My New Poem - "Rain"

Underneath it all, in the quieting thunder,

more echo than sound,

more Now than remembering;

is a peaceful loving energy.

The cat is curled in a furry circle,

the dog rectangularly alert.

Water sings its splattering sound,

Dust is darkened, leaves glisten.

Clouds are parting, the sun returning.

Light infuses, all things brighten.

An arch of prismed color bows wide.

I am grateful for the rain.

Mail Boxes all in a row...

More on the cottage:

Our mail came to a row of boxes at the farm roads intersection about a mile from our cottage. I only remember letters and an occasional postcard. It was one of my favorite chores to volunteer for. Often I went alone, but sometimes Grandmother would come along but mostly I went with a friend from a nearby cottage, or my cousins when they were visiting. (Arlene) When a friend came with me we would sometimes cut across the farmer's cow pasture. Once, we were chased by a bull. In late summer I carried a cellar of salt to use on the green apples. There was a tree catty corner to the boxes that put out some nice apples. We usually went back to the city before they ripened, but with salt I loved the green ones with white seeds, although I soon learned that too many of them gave a tummy ache. I would bring a green apple back to the cottage for Aunt Ethel, who loved them at least as much as I did. I have a clear memory of her lying on the porch sofa eating green apples and reading magazines. Ethel seemed always to have time to laugh with me and listen to my stories. Besides green apples, she also loved sour pickles. I sure loved my Aunt Ethel.


Sometimes Grandmother gave me money to buy fresh vegetables (mostly corn) from the farmer close to the boxes. The farm dogs were a little scary but I never ran into a mean one. They just like to bark at new things in their yard. I especially remember the fresh corn I brought home with the mail.

Still Cottage Dreaming - Breakfast

From my childhood perspective the cottage was heaven, but for my grandmother who had to keep it clean, cook and serve meals, and wash our clothes, it was back to the way she had grown up on the family farm (which was within a mile of the cottage). She never complained. There was no running water, just a pump out by the lake where buckets had to be filled and hauled back to the kitchen. There was no electricity, just lanterns, a hand-cranked Victrola, a wood stove that had to chop and stack wood for. No refrigerator, just an icebox that Grandpa had to buy ice for from the old Brechin Icehouse a few miles away. I remember at some point being in charge of making the toast at breakfast. The toaster was a wire contraption that you clamped your two pieces of bread between and held and turned over the flames. And as long as we're on breakfast which was revered in our household, I would comment that everyone who was usually there, Uncle Bruce, Aunt Ethel, Grandpa, my mom Catherine, me and Grandma, all liked their toast differnt ways, almost burned, very light, just warmed. So being the toast person was more complex than one might think. If there was no fish there was bacon. The usual introduction of the plate of bacon coming to the table included Grandma or mom or Ethel saying, "this is Bruce's (looking a little raw), this is Andrew's (cripsy but not black), this is ..." well, you get the picture. Eggs too were done to order!