Poetic Passion? Let Me Clean Up the Dog Barf First

This riff was prompted by a Red Room request for writers to blog about their obsessions.



Writers are supposed to be obsessed. Obsessed with words. Images. Dreams. The brush of silky wind across their inner arms, their thighs. The last light on leaves. The pokeberries hanging from their brances out side my window, pendants ripe for the picking, beckoning to be put in a poem about late summer in the South.




But first I have to clean up the barf one of my four dogs just left at my feet. It happened while I was talking to my mother on the phone, reassuring her that I'm still alive, and will remain so, even though my husband will be gone for another night of looking after his ill father. My mother is obsessed with my safety. I am obsessed with all the dog fur that has gathered on my carpet over the last 24 hours.

I barely have time to look out the window at the pokeberries or the morning-glories. I am busy cleaning up after dogs. And when I'm not, I'm cleaning up after making sauerkraut, pickling beets and cucumbers, stewing tomatoes, canning jams. Or pulling weeds. My writer's hands? Dirt under the fingernails. When I reach for a ball-point, it's to write another reminder on my to-do list.






My house smells of dogs, vinegar, and cabbage. My bedroom is littered with recipes. My garden calls me out each morning to see what damage my rampaging dog-pack has wrought. I spend my day obsessing over what else I can save from rot and decay, the tomatoes leaking all over the counter. The peaches growing soggy as beer-soaked sponges. I want to save every last cabbage leaf, every plume of chard, every spike of okra. It's August in the rural South. Isn't that what I'm supposed to be doing? Seizing the day, like any time-obsessed poet? Stroking butternuts like words. Chewing on Red Russian Kale as if it's my best poem.

At night I search Pet-Finder online for dogs to save. I don't need any more. Neither does my garden. But a poet can always dream, can't she?

LOCAL FOOD GALA: Land Trust for the Little Tennessee

A few months ago Kate Parkerson of the Land Trust for the Little Tennessee asked me to write a poem for their summer Local Food Gala. Of course I said I'd be honored to do so, even though I didn't have a clue at the time about what I'd take as my subject. As the deadline for the poem drew nigh, and Kate emailed me a reminder of my promise, the subject surfaced, or rather, pushed its way out of the sod. Cabbage! There it was, all ten heads of it in my garden.

So I wrote the poem that you can see on the cards placed at all the plates. To make this project even more fun, the photograph, made by an old-fashioned pin-hole camera, by Phyllis Jarvinen, (www.phyllisjarvinen.com) captures the cabbage in my friends Ron and Cathy Arps's CSA garden.

The Gala itself was a feast of locally produced food, aside from the French wine. Local wineries and breweries had tasting stations before the meal began, though.

The Menu:

Appetizers--
Panseared Tellico Farms trout cake served with creamy coleslaw and smoked corn salsa.
Tomatoes topped with fresh basil and Dark Cove goat cheese drizzled with a balsamic reduction

Entrees

Filet of Beef--Thinly sliced Brasstown Beef filet served atop savory bacon bread pudding accompanied by fresh green beans tossed in walnut oil, garnished with a cherry demi-glace, and topped with fried sweet onions.

Vegetarian Napoleon--Layered and grilled eggplant, zucchni, squash, peppers, and potatoes with a cilantro pesto and black beans.

Dessert:

Panna Cotta--Spring Ridge Creamery Cream crafted into a light delicious Panna Cotta with a honey ginger syrup topped with fresh berries and finished with a dark chocolate square from Dillsboro Chocolate Factory.
(See photo at beginning of post!)
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The location for the feast was one of the most beautiful valleys I've seen, tucked away outside Franklin. The evening was memorable. Both my husband and I even won door prizes, he an elderberry plant and I a gift certificate to Highland Hiker.

Please consider joining the LTLT. (www.ltlt.org) It does good work in our region. And it celebrates good food. Who could ask for more?



(Driving into the Green!)



(Ron and Cathy Arps)



(My Poem)



(Beautiful table settings!)





(Local potter Joan Byrd in the right-hand corner of the photo)





(Kate Parkerson, hand on head--organizer of the event.)

FEAR OF FLYING?

I dread flying, but on my flight to Portland, I suddenly realized that, seated by the window facing East, with the plane's wing providing an interesting angle on the clouds and landscape below, I was able to see some stunning landscape through the porthole. And I had a digital camera in my handbag! So, why the heck not? I started snapping photos. My fear of flying disappeared.

Here are some of them, beginning with my first view of the Rockies.






I've always loved looking at cloud landscapes from a window seat. Several of these cloud terrains were especially seductive.





I like to imagine stepping out into an endless landscape of clouds.




And then through the clouds I could see Mt. Hood and Mt. Adams, as we approached Portland.










As we descended into Portland, I snapped a few final photos.



The river is the mighty Columbia!



This one I captured seconds before landing.