They’re at it again, these two. Claire and L.L.
Asking us to stretch our “creative fibers.”
To share our history symbolically.
In photographic images.
And poetry–a sonnet.
Claire challenges us to find five photos that answer five specific questions.
I didn’t realize how much my life has been shaped by wood.
1. Who Made Up Your DNA?
My great-grandfather, a lumberjack, carried this hammered dulcimer covered in burlap. He played it in camp. He later played a console dulcimer in Henry Ford’s Old Time Orchestra. It stands in my parents’ living room.
2. Where Do You Come From?
I lived on the lake and in the woods. I used to pick bouquets of these yellow water lilies. It must be why my heart flows in blues and greens, water and trees.
3. What object is precious to your past?
My brother (age 13) made this wood carving of my nursing school (SGH) insignia for my capping in 1968. He cut himself in the process and needed stitches. I was home for the weekend, and he refused to tell me why he was bleeding. I was furious at the time.
4. What Memory Resonates Most Deeply?
She didn’t say it had to be from childhood. (Although, I was probably still pretty much a child.) These lovebirds (feathers especially for Claire) symbolize our wedding 40 years ago in December–when I married a farmer’s son. Now I come from the earth as well as water and woods.
5. What Moment in History Marks Your Childhood?
My school once stood in this empty lot. I remember the tunnel-slide fire escape that exited from one of the rooms–the room I was in when we got the news that President Kennedy had been shot.
The forest echoes hammered melodies,
weeps for songs played by scarred hands on stringed wood
fashioned from the bleeding hearts of fallen trees,
a testament to where the pines once stood.
Hewn log huts, leaf sheltered and fern embraced,
point to pooled tears yellow bobbed and padded green.
Reflections of the past and rippled grace
pour peace from swirling storms as yet unseen.
Sweet scent of sawdust clings to craftsman’s hand
that hammers nails to build and mend the broken,
sands sleek and polishes as he has planned.
Imagination in artistry thus spoken.
A Carpenter created all of this for me,
walking wooden in a blood-stained tree.
Note: When we moved “up north,” my parents purchased four log cabins (Heska’s Huts) and later built a six-room motel (the Deerland Motel) on a lake. I visited there recently. That walk to the lake seem a lot longer when my legs were shorter. Not that they’re so long now.
Where do you come from?