b. 14 July 1984 - d. 9 April 2004

Lt. Col. Michael Strobl chose to escort the remains of Corporal Phelps home. He wrote a report for his XO which turned into a published essay and then into an HBO movie. The following is an dramatization of Lt. Col. Strobl's words:


For those who have served and died to preserve this freedom we so casually take for granted, I give thanks. They are blessed, as Christ stated clearly:

"This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends." - John 15:12,13

By the time some of you will read this, we will have celebrated the state defined grand entrance to the Summer season, the Memorial Day holiday. It is a three day weekend for most of us here in Middle America. It is a time for relaxation and celebration. There will be BBQ’s and baseball, swimming and soccer, beer and horseshoes.

Elsewhere on this fractured ol’globe, there are young men and women who will not celebrate. They stand watch in harms way. They are strong Americans who have volunteered and sworn thus:

“ …to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”

Some of them never return alive. They have surrendered their future to protect and provide for us, our children and grandchildren a future free from the threat of terrorist attacks and tyrannical world leaders, bent on destroying our freedoms and way of life.

Right now, we are involved in a religious conflict that has been causing death and destruction for over 1,300 years. Basically, it is a war between Judeo/Christians and militant Islam. There are those who would have us believe differently.

Recently, Pentagon spokesman, Bryan Whitman released this statement of policy:

“The Rev. Barry W. Lynn, executive director of Americans United for Separation of Church and State, on Monday said U.S. soldiers ‘are not Christian crusaders, and they ought not be depicted as such.’ ‘Depicting the Iraq conflict as some sort of holy war is completely outrageous,’ Lynn said in a statement. ‘It's contrary to the constitutional separation of religion and government, and it's tremendously damaging to America's reputation in the world. ”

As a practicing Christian, defender of the Constitution and Bill of Rights as the foundation of this Republic, supporter of the sovereign State of Israel, and one who believes that God has ordained this country to be “ That shining city on a hill…” and beacon of personal freedom and responsibility for the rest of this broken ol’ world…

I find the Rev. Lynn’s comments to be reprehensible and heretical. He ought to be on his knees thanking God that he is still free to speak such drivel. I have a question for him:

“ Where would you be, Rev. Lynn, if this country was ruled by Sharia Law? “

Given this indefensible, so-called “ Separation of Church and State ” and the ongoing infanticide as practiced every day under the guise of “ Freedom of Choice “ as defined by the Supreme Court decision in Roe-v-Wade. I live with this growing apprehension that God is now or soon will tip the scales and judge this land for our turning away from His grace, His direction and, in the long run, His protection.

May God have mercy on us all!