What a wonderful sugaring season poem, from Buzz Kuhns, over in Ripton, Vermont, at the southeastern edge of our coverage area. Thanks to Glenn Pearsall for sending this along.
Anyone else out there writing this kind of poetry about our neck of the woods? Would love to hear or read it!
All In is a place for everyone who works at NCPR to share behind the scenes activity, and surprising, curious, lovely or distinctly local tidbits from our travels around the region. We’ll post the best of what we find online, too. From time to time, you may hear from others—if you’d like to write an entry, send it to [email protected]. What makes this place what it is? How do we connect to each other and the world? That’s what ALL IN is all about.
Thanks, old Yankee neighbor –
We could have made the syrup
last for half a year- Savoring secret spoonfuls,
Hidden, in the fear
The kids would see us and demand a taste:
but such parsimony
seemed to be a waste
Of that exotic, amber distillation,
that called for recognition,
demanded celebration.
We used it all, with improvident abandon,
on one breakfast; shared with neighbors,
poured on pandakes,waffles, bacon.
We used it all, and wondered if there still were traces
of snow deep in the woods, or other shaded places,
Back East.
We watched the desert, recollecting freeze;
drank coffee,
and imbibed the spring-surge
of the Eastern trees.
no- but we make maple syrup- and I had been thinking about sending some to someone who lives out there, who was wonderful to me when I was in foster care. I just thought about the juxtaposition of the desert and the east. I meant to send it to you in an email, but forgot I was positing a comment. sorry.
Well, Jill, I suspect a lot of blog readers are glad you made a mistake and sent it so everyone could read it. Even better that you imagined this scenario in NM…Keep those poems coming!
Before there was rap there was real music.
Here’s a rap song for you, just add all the uhh, uhh, ughs
“Going to the store,
To buy a door,
To shut it in your face.”
Gift to New Mexico
Thanks, old Yankee neighbor –
We could have made the syrup
last for half a year- Savoring secret spoonfuls,
Hidden, in the fear
The kids would see us and demand a taste:
but such parsimony
seemed to be a waste
Of that exotic, amber distillation,
that called for recognition,
demanded celebration.
We used it all, with improvident abandon,
on one breakfast; shared with neighbors,
poured on pandakes,waffles, bacon.
We used it all, and wondered if there still were traces
of snow deep in the woods, or other shaded places,
Back East.
We watched the desert, recollecting freeze;
drank coffee,
and imbibed the spring-surge
of the Eastern trees.
Jill–what a wonderful poem! Perfect. Are you in New Mexico???
no- but we make maple syrup- and I had been thinking about sending some to someone who lives out there, who was wonderful to me when I was in foster care. I just thought about the juxtaposition of the desert and the east. I meant to send it to you in an email, but forgot I was positing a comment. sorry.
Well, Jill, I suspect a lot of blog readers are glad you made a mistake and sent it so everyone could read it. Even better that you imagined this scenario in NM…Keep those poems coming!
(snapping fingers) !!
Before there was rap there was real music.
Here’s a rap song for you, just add all the uhh, uhh, ughs
“Going to the store,
To buy a door,
To shut it in your face.”