Join Alexis and Kit, lifelong friends who now live on opposite coasts, as they explore poetry, music, and sound on a journey through the rhythm of nature expressed by the seasons.
In this very vegetal episode, author John Forti joins Alexis and Kit to discuss his new book “The Heirloom Gardener.” Our co-hosts take a look at the bounty of the late summer vegetable garden, and admire a beautiful visitor to the garden: the dragonfly.
"The Heirloom Gardener - Traditional Plants and Skills for the Modern World" by John Forti
Published by Timber Press/Workman Publishing.
These days, we all need some good news and a way to participate in meaningful change. The Heirloom Gardeneris a book for gardeners who want to deepen their knowledge and improve life for families, pollinators and wildlife in their own backyards. It’s a love poem to the earth; a map to the art of living intentionally and a guidepost for environmental gardeners and artisans. It unearths old-ways, storied plants and artisanal life-skills; like seed-saving, herbalism, foraging, distillation, ethnobotany and organics which contribute to a new 21st century arts and crafts movement. With woodcuts from Caldecott Medal artist Mary Azarian, The Heirloom Garden offers a dose of wild hope for a weary nation. Learn more.
John Forti is a garden historian and ethnobotanist who has directed gardens for Plimoth Plantation Museum, Strawbery Banke Museum, Massachusetts Horticultural Society, and Bedrock Gardens. As a Slow Food Slow Food USA Governor and biodiversity specialist, his preservation work has helped to restore countless native and heirloom plants and has brought traditional artisanal practices to modern thinking. He has won numerous awards for historic garden preservation, children’s garden design, herbal and historical education, and the 2021 Award of Excellence from National Garden Clubs, the largest volunteer gardening organization in the world. This book was inspired by his posts as 'The Heirloom Gardener - John Forti' which go out regularly to millions on Facebook that value his uniquely curated blend of history, horticulture, environmentalism, poetry, art, kitchen, and garden craft. He gardens and lives along the banks of the Piscataqua River in Maine.
Reviews for The Heirloom Gardener
“The Heirloom Gardener is a book for gardeners who want to engage with nature through pollinators and wildlife in their own backyards. It offers a tapestry of storied plants, artisanal practices, and homestead lifestyles. In its pages, John reminds us that there is always room for an undercurrent when the mainstream gets too big; and empowers readers with a toolkit of traditional and sustainable practices for an emerging artisanal crafts movement, and a brighter future”. Alice Waters, Chef & Owner, Chez Panisse, Founder, The Edible Schoolyard Project
“Rather than dwelling solely in the past, John Forti’s groundbreaking book builds on shared roots to forge a stronger, better, greener tomorrow. Every sentence inspires you to personally become a participant in the evolution. This book is flat out brilliant.”—Tovah Martin, horticulturist and author of The Garden in Every Sense and Season.
Poems Featured in this Podcast
Plant a Garden, by Edgar Guest
If your purse no longer bulges and you’ve lost your golden treasure, If at times you think you’re lonely and have hungry grown for pleasure, Don’t sit by your hearth and grumble, don’t let mind and spirit harden. If it’s thrills of joy you wish for get to work and plant a garden!
If it’s drama that you sigh for, plant a garden and you’ll get it You will know the thrill of battle fighting foes that will beset it If you long for entertainment and for pageantry most glowing, Plant a garden and this summer spend your time with green things growing. If it’s comradeship you sight for, learn the fellowship of daisies. You will come to know your neighbor by the blossoms that he raises; If you’d get away from boredom and find new delights to look for, Learn the joy of budding pansies which you’ve kept a special nook for.
If you ever think of dying and you fear to wake tomorrow Plant a garden! It will cure you
of your melancholy sorrow Once you’ve learned to know peonies, petunias, and roses, You will find every morning some new happiness discloses.
***
"O Spirit of the Summertime! Bring back the roses to the dells; The swallow from her distant clime, The honey-bee from drowsy cells. Bring back the friendship of the sun; The gilded evenings, calm and late, When merry children homeward run, And peeping stars bid lovers wait. Bring back the singing; and the scent Of meadowlands at dewy prime;— Oh, bring again my heart's content, Thou Spirit of the Summertime!"
- William Allingham ***
We have a little garden, A garden of our own, And every day we water there The seeds that we have sown.
We love our little garden, And tend it with such care, You will not find a faced leaf Or blighted blossom there.
-- Beatrix Potter ***
Isabella, or The Pot of Basil by John Keats
And so she ever fed it with thin tears, Whence thick, and green, and beautiful it grew, So that it smelt more balmy than its peers Of Basil-tufts in Florence; for it drew Nurture besides, and life, from human fears, From the fast mouldering head there shut from view: So that the jewel, safely casketed, Came forth, and in perfumed leafits spread.
***
Sunflowers by Grace Hazard Conkling
Sun-flowers, stop growing! If you touch the sky where those clouds are passing Like tufts of dandelion gone to seed, The sky will put you out! You know it is blue like the sea . . . Maybe it is wet, too! Your gold faces will be gone forever If you brush against that blue Ever so softly!
***
Tomatoes by Pablo Neruda The street filled with tomatoes, midday, summer, light is halved like a tomato, its juice runs through the streets. In December, unabated, the tomato invades the kitchen, it enters at lunchtime, takes its ease on countertops, among glasses, butter dishes, blue saltcellars. It sheds its own light, benign majesty. Unfortunately, we must murder it: the knife sinks into living flesh, red viscera, a cool sun, profound, inexhaustible, populates the salads of Chile, happily, it is wed to the clear onion, and to celebrate the union we pour oil, essential child of the olive, onto its halved hemispheres, pepper adds its fragrance, salt, its magnetism; it is the wedding of the day, parsley hoists its flag, potatoes bubble vigorously, the aroma of the roast knocks at the door, it's time! come on! and, on the table, at the midpoint of summer, the tomato, star of earth, recurrent and fertile star, displays its convolutions, its canals, its remarkable amplitude and abundance, no pit, no husk, no leaves or thorns, the tomato offers its gift or fiery color and cool completeness. ***
Tall nettles cover up, as they have done These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plough Long worn out, and the roller made of stone: Only the elm butt tops the nettles now. This corner of the farmyard I like most: As well as any bloom upon a flower I like the dust on the nettles, never lost Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.
-- Edward Thomas ***
The Aster Flower by John Gould Fletcher
Pale on its stalk, the aster flower Exhales its beauty to the night; The dry leaves scatter on the grass, Brown flecks on bits of jade. The haze of autumn hides the trees, To-night shall be turned the hour-glass of my life; Now all my thoughts going homewards In the distance are singing songs of you.
Purple and gold, the aster flower Is an image of my autumnal love: Its golden centre is like a torch To kindle joy in the long still night, A torch of love with violet rays, Grief at its enigmatic heart: Frail clustered flower of my dreams, You shall bloom to-night, you shall bloom to-night!
***
It isn't alone the asters In my garden, It is the butterflies gleaming Like crowns of kings and queens! It isn't alone purple And blue on the edge of purple, It is what the sun does, And the air moving clearly, The petals moving and the wings, In my queer little garden!
-Hilda Conkling
***
I wish I was a dragonfly hallelujah in sungleam.
-- Anonymous
***
Today I saw the dragonfly Come from the wells where he did lie. An inner impulse rent the veil Of his old husk: from head to tail Came out clear plates of sapphire mail. He dried his wings: like gauze they grew; Thro’ crofts and pastures wet with dew A living flash of light he flew.
Alfred Tennyson
*** A Dragonfly, by Eleanor Farjeon
When the heat of summer Made drowsy the land, A dragonfly came And sat on my hand, With its blue jointed body, And wings like spun glass, It lit on my fingers As though they were grass.
***
alert eyes always open -- dragonfly
— Issa *** The start of autumn is always decided by The red dragonfly
–Kaya Shirao
*** Over the flowing water chasing its shadow - the dragonfly
-- Chiyo-jo
***
Zucchini that never came to be, Summer 2021 by Ryan Trump and Caroline Ideus Peel it, spiral it, bake it, fry it, mash it, caramelize it, prepare it and plate it in ways only limited by imagination. The thrill of early summer sprouts with alpine-shaped leaves, crisp orange blossoms hold endless possibilities. The promise of a continued harvest, defiantly unending, until winter dreams clash with the realities of limited imagination. Till it, compost it, mix it, weed it, aerate it, mulch it, prepare and pamper the earth with comfort and routine. Thrill of unexpected garden defeats and surprise harvests. Crisp spring sprouts cut short by unspoken twilight guests, the promise of orange blossoms dashed by wilted leaves. Uprooted hopes of zucchini that never came to be, turned into a renewed thrill of midsummer sprouts and endless possibilities.
Works Referenced & Quotes
“How to Pick a Peach” by John Ruskins, Zucchini chapter
Alexis and Kit bid farewell to summer and welcome in the harvest season in this episode, "the Beginning of Autumn," featuring nostalgic summer fruits, a soundscape of the Dog Days of summer, and an awe-inspiring meteor shower. In "Hiro's Corner," we take a look at a special seasonal fish.
An August Wood Road by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts When the partridge coveys fly In the birch-tops cool and high;When the dry cicadas twang Where the purpling fir-cones hang; When the bunch-berries emboss—Scarlet beads—the roadside moss; Brown with shadows, bright with sun, All day long till day is done Sleeps in murmuring solitude The worn old road that threads the wood. In its deep cup—grassy, cool—Sleeps the little roadside pool; Sleeps the butterfly on the weed, Sleeps the drifted thistle-seed. Like a great and blazing gem, Basks the beetle on the stem. Up and down the shining rays Dancing midges weave their maze. High among the moveless boughs, Drunk with day, the night-hawks drowse. Far up, unfathomably blue, August's heaven vibrates through. The old road leads to all things good; The year's at full, and time's at flood. *
August’s Crown by Michelle L. Thieme Whilst August yet wears her golden crown, Ripening fields lush- bright with promise; Summer waxes long, then wanes, quietly passing Her fading green glory on to riotous Autumn. * Excerpt from the Illiad by Homer Priam saw him first, with his old man's eyes, A single point of light on Troy's dusty plain. Sirius rises late in the dark, liquid sky On summer nights, star of stars, Orion's Dog they call it, brightest Of all, but an evil portent, bringing heat And fevers to suffering humanity. Achilles' bronze gleamed like this as he ran.
*
August by John Updike
The sprinkler twirls The summer wanes The pavement wears Popsicle stains The playground grass Is worn to dust The weary swings Creak, creak with rust The trees are bored With being green Some people leave the local scene And go to seaside bungalows And nearly take off all theirs clothes
* Fog by Carl Sandburg The fog comes on little cat feet.
It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
* autumn fog-- the river beach's pinks barely visible
— Issa
*
Color of the wind Sparsely planted Autumn garden
— Matsuo Basho
*
Autumn wind - More transparent than water Fins of a fish
— Mitsuhashi Takajo
*
Ode to the Onion, by Pablo Neruda
Onion, luminous flask, your beauty formed petal by petal, crystal scales expanded you and in the secrecy of the dark earth your belly grew round with dew. Under the earth the miracle happened and when your clumsy green stem appeared, and your leaves were born like swords in the garden, the earth heaped up her power showing your naked transparency, and as the remote sea in lifting the breasts of Aphrodite duplicating the magnolia, so did the earth make you, onion clear as a planet and destined to shine, constant constellation, round rose of water, upon the table of the poor. You make us cry without hurting us. I have praised everything that exists, but to me, onion, you are more beautiful than a bird of dazzling feathers, heavenly globe, platinum goblet, unmoving dance of the snowy anemone and the fragrance of the earth lives in your crystalline nature.
*
Canning Time, by Edward Albert Guest
There's a wondrous smell of spices In the kitchen, Most bewitchin'; There are fruits cut into slices That just set the palate itchin'; There's the sound of spoon on platter And the rattle and the clatter; And a bunch of kids are hastin' To the splendid joy of tastin': It's the fragrant time of year When fruit-cannin' days are here.
*
The Cardinal Flower by John Burroughs
Like peal of a bugle Upon the still night, So flames her deep scarlet In dim forest light. A heart-throb of color Lit up the dim nook, A dash of deep scarlet The dark shadows shook. Thou darling of August, Thou flame of her flame, ‘Tis only bold autumn Thy ardor can tame.
*
Purple so deep as to make them black: grapes! —Masaoka Shiki
*
Just delivered From my hometown Tasseled grapes
芝宮須磨子
*
a cricket rides unsteadily... horse-shaped eggplant
— Issa
*
Horse-shaped melons and ancestors worshiped together
— Issa
*
Horse-shaped melon -- "Gimme! Gimme!" cries the crying child
— Issa
*
Tanko Bushi Song
The moon, has come out, Oh, the moon is out, heave ho Over Miike Coal Mine has the moon come out. The chimney is so high, I wonder if the moon chokes on the smoke... Heave Ho!
*
one dies out two die out lanterns for the dead
— Issa
*
From "Summer Haibun" by Aimee Nezhukumatathil
There are not enough jam jars to can this summer sky at night. I want to spread those little meteors on a hunk of still-warm bread this winter.
*
Now my loneliness following the fireworks . . . Look! A falling star!
Combine flour, oats and brown sugar in bowl; mix well. Cut in butter with pastry blender or fork until mixture resembles coarse crumbs; set aside.
Combine apples, blackberries, figs, orange juice and orange zest in bowl; toss to coat. Place into ungreased 8-inch baking dish. Sprinkle topping evenly over fruit mixture. Bake 40-45 minutes or until apples are fork tender and top is golden brown.
Serve warm.
Music Featured in this Episode in Order of Appearance
Beau Soir by Claude Debussy Oak by Ben McElroy Toscanini - Scherzo by Berlioz I Recall by Blue Dot Sessions Pour les Agrements by Claude Debussy I, Livre, Preludes by Claude Debussy Organisms by Chad Crouch Within the Fog by Hudson Winds Howl by Ketsa Romance by Anonimo Disappearing Memory by Ketsa Japanese Communities: Night Toad’s Path to the Home of the Dead Sea Stars (Instrumental) by Monk Parker Hymn by Scott Buckley
This balmy episode features special guest Elijah Sobel, discussing swimming holes. Alexis and Kit chill out by finding ways to stay cool during record-breaking hot temperatures, focusing on “cooling things” such as iced tea, goldfish, and “uchimizu.” In Hiro's Corner, a refreshing look at the coolness of far-away twinkling lights.
Want to experience the river with Elijah? Check out his company in New Hampshire: North Country Kayak
About Elijah:
Born and raised in New Hampshire, Elijah fell in love with the White Mountains at an early age with ski trips to Tuckerman’s Ravine and hiking the Presidential Range. When he was a child, his dad, David Sobel stuck him in the front of a whitewater canoe, and he ran his first Class III rapid at age seven. After attending the University of Vermont, Elijah moved to North Lake Tahoe, California. He spent seven years working in the outdoor recreation industry, honing his passion and craft for guiding individuals and groups in wilderness settings. In 2019, Elijah relocated back to Bethlehem, New Hampshire and currently works for Holderness School. His excitement for paddling and experiences on the water is contagious, along with a strong focus on safety for everyone. Inspired by an enduring sense of adventure and the possibilities of sharing his passion with others, Elijah is excited to bring guided trips for all skill levels to the North Country.
Poems Featured in this Episode
Summer Wind, by William Cullen Bryant
It is a sultry day; the sun has drank The dew that lay upon the morning grass; There is no rustling in the lofty elm That canopies my dwelling, and its shade Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint And interrupted murmur of the bee, Settling on the sick flowers, and then again Instantly on the wing. The plants around Feel the too potent fervours: the tall maize Rolls up its long green leaves; the clover droops Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms.
***
Hot Weather Philosophy (excerpt) by J. H. Harding
I only wish I could believe While here in the flesh I moan, That heat is cold and cold is heat, I'd make a temperate zone... I cannot... crawl from out my heated flesh While winds blow through my bones. Yet, I can dream of frost and snow, Icicles and icebergs grand...
***
The first melon shall it be cut into quarters or into round slices?
— Basho
***
if someone comes change into frogs! cooling melons
— Issa ***
the clinking of ice even this tea perspires in sweltering heat
— Kit
*** Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of toast and tea
— T. S. Eliot
***
This edamame bean - it flies for nine centimeters and then enters my mouth
— Shiki
***
With a kitchen knife choosing eels... a cool evening
— Issa
***
Excerpt from The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame:
“The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.”
***
Gently I stir a white feather fan, With open shirt sitting in a green wood. I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone; A wind from the pine-trees trickles on my bare head.
— Li Po
***
The setting sun is shining on the drops of sprinkled water on the road
-- Toru Sakano
***
The bustle of the alleys Is arush with water
-- Mayumi Yoshida ***
As we wait A small breeze alights Off the dampened streets
-- Mieko Takanashi
***
Midday nap-- the scent of lotuses Meanders
— Issa
*** Chased away from my napping spot... mosquito-spurting grass
— Issa
*** Since it's cool down there take a little nap... bottom of the well
-- Issa
***
The melon can't sink completely... the well
— Issa *** The gleam of a goldfish being scooped at a festival stall at night
— Taneda Santoka *** A goldfish seller with a smile on this straight road
— Hirahata Seito
***
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold — That is the madman; The lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt. The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And, as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination, That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Or, in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear.
— William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 5, sc. 1
***
And after seven nights of summer's brightness Weed-month slips into the dwellings; everywhere August brings to peoples of the earth Lammas Day. So autumn comes, after that number of nights but one, bright, laden with fruits. Plenty is revealed, beautiful upon the earth. — from The Menologium of The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
Josh Woodward, Water in the Creek (Instramental version)
Xylo-Ziko, Imagery
Almusic34, Wind chimes harmony
Pistol Jazz, Hi no Tori
James Beaudreau, Plum
Debussy, Pour less agrements
Edoy, Fruition
Growing Heat Rediscovered
Jul 07, 2024
July 7 - 21
Summer heats up in this episode of Growing Heat. Join Alexis and Kit as they appreciate cumulonimbus clouds, get ready to celebrate a star festival and bask in the resplendence of some very special flowers.
Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the gray trout lies asleep, Up the river and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me.
Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee, That's the way for Billy and me.
Where the mowers mow the cleanest, Where the hay lies thick and greenest, There to trace the homeward bee, That's the way for Billy and me.
Where the hazel bank is steepest, Where the shadow falls the deepest, Where the clustering nuts fall free, That's the way for Billy and me.
Why the boys should drive away, Little sweet maidens from the play, Or love to banter and fight so well, That's the thing I never could tell.
But this I know, I love to play, Through the meadow, among the hay; Up the water and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me.
*
the well bucket taken by morning glories: water borrowed
— Chiyojo (Tr. Hiroaki Sato)
*
morning glories -- in the evening, they let us admire their buds — Tagami Kikusha *
from the morning glory’s blossom midsummer begins
— Issa
*
Somewhere where the lotus blooms, the breeze wafts its fragrance, clarifying the water of the pond of my heart.
— Fujiwara no Teika (tr. Hiroaki Sato)
*
The Lotus by Ryokan English version by John Stevens
First blooming in the Western Paradise, The lotus has delighted us for ages. Its white petals are covered with dew, its jade green leaves spread out over the pond, And its pure fragrance perfumes the wind. Cool and majestic, it raises from the murky water. The sun sets behind the mountains But I remain in the darkness, too captivated to leave.
*
The Parasol by Emily Dickinson
The parasol is the umbrella's daughter, And associates with a fan While her father abuts the tempest And abridges the rain. The former assists a siren In her serene display; But her father is borne and honored, And borrowed to this day.
*
in the cloudburst an enormous morning-glory has bloomed! — Issa
*
mountain water shows off a sudden downpour
— Issa (Tr. Chris Drake)
*
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!You sulphurous and thought-executing fires Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And though, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world! Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once That make ungrateful man!
William Shakespeare
*
The Hawk by Paul Hamilton Hayne
Ambushed in yonder cloud of white, Far-glittering from its azure height, He shrouds his swiftness and his might! But oft across the echoing sky, Long-drawn, though uttered suddenly, We hear his strange, shrill, bodeful cry. Winged robber! in his vaporous tower Secure in craft, as strong in power, Coolly he bides the fated hour, When thro' cloud-rifts of shadowy rise, Earthward are bent his ruthless eyes, Where, blind to doom, the quarry lies! And from dense cloud to noontide glow, (His fiery gaze still fixed below), He sails on pinions proud and slow! Till, like a fierce, embodied ray, He hurtles down the dazzling day,— A death-flash on his startled prey; And where but now a nest was found, Voiceful, beside its grassy mound. A few brown feathers strew the ground!
*
The Butterfly's Day by Emily Dickinson
From cocoon forth a butterfly As lady from her door Emerged — a summer afternoon — Repairing everywhere, Without design, that I could trace, Except to stray abroad On miscellaneous enterprise The clovers understood. Her pretty parasol was seen Contracting in a field Where men made hay, then struggling hard With an opposing cloud, Where parties, phantom as herself, To Nowhere seemed to go In purposeless circumference, As 't were a tropic show. And notwithstanding bee that worked, And flower that zealous blew, This audience of idleness Disdained them, from the sky, Till sundown crept, a steady tide, And men that made the hay, And afternoon, and butterfly, Extinguished in its sea.
*
drinking tea alone every day the butterfly stops by
— Issa
*
morning-glories softly floating... in the teacup
— Issa
*
All night the crickets chirp, Like little stars of twinkling sound In the dark silence. They sparkle through the summer stillness With a crisp rhythm: They lift the shadows on their tiny voices. But at the shining note of birds that wake, Flashing from tree to tree till all the wood is lit — O golden coloratura of dawn!— The cricket-stars fade slowly, One by one.
*
The cool breeze Crooked and meandering It comes to me
— Issa
*
Huge trees are many, Their names unknown The voices of cicadas
— Shiki
*
Big rain big moon cicada in the pine
— Issa
*
Birds were few And waters distant The sound of the cicada — Buson
*
The bamboo leaves rustle, And sway under the eaves. The stars twinkle Like gold and silver grains of sand. The five-color paper strips I have written them. The stars twinkle, Watching from above.
*
At Tanabata, Worshipful hearts Are all as one; The threads of prayers Are all our own, each and every one!
— Minamoto Yorimasa
*
The melons are so hot They have rolled Out of their leafy hiding
— Kyorai
*
The melons look cool Flecked with mud From the morning dew
In this mouth-watering episode, Kit and Alexis celebrate the longest day of the year by dining al fresco! Our co-hosts prepare for picnics and barbecues, consider the outdoor activities of berry picking and fishing, and savor cooling foods. In Hiro's Corner, an examination of what we enjoy about shorter nights.
Summer, by James Russell Lowell. Excerpt from The Vision of Sir Launfal. Now is the high tide of the year, And whatever of life hath ebbed away Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, Into every bare inlet and creek and bay. We may shut our eyes, but we can not help knowing That skies are clear and grass is growing; The breeze comes whispering in our ear, That dandelions are blossoming near, That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, That the river is bluer than the sky, That the robin is plastering his house hard by; And if the breeze kept the good news back For other couriers we should not lack; We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,— And hark! how clear bold chanticleer, Warmed with the new wine of the year, Tells all in his lusty crowing.
***
Summer by Jackie Meyer
At very long last the summer is here! It's barbecue time with coolers of beer, Watermelon slices for children at play Hydrants will soon be exploding their spray!
Laughter is heard from the tables outdoors As merchandise beckons from neighboring stores.
Business booms for my man on the street His cart pictured with colors of great things to eat. Mangoes, papayas, and melons galore! Cherries and berries and so very much more!
Yes! Summer is here, it has finally begun, Let's toast to a future of days in the sun!
***
At Stonehenge by Katherine Lee Bates (excerpt)
Grim stones whose gray lips keep your secret well, Our hands that touch you touch an ancient terror, An ancient woe, colossal citadel Of some fierce faith, some heaven-affronting error. Rude-built, as if young Titans on this wold Once played with ponderous blocks a striding giant Had brought from oversea, till child more bold Tumbled their temple down with foot defiant.
***
Excerpt from “Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: 'Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy: Apples and quinces, Lemons and oranges, Plump unpecked cherries, Melons and raspberries, Bloom-down-cheeked peaches, Swart-headed mulberries, Wild free-born cranberries, Crab-apples, dewberries, Pine-apples, blackberries, Apricots, strawberries;-- All ripe together In summer weather,-- Morns that pass by, Fair eves that fly; Come buy, come buy: Our grapes fresh from the vine, Pomegranates full and fine, Dates and sharp bullaces, Rare pears and greengages, Damsons and bilberries, Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries, Bright-fire-like barberries, Figs to fill your mouth, Citrons from the South, Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; Come buy, come buy.'
***
Are these juice-stained hands mine, or my grandmother’s? Blackberry season
Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb, Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum In the cavernous pail of the first one to come! And all ripe together, not some of them green And some of them ripe! You ought to have seen!
***
The Queen of Hearts She made some tarts, All on a summer's day The Knave of Hearts He stole those tarts, And took them clean away.
The King of Hearts Called for the tarts, And beat the knave full sore; The Knave of Hearts Brought back the tarts, And vowed he'd steal no more.
— Anonymous
***
A handful of cherries She gave me in passing, The wizened old woman, And wished me good luck- And again I was dreaming, A boy in the sunshine, And life but an orchard Of cherries to pluck.
— Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
***
“Les Temps des Cerises” - words by Jean-Baptiste Clément
When are in the time of cherries The gay nightingale and the mockingbird rejoice together. The pretty girls have folly in their heads And the lovers sun in their hearts. When we sing the time of the cherries The mockingbird sing far better.
But the time of the cherries is very short, When we go by two by two to pick hanging earrings, Love cherries dressed in bright red like rubies, Falling under the leaves like drops of blood, But the time of the cherries is very short, Coral earrings that we pick up while we dream!
***
Midsummer, by William Cullen Bryant A power is on the earth and in the air, From which the vital spirit shrinks afraid, And shelters him in nooks of deepest shade, From the hot steam and from the fiery glare. Look forth upon the earth—her thousand plants Are smitten; even the dark sun-loving maize Faints in the field beneath the torrid blaze; The herd beside the shaded fountain pants; For life is driven from all the landscape brown; The bird hath sought his tree, the snake his den, The trout floats dead in the hot stream, and men Drop by the sunstroke in the populous town: As if the Day of Fire had dawned, and sent Its deadly breath into the firmament.
***
Plum-wine making complete A cat arrives — Murayama Furusato
***
Aging plum wine Made for someone
— Nihei Yoko
***
In her pajamas Mom shakes the plum wine bottle
— Sonoko Tamura
***
Heaven, by Rupert Brooke (excerpt) Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June, Dawdling away their wat’ry noon) Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear, Each secret fishy hope or fear. Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond; But is there anything Beyond?
***
In a water basin they nod to each other - gourds and eggplants
— Yosa Buson *** kneading eggplants… purple on salt remains like light after the sunset — Yabuki Nobuhiko *** The parent bee its honey being stolen buzzes near
— Issa
***
The Song of the Bee, by Marian Douglas Buzz! buzz! buzz! This is the song of the bee. His legs are of yellow; A jolly, good fellow, And yet a great worker is he. In days that are sunny He's getting his honey; In days that are cloudy He's making his wax: On pinks and on lilies, And gay daffodillies, And columbine blossoms, He levies a tax!
Buzz! buzz! buzz! The sweet-smelling clover, He, humming, hangs over; The scent of the roses Makes fragrant his wings: He never gets lazy; From thistle and daisy, And weeds of the meadow, Some treasure he brings. Buzz! buzz! buzz! From morning's first light Till the coming of night, He's singing and toiling The summer day through. Oh! we may get weary, And think work is dreary; 'Tis harder by far To have nothing to do.
***
Chopsticks float In the water the end of the somen nagashi slide
— Hakko Yokoyama
***
Into the flow of the somen Nagashi Chopsticks Some skillful, others clumsy
— Yamada Yoshiyuki
*** Nagashi somen I am eating What coolness tastes like
— Junzo Yoshida
***
Moonlight, Summer Moonlight by Emily Jane Brontë
’Tis moonlight, summer moonlight, All soft and still and fair; The solemn hour of midnight Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,
But most where trees are sending Their breezy boughs on high, Or stooping low are lending A shelter from the sky.
And there in those wild bowers A lovely form is laid; Green grass and dew-steeped flowers Wave gently round her head.
The Time of Planting Grain Rediscovered
Jun 07, 2024
June 6 - 19
Hydrangeas are blooming, fireflies are flitting, and rice fields are bustling with activity in this season, "The Time for Planting Grains." Joining Alexis and Kit in a new segment is Hiroaki Sato, sharing haiku about a special kigo for this rainy mini-season.
June (from The Poet’s Calendar), by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Mine is the Month of Roses; yes, and mine The Month of Marriages! All pleasant sights And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming vine, The foliage of the valleys and the heights. Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights; The mower's scythe makes music to my ear; I am the mother of all dear delights; I am the fairest daughter of the year.
*
In the evening dusk A single butterfly Hovers above the water mirror — Karahara
***
Amid the summer grasses A single flower Mirrored in the water — Onitsura ***
Cool, cool, Running into the rice paddies Clear water — Socho
***
flute practice the rice fields one and all so green!
— Issa
***
The mosquito smudge Is also a consolation, Being alone.
— Issa
***
A matter for congratulation: I have been bit By this year’s mosquito’s too
— Issa
***
smoking out mosquitoes-- soon the fireflies are gone too
— Issa
***
Fireflies, by Eugene Lee-Hamilton
Now one by one the live winged sparks of night, Like souls allowed to wander as they please Through old loved haunts, go by between the trees In silent zigzags of alternate light; And grow in number, bodiless and bright, So that the eye, too slow to count them, sees Nothing but fire all round; till by degrees Quenched in the dawn, they vanish from the sight. And those more subtle sparks, which they recall, The countless souls with which regret and love Once peopled Death's great night, are they quenched too ? Has Thought's strong dawn, which searches into all, Reached even them, unpeopling Heaven above, To leave us nothing but the empty blue?
***
sparkling fireflies-- even the frog's mouth gapes
— Issa
***
The river alone Darkness is slowing The fire-flies
— Chiyo-ni
***
three raindrops and three or four Fireflies
— Issa
***
with my umbrella I part the branches of the willow trees . . .
— Basho
***
Early summer rain the five thousand five hundredth rented umbrella
— Issa
***
Hydrangea in the season of unlined robes pale blue
— Basho
***
hydrangeas pale blue in the rain blue in the moonlight
— Shiki
***
watching the glow of flickering fireflies at twilight love lingers all the more in a garden colored by hydrangeas
— Fujiwara Ieyoshi
***
A Rose, by Emily Dickinson
A sepal, petal, and a thorn Upon a common summer's morn, A flash of dew, a bee or two, A breeze A caper in the trees, — And I'm a rose!
***
two feet tall, the crimson-budded roses, their young thorns tender in the soft falling rain
— Shiki
***
Wild Strawberries, by Robert Graves
Strawberries that in gardens grow Are plump and juicy fine, But sweeter far as wise men know Spring from the woodland vine. No need for bowl or silver spoon, Sugar or spice or cream, Has the wild berry plucked in June Beside the trickling stream.
***
Summer’s Promise,by Alexis On walks through my quiet neighborhood I would spy you Hanging out on the corner Or over a wall Dark, tall, mysterious With glints of gold I did not know what you were at first But one day, spied you on display Nestled between the grapes Gentle loquat, to me you are The vision of early summer And the taste of all the promise that awaits
***
Poems Featured in Hiro’s Corner
Husband home from work haiku for dinner again
— Alexis Rotella
*** 剥製の鷲の眼光のみ黴びず hakusei no washi no gankō nomi kabizu The mounted eagle: only his glare never molds — Takaha Shugyō
***
黴の香もおろそかならず資料室 kabi no ka mo orosokonarazu shiryō-shitsu The scent of the mold, too, can’t be neglected: the library
Join Alexis and Kit for a sunny day in the garden in this episode celebrating “the season when the weather becomes fine and everything starts to go well,” or Fine Weather. Birdsong and the delight of growing things await us during the brighter days of this fine season. In Hiro’s Corner, we look at three rare kigo of early summertime.
“Sometimes since I've been in the garden I've looked up through the trees at the sky and I have had a strange feeling of being happy as if something was pushing and drawing in my chest and making me breathe fast. Magic is always pushing and drawing and making things out of nothing. Everything is made out of magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us. In this garden - in all the places.”
— From The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett
***
Seed-Time and Harvest by E. Nesbit
I'll plant and water, sow and weed, Till not an inch of earth shows brown, And take a vow of each small seed To grow to greenness and renown: And then some day you'll pass my way, See gold and crimson, bell and star, And catch my garden's soul, and say: "How sweet these cottage gardens are!"
***
Red Geraniums by Martha Haskell Clark
Life did not bring me silken gowns, Nor jewels for my hair, Nor signs of gabled foreign towns In distant countries fair, But I can glimpse, beyond my pane, a green and friendly hill, And red geraniums aflame upon my window sill. The brambled cares of everyday, The tiny humdrum things, May bind my feet when they would stray, But still my heart has wings While red geraniums are bloomed against my window glass, And low above my green-sweet hill the gypsy wind-clouds pass. And if my dreamings ne'er come true, The brightest and the best, But leave me lone my journey through, I'll set my heart at rest, And thank God for home-sweet things, a green and friendly hill, And red geraniums aflame upon my window sill.
***
dressed in a summer robe the pleasant breeze wraps me up -- Nakamura Teijo
***
A seasonal change of clothing-- Travelers through the green fields Slight dots in white. -- Yosa Buson
***
that worm-eaten fan looks charming too -- first summer clothes -- Enomoto Seifu ***
The Green Cornfield, by Christina Rossetti (excerpt)
The earth was green, the sky was blue: I saw and heard one sunny morn A skylark hang between the two, A singing speck above the corn; A stage below, in gay accord, White butterflies danced on the wing, And still the singing skylark soared, And silent sank and soared to sing.
***
To a Skylark, by Percy Bysshe Shelley (excerpt)
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
. . .
Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!
Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then, as I am listening now.
***
May Song, by E. Nesbit
BIRDS in the green of my garden Blackbirds and throstle and wren, Wet your dear wings in the tears that are Spring's And so to your singing again! Birds in my blossoming orchard, Chaffinch and goldfinch and lark, Preen your bright wings, little happy live things; The May trees grow white in the park!
Birds in the leafy wet woodlands, Cuckoo and nightingalebrown, Sing to the sound of the rain on green ground-- The rain on green leaves dripping down! Fresh with the rain of the May-time, Rich with the promise of June, Deep in her heart, where the little leaves part, Love, like a bird, sings in tune!
***
The deep purple and blue of lupines Studded, amid the dewy green of the hills Trimmed, with the wispy grey and white clouds Pinned, against the fresh blue of the sky Billowing, up and up, Mysterious, castle in the air Of childhood
— Alexis
***
From the car seat I spy Regal Lupines, Joyful poppies, Frenzied mustard, Prim buttercups, Rambling Indian paintbrush, Waxy miners lettuce, Dusty asters, Alluring magenta thistles, Hazy blackberry blossoms, These, the roadside flowers
— Alexis
***
Hiding in the forest of broadbeans, Peter Pan
— Kakihara Kanegome
***
Four hands and a bowl Pop, pop, pop go the broadbeans Grandma and I sit
***
Weeds by Edna St. Vincent Millay
White with daisies and red with sorrel And empty, empty under the sky!— Life is a quest and love a quarrel— Here is a place for me to lie. Daisies spring from damnèd seeds, And this red fire that here I see Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds, Cursed by farmers thriftily. But here, unhated for an hour, The sorrel runs in ragged flame, The daisy stands, a bastard flower, Like flowers that bear an honest name. And here a while, where no wind brings The baying of a pack athirst, May sleep the sleep of blessèd things, The blood too bright, the brow accurst.
***
Why, he was met even now As mad as the vexed sea, singing aloud Crowned with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds, With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn- Search every acre in the high-grown field.
— William Shakespeare, King Lear (Act 4, Scene 4)
***
Virtue? a fig! 'tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus. Or bodies are our gardens; to the which, our wills are gardeners; so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuces; set hyssop, and weed up thyme; supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many; either to have it sterile with idleness or manured with industry; why the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills.
— William Shakespeare, Othello (Act 1, Scene 3)
***
Pear and Peach alike decorated with bags, the swallow flies above the field
- Sumio Mori
***
With sharp edges, fruit bags dampened by the rain
-- Toshio Hisaki
***
The red paper of hanging bags, the bungalow
— Awano Seiho
***
The Ladybird, by Enid Blyton
Ladybird, you’re very neat From tiny head to little feet, I like your coat of red and black, I like your clean and shining back. Do you polish it each night To make it shine so gay and bright, Or do you keep a tiny fay Who rubs it up for you each day? Beneath your shiny back there lie The gauzy wings with which you fly, You’re spreading them – oh please don’t go, There’s such a lot I want to know. Your house is burning, do you say? Ah, well, of course, you mustn’t stay!
***
Little Folks in the Grass by Annette Wynne
In the grass A thousand little people pass, And all about a myriad little eyes look out, For there are houses every side Where the little folks abide, Where the little folks take tea On a grass blade near a tree; Where they hold their Sabbath meetings, Pass each other, giving greetings, So remember when you pass Through the grass; Little folks are everywhere; Walk quite softly, take great care Lest you hurt them unaware, Lest the giant that is YOU Pull a house down with his shoe, Pull a house down, roof and all, Killing children, great and small; So the wee eyes look at you As you walk the meadows through, So remember when you pass Through the grass!
***
Garden Dusk by Grace Hazard Conkling
This stillness made of azure And veiled with lavender Must be my daylight garden Where all the pigeons were! Blue dusk upon my eyelids, Your drifting moods disclose The moth that is a flower, The wings that are a rose. Make haste, exhale your sweetness, For you must vanish soon: The garden will forget you At rising of the moon A glory dawns predestined Of old to banish you And bind you fast with rainbows In dungeons of the dew. And who will then remember Your cool and gossamer art? Ah, never moon may exile Your beauty from my heart!
Violist Paul Laraia is enjoying the early stages of a multifaceted career as soloist, chamber musician, and quartet violist. Acclaimed for offering “long lines with lyricsm and poise”, in recent seasons Paul has soloed with the Pittsburgh, Atlanta, Bogata, New Jersey, and Nashville Symphonies, traveled all over the world as a principal member of the International Sejong Soloists, and has given hundreds of performances globally with the rising Catalyst Quartet, which Paul joined in 2013. Additionally, he is in demand as a freelance chamber musician, and has been guest artist at many major festivals such as the Yellow Barn, Sarasota, Festival Del Sole, Sitka, Banff, Grand Canyon, and Vail, where he has collaborated with artists such as Donald Weilerstein, Roger Tapping, Anthony Marwood, Michael Kannen, Maria Lambros, Natasha Brofsky, Daniel Phillips, Barry Shiffman, Robert Vermuelan, Joshua Bell, Gil Shaham, Cho-lang Lin, and Stephan Milenkovich.
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
Fine Weather
Growing things in the garden
Geraniums in a window garden
Gardening
Soramame / Broad Beans
Weeding
Skylark
Skylark in flight
Lupines
Tomatoes
lady bug / lady bird
The Beginning of Summer Rediscovered
May 05, 2024
May 5 - 19
In this episode, Alexis and Kit explore the warm beginnings of summer through an array of early summer delights including irises, clouds, and festivals.
Tis like the birthday of the world, When earth was born in bloom; The light is made of many dyes, The air is all perfume: There's crimson buds, and white and blue, The very rainbow showers Have turned to blossoms where they fell, And sown the earth with flowers.
*
Young Lambsby John Clare
The spring is coming by a many signs; The trays are up, the hedges broken down, That fenced the haystack, and the remnant shines Like some old antique fragment weathered brown. And where suns peep, in every sheltered place, The little early buttercups unfold A glittering star or two--till many trace The edges of the blackthorn clumps in gold. And then a little lamb bolts up behind The hill and wags his tail to meet the yoe, And then another, sheltered from the wind, Lies all his length as dead--and lets me go Close bye and never stirs but baking lies, With legs stretched out as though he could not rise
*
The Hen by Lord Alfred Douglas
The hen is a ferocious fowl, She pecks you till she makes you howl. And all the time she flaps her wings, And says the most insulting things. And when you try to take her eggs, She bites large pieces from your legs. The only safe way to get these, Is to creep on your hands and knees. In the meanwhile a friend must hide, And jump out on the other side. And then you snatch the eggs and run, While she pursues the other one. The difficulty is, to find A trusty friend who will not mind.
*
The Month of May by Thomas Dekker
I saw a hundred of shades of green today And everything that man made was outclassed The month of May, the merry month of May Now hello pink and white and farewell grey My spirits are no longer overcast The winter is over and its time to play. *
Rabbit-ear iris it gives me an idea for a poem
— Basho
*
Irises where the rainbow starts from
— Basho
*
The cuckoo singing about five feet of iris leaves
— Issa
*
Mountains are yellow green, pale yellow- a cuckoo cries
— Shiki
* It seems to me as if A little cuckoo could have come flying To aim at deutzia flowers
— Shiki
*
Dawn-- from atop the wheat "cuckoo!"
— Issa
*
The cuckoo singing, flying, singing, ever busy
— Basho
* Night Clouds by Amy Lowell
The white mares of the moon rush along the sky Beating their golden hoofs upon the glass Heavens; The white mares of the moon are all standing on their hind legs Pawing at the green porcelain doors of the remote Heavens. Fly, Mares!Strain your utmost,Scatter the milky dust of stars, Or the tiger sun will leap upon you and destroy you With one lick of his vermilion tongue. *
Kites by Alice Thorn Frost
Up and Up, then down and down, On a breezy day, Jolly kites in colors fine Proudly sail away. Each is held, how wonderful! By a slender string. Children’s laughter, darting kites, Make a day of spring.
*
Carp streamers are higher than the roof The biggest carp is the father The small carp are children Enjoying swimming in the sky Japanese folk song “Koinobori”
*
Both sword and satchel display them in May - paper streamers
— Basho
*
Best friends forever mom and me Picking flowers and climbing trees. A shoulder to cry on secrets to share Warm hearts and hands that really care.
— Anonymous
*
Rhubarb Pie — Anonymous
If rhubarb pie You've never eaten Give it a try It can't be beaten I know what you're thinking Oh how can this be Rhubarb's reminiscent Of red celery How can something This stringy Become a great pie There's a sweet little secret Of that I won't lie It takes lots of sugar A half plus a cup And a third cup of flour To thicken things up An eighth teaspoon of salt And the Rhubarb you add Four cups peeled and chopped Won't turn out too bad Mix it all up And pour in a pie pan Lined with a crust You mixed up by hand Dot it with butter Or margarine is ok Two tablespoons should do At least that's what they say Put on a top crust Flute the edges up high And cut in some vents So the top doesn't fly Sprinkle with sugar And put in to bake At 425 Three-fourths hour Should take When it is done Place on rack for to cool Don't eat it too soon Or you'll get burned you fool When it's just warm Then open the fridge With vanilla ice cream You'll want more than a smidge With milk in a glass Or coffee in cup You might soon discover That you've eaten it up Then go tell your friends That you've found a new gem And maybe next time You'll save some for them!
Music Featured in this Podcast
“Venit tempus“ Words by A.A. Sanborn, Performed by Ruth Cunningham
Venit tempus vernum plena flores, et caritas Dei, et mirantibus tactu frigus. Springtime comes, full of flowers and God's love, with a touch of cold wonder.
“Longing for Spring / Komm, Lieber Mai“ W.A. Mozart, Performed by Madelyn Wanner Salazar
In this bounteous episode, "Grain Rain," Alexis and Kit are full of anticipation for a season in full bloom, beginning with the branching out from April’s ripeness into May’s freshness. Author Winifred Bird joins our co-host for an interview discussing her new book, “Eating Wild Japan” from Stonebridge Press.
Rain Clouds by Elizabeth-Ellen Long Along a road Not built by man There winds a silent Caravan Of camel-clouds Whose humped gray backs Are weighted down With heavy packs Of long-awaited, Precious rain To make the old earth Young again And dress her shabby Fields and hills In green grass silk With wild-flower frills
*** When April steps aside for May, Like diamonds all the rain-drops glisten; Fresh violets open every day: To some new bird each hour we listen.
- Lucy Larcom
***
Spring Patchwork, by Abbie Farwell Brown
If I could patch a coverlet From pieces of the Spring, What dreams a happy child would have Beneath so fair a thing! A centre of the dear blue sky, A bordering of green, With patches of the yellow sun All chequered in between. Bright ribbons of the silky grass Laced prettily across, With satin of new little leaves, And velvet of the moss. In every corner, violets, Half-hidden from the view, With many-flowered squares betwixt, Of pinky tints and blue.. Embroideries of little vines, And spider-webs of lace... With gold-thread I would sew the seams, And needles of the pine; Oh, never child in all the world Would have a quilt like mine!
***
Wisteria trellis-- behind it, in the light wildflowers
-- Issa
*** Wisteria plumes sweep the earth, and soon the rains will fall
-- Shiki
***
Come, let us plant a tree, Tenderly, lovingly, Some heart to cheer. Long may its branches sway Shelter sweet birds alway, Long may its blossoms say 'Springtide is here.'
– Anonymous
***
Arbor Day, by Annette Wynne
On Arbor Day We think of birds and greening trees, Of meadowlands and humming bees, Of orchards far from crowded town, Of heights where streams go tumbling down, Wee mountain rills that sing and play— On Arbor Day.
Of how the tree tops coax the rain From flying clouds till hill and plain Are clean and fresh from sea to sea; We plant a seed; a tiny tree Wakes up and throws aside the clod, And stretches for the climb toward God— We sing a song for the joy of May— On Arbor Day.
***
The Polliwog by Arthur Guiterman Oh, the polliwog is woggling In his pleasant native bog With his beady eyes a-goggling Through the underwater fog And his busy tail a-joggling And his eager ahead agog Just a happy little frogling Who is bound to be a frog
***
May is Pretty, May is Mild by Annette Wynne May is pretty, May is mild, Dances like a happy child; Sing out, robin; spring out, flowers; April went with all her showers, And the world is green again; Come out, children, to the glen, To the meadows, to the wood, For the earth is clean and good, And the sky is clear and blue, And bright May is calling you! May is pretty, May is mild, Dances like a happy child, On a blessèd holiday, Come out, children, join the play!
***
Even while yawning she keeps the tune... tea picking -- Issa
***
Spring Fever, by Charles Andrews Heath
When a feller feels a longing For the medder in his breast. When the robins north are thronging, Where they haste to build their nest. When the frogs peep in the puddle Where I love to hear them sing, Then my brain is in a muddle, For I know it's really spring.
When the double windows smother Us until we want more air; When a protest comes and mother Can't endure them longer there; When we ope the cellar shutters, Kitchen doors are on the swing, Clean the cisterns, fix the gutters― Then I know it’s truly spring.
***
Wisteria dangles to its heart's content... fresh green leaves
-- Issa
***
Wind on the greenery-- coming to see my house the morning sun
-- Issa
***
Voices of the Earth, by Archibald Lampman
We have not heard the music of the spheres, The song of star to star, but there are sounds More deep than human joy and human tears, That Nature uses in her common rounds; The fall of streams, the cry of winds that strain The oak, the roaring of the sea’s surge, Might of thunder breaking afar off, or rain That falls by minutes in the summer night. These are the voices of earth’s secret soul, Uttering the mystery from which she came. To him who hears them grief beyond control, Or joy inscrutable without a name, Wakes in his heart thoughts bedded there, impearled, Before the birth and making of the world.
Music Heard in this Episode
Nomadic by Pictures of the Floating World
Piano concerto, No. 1, 3rd movement by Franz Liszt
Fantasia No. 8 by Georg Philipp Telemann performed by David Hernando Vitores
Wisteria by the Blue Dot Sessions
Grand Duo Cocertant for clarinet and piano, Allegro by Weber
Frog Legs Rag by James Scott
Lark in the Morning by The Atholl Highlanders
Fomalhaut by Pictures of the Floating World
Merry-go-round by Howie and Ann Mitchell
Mono shino sora e by Mekoisu
Julian’s Song by John Pickens
Orecchio di Dioniso by Sergi Boal
Piano Sonato No. 4 op. 7, 1, Allegro molto e con brio by Ludwig van Beethoven
Sonata No. 15 in D Major, Op 28 “pastorale” I. allegro by Ludwig van Beethoven
Eating Wild Japan
About the book: From bracken to butterbur to "princess" bamboo, some of Japan's most iconic foods are foraged, not grown, in its forests, fields, and coastal waters--yet most Westerners have never heard of them. In this book, journalist Winifred Bird eats her way from one end of the country to the other in search of the hidden stories of Japan's wild foods, the people who pick them, and the places whose histories they've shaped. "A beautiful and thoughtful exploration of the deep relationship--past and present--between people and wild plants in one of the world's richest foraging regions."--Samuel Thayer, author of Incredible Wild Edibles and The Forager's Harvest
About Winifred Bird: Winifred Bird is a writer, translator, lifelong cook, and lover of plants both wild and domesticated. For almost a decade she lived in rural Japan, where she worked as an environmental journalist, grew organic rice and vegetables, and ate as many foraged foods as possible. She currently lives with her family in northern Illinois. Paul Poynter (illustrations) is an artist, tree climber, and woodsman living in Matsumoto, Japan.
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
Warabi (Sansai)
Flowering Dogwood
Polliwogs
May Day
Wisteria
Tea Picking
Wisteria Trellis
Spring Naps
Clear and Bright Rediscovered
Apr 04, 2024
April 4 - 18
In this episode, Alexis and Kit celebrate the season known as "Clear and Bright," discuss seasonal keywords known as kigo, and share the joys of the beginning of spring around the world.
“Is the spring coming?" he said. "What is it like?" "It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine...”
Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
***
I come, I come! Ye have called me long, I come o’er the mountains with light and song! Ye may trace my step o’er wakening earth By the winds that tell of violets’ birth By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass By the leaves opening as I pass
Ms. Hemans, from a The Nature Notes of an Edwardian Lady
***
Spring has come In all its simplicity A bright yellow sky
— Issa
***
Springtime is upon us. The birds celebrate her return with festive song, and murmuring streams are softly caressed by the breezes.
Antonio Vivaldi
***
All the day long Yet not enough for the skylark Singing, singing
— Basho
***
Voices Above the white clouds Skylarks
— Kyoroku
*** The skylark Hides itself In the expanse of blue sky — Rokuto
***
Spring Song by Lucy Maud Montgomery
Hark, I hear a robin calling! List, the wind is from the south! And the orchard-bloom is falling Sweet as kisses on the mouth.
In the dreamy vale of beeches Fair and faint is woven mist, And the river's orient reaches Are the palest amethyst.
Every limpid brook is singing Of the lure of April days; Every piney glen is ringing With the maddest roundelays.
Come and let us seek together Springtime lore of daffodils, Giving to the golden weather Greeting on the sun-warm hills.
Ours shall be the moonrise stealing Through the birches ivory-white; Ours shall be the mystic healing Of the velvet-footed night.
Ours shall be the gypsy winding Of the path with violets blue, Ours at last the wizard finding Of the land where dreams come true.
***
Hazy moon -- The pine passing through Passing through
— Issa
***
Afflictions of the mind Resembling moonlit haze; It’s one of those nights.
— Natsume Soseki
***
The bell from far away How it moves along in its coming Through the spring haze!
— Onitsura
***
To pluck is a pity To leave is a pity Ah, this violet!
— Naojo
***
How many, many things they call to mind These cherry blossoms!
— Basho
***
In the city fields Contemplating cherry trees. . . Strangers are like friends.
— Issa ***
The cherry blossoms Put the whole world Under a tree
— Watsujin
***
The wind falls, The mountains are clear! Now the frogs
— Oemaru ***
Under the hazy moon, Water and sky are obscured By the frog
— Buson
***
The Frog by William Henry Dawson
Have you ever wished when fretting 'Bout the chilly air of spring, When the days are longer getting And the frogs begin to sing, Have you ever wished that you could Just change places with the frog— Let him shoulder all your trouble And then leave you on the log, In the middle of the mill-pond, Nothing in the world to do? Have you wished you could change places, You be frog and frog be you? He don't fret 'bout rainy weather; If the sun shines he don't cry; He just takes it all together; Happy wet and happy dry.
***
Pear petals fall in a slight wind on Qingming Day, Men and women, old and young, take a trip to look for spring. When the wonderful music and songs ended at sunset, Golden orioles fly through thousands of willows freely.
— Wu Weixin
***
Visiting the graves The old dog Leads the way
— Issa
***
The Great Buddha Dozing, dozing All the spring day
— Shiki ***
A swallow flew out of The nose Of the great Buddha
— Issa ***
By when the thaw comes The first sun is mine The first kiss of April is mine! Rose buds in a vase Leaf and leaf I watch it!
In this reflective episode, Alexis and Kit joyfully welcome brighter days, remember springs past amid wildflower meadows and cherry blossoms, and look forward to the shining future. Hiroaki Sato leaves “Hiro’s Corner” to join our co-hosts for an interview about haiku.
“One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands alone and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun--which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in some one's eyes.
“And it was like that with Colin when he first saw and heard and felt the Springtime inside the four high walls of a hidden garden. That afternoon the whole world seemed to devote itself to being perfect and radiantly beautiful and kind to one boy. Perhaps out of pure heavenly goodness the spring came and crowned everything it possibly could into that one place.”
– Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
***
"March bustles in on windy feet And sweeps my doorstep and my street. She washes and cleans with pounding rains, Scrubbing the earth of winter stains. She shakes the grime from carpet green Till naught but fresh new blades are seen. Then, house in order, all neat as a pin, She ushers gentle springtime in." — Susan Reiner, Spring Cleaning
***
From a court lady I get some Botamochi - spring equinox – Buson
*** Rice cake with bean paste for the crossroads Buddha... spring breeze – Issa
***
Sparkling, the blue boat in the shining wind – Junko Tamaki
***
In the shining wind, white flowers bloom in the handkerchief
– Sachiko Hagiya
***
Lively talking About local lore and legend Shining wind – Atsuko Oyanagi
***
Do I hear the sound of spring dawn rain? – Kazuhiko Endo
*** Pulled From my dream, the spring dawn. – Kazuo Hosoka
***
The thrush sings In spring dawn A star remains – Akio Nagata
*** Spring peace-- a mountain monk peeks through the hedge – Kobayashi Issa
***
Spring peace– After rain, a gang war Garden sparrows. – Kobayashi Issa
***
I do not grieve that the willow catkins have flown away But that, in the Western Garden, The fallen red cannot be gathered. When dawn comes and the rain is over, Where are the traces they have left? A pond full of brock duckweeds! Of all the clors of springtime, Two thirds have gone with the fust And one-third with the flowing water! When you look closely, These are not willow catkins, But, drop after drop, parted lovers’ tears! — Su Shih
*** Up to your crown, O willow, dressed in the green of jades, Myriads of twigs so verdant, droop like your silken braids. Who knows who the tailor is, who’s cut your leaves so fine? It’s The vernal winds past February, sharp as the scissors’ blades. — He Zhizhang
***
“No, you don't understand, naturally' said the second swallow. 'First, we feel it stirring within us, a sweet unrest; then back come the recollections one by one, like homing pigeons. They flutter through our dreams at night, they fly with us in our wheelings and circlings by day. We hunger to inquire of each other, to compare notes and assure ourselves that it was all really true, as one by one the scents and sounds and names of long-forgotten places come gradually back and beckon to us...'I tried stopping on one year,' said the third swallow. 'I had grown so fond of the place that when the time came I hung back and let the others go on without me. For a few weeks it was all well enough, but afterwards, O the weary length of the nights! The shivering, sunless days! The air so clammy and chill, and not an insect in an acre of it! No, it was no good; my courage broke down, and one cold, stormy night I took wing, flying well inland on account of the strong easterly gales. It was snowing hard as I beat through the passes of the great mountains, and I had a stiff fight to win through; but never shall I forget the blissful feeling of the hot sun again on my back as I sped down to the lakes that lay so blue and placid below me, and the taste of my first fat insect. The past was like a bad dream; the future was all happy holiday.”
― Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows
***
The first sparrow of spring! The year beginning with younger hope than ever! The faint silvery warblings heard over the partially bare and moist fields from the bluebird, the song sparrow, and the red-wing, as if the last flakes of winter tinkled as they fell! ***
“Just listen to them birds – th’ world seems full of ‘em – all whistlin’ an’ pipin’,” he said. “Look at ‘em dartin’ about, an’ hearken at ‘em callin’ to each other. Come springtime seems like as if all th’ world’s callin’. The leaves is uncurlin’ so you can see ‘em – an’, my word, th’ nice smells there is about!”
***
Like warbling pure haiku mountain cuckoo — Issa
***
"When April scatters charms of primrose gold Among the copper leaves in thickets old, And singing skylarks from the meadows rise, To twinkle like black stars in sunny skies;
When I can hear the small woodpecker ring Time on a tree for all the birds that sing; And hear the pleasant cuckoo, loud and long -- The simple bird that thinks two notes a song." — William Henry Davies, April's Charms
***
The canola flowers, And the tide goes back The small stream. – Kawahigashi Hekigoto
***
The impact of canola flowers everywhere obscures the Rivers of Yodo and Katsura — Gonsui
***
Bitter green, sweet gold With this sip, I remember Riverside flowers – Alexis
***
This tidy tea room Brightened by these golden buds - the warm light of spring — Kit ***
It's better to be a buttercup out in the grass Where a hundred children pass, And at evening drink the dew, Than be you, Poor little rich flower, Shut up in a lady's bower. Does the lady look your way Any day? Ever stoop to you and bless? Give your head a soft caress? You are such a tiny part Of all her things. Her heart A crowded palace is; but O, to know the bliss Of being meadow-glad—like this— You should be out in the grass Where the happy children pass— We would like to welcome you To our sunshine, rain, and dew, Flower, in a lady's bower. ***
The Seedling by Paul Laurence Dunbar
As a quiet little seedling Lay within its darksome bed, To itself it fell a-talking, And this is what it said: "I am not so very robust, But I'll do the best I can;" And the seedling from that moment Its work of life began.
So it pushed a little leaflet Up into the light of day, To examine the surroundings And show the rest the way. The leaflet liked the prospect, So it called its brother, Stem; Then two other leaflets heard it, And quickly followed them.
To be sure, the haste and hurry Made the seedling sweat and pant; But almost before it knew it It found itself a plant. The sunshine poured upon it, And the clouds they gave a shower; And the little plant kept growing Till it found itself a flower.
Little folks, be like the seedling, Always do the best you can; Every child must share life's labor Just as well as every man. And the sun and showers will help you Through the lonesome, struggling hours, Till you raise to light and beauty Virtue's fair, unfading flowers.
***
“Putting in the Seed”
You come to fetch me from my work to-night When supper’s on the table, and we’ll see If I can leave off burying the white Soft petals fallen from the apple tree. (Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite, Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;) And go along with you ere you lose sight Of what you came for and become like me, Slave to a springtime passion for the earth. How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed On through the watching for that early birth When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed, The sturdy seedling with arched body comes Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.
***
“To-day is very beautiful — just as bright, just as blue, just as green and as white and as crimson as the cherry-trees full in bloom, and the half-opening peach-blossoms, and the grass just waving, and sky and hill and cloud can make it, if they try. How I wish you were here … you thought last Saturday beautiful, yet to this golden day 't was but one single gem to whole handfuls of jewels…” – Emily Dickinson
***
A lovely spring night suddenly vanished while we viewed cherry blossoms – Matsuo Basho ***
Gazing at them, immersed, I become so intimate with the blossoms; and with the falling away and separation comes sorrow — Saigyo (1118-1190)
***
Are we to look at cherry blossoms only in full bloom, the moon only when it is cloudless? To long for the moon while looking on the rain, to lower the blinds and be unaware of the passing of spring—these are even more deeply moving. Branches about to blossom or gardens strewn with faded flowers are worthier of our admiration. – Yoshida Kenko, Essays in Idleness (1330-1332)
***
If there were no such thing as cherry blossoms in this world, in springtime how untroubled our hearts would be! — Ariwara no Narihira
***
"Loveliest of Trees, the Cherry Now" by A. E. Housman
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow.
Hebrides Overture, Fingal’s Cave, Felix Mendelssohn
Shade Ways, Blue Dot Sessions
On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring, Frederick Delius
The Derricks, Blue Dot Sessions
Pasture, Blue Dot Sessions
Jog to the Water, Blue Dot Sessions
Convergence, Pictures of the Floating Wolrd
Cycles, Pictures of the Floating World
Circadian, Pictures of the Floating World
Memories, Pictures of the Floating World
Works Cited/Further Research
East Wind Melts the Ice by Liza Dalby
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
spring meadow
tsukushi / field horsetail
mustard flower
willow
Two Barn Swallows in Flight, Willow Branch and Flowering Cherry above
swallow
sparrow
nanohana / canola flower
botamochi
wildflowers
full moon over cherry blossoms at night
Kit's yozakura / cherry blossom evening
sakura / cherry blossoms
cherry blossoms
Alexis' creek
Thank you for being a part of our seasonal journey.
See you in another season!
Wintering Insects Awake Rediscovered
Mar 04, 2024
March 5 -20
In this invigorating episode, "Wintering Insects Awake," Alexis and Kit are swept away by March winds to the mountains and the seaside as they traverse this season of awakenings. Our co-hosts reflect on a year of Season by Season, while looking forward to the seasons still to come. In Hiro's Corner, a trio of fragrant plants are on the menu: ninniku, nira, and nobiru.
Dear March, come in! How glad I am! I looked for you before. Put down your hat — You must have walked — How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you? And the rest? Did you leave Nature well? Oh, March, come right upstairs with me, I have so much to tell!
I got your letter, and the birds’; The maples never knew That you were coming, — I declare, How red their faces grew! But, March, forgive me — And all those hills You left for me to hue; There was no purple suitable, You took it all with you. Who knocks? That April! Lock the door! I will not be pursued! He stayed away a year, to call When I am occupied. But trifles look so trivial As soon as you have come, That blame is just as dear as praise And praise as mere as blame.
***
March Poem by William Cullent Bryant
The stormy March is come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies, I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies. Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild stormy month! in praise of thee; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me.
For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. And, in thy reign of blast and storm, Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, When the changed winds are soft and warm, And heaven puts on the blue of May.
***
The Mountains in March by Ada A. Mosher
Hark, how in impotent rage old Euroclydon Scourges the bare-shouldered mountains to-night! While their low laughter doth answer to mock the one Wielding the lash that the lash is so light. Laugh they as laughed in his slumber old Ymir, When the great Norse giant's ponderous mace Smote his bare forehead, low muttered the dreamer, "Breezes must blow, I feel leaves on my face." So these grim giants that, hoary and battle-proof, Guard this old pass, spurn Euroclydon's guage; Laugh him to scorn while his anger doth but behoof Sport for these warriors who mock at his rage. Loose are his storm-steeds; the snap of his lariat Maddens to fury the pulse of their speed; Down the deep gorges on thunders his chariot Hot in pursuit of each mane-tossing steed.
***
Quarreling water flows down The laughing mountains
— Katsuo Sekimori
***
The sound of wings flapping As they return to the sky Laughing mountain
— Akira Horimai
***
The old shoji screens Open to let in the light On the day the mountain laughs
— Nojimia Shijin
***
Unveiled by Jessie Belle Rittenhouse
To-day the hills put off their haze And stand so green and clear That every peak remote and strange Is intimate and near. I can make out the very trees That mass upon their sides, And look deep into the white cloud That swift above them rides. But, oh, I would not have them stand Unveiled by blowing air; Give me the blue, blue mists again That make them far and fair!
***
Through clouds of spring mud The mountain road — Nishijima Bakunan
***
The sun sets And the puddles of spring mud Turn gold — Ryōtei Fukuda
***
Splashing in the spring mud You forget your age — Kimiko Kato
***
Above ground and below ground the air is ready for insects to stir.
— Ishii Rogetsu
***
The insects are astir in the garden as I'm sweeping
— Shimada Shige
***
wake up! wake up! and become my friend you sleeping butterfly
— Basho
***
the dandelion sometimes wakes the butterfly from its dream
— Chiyo-jo
***
in my garden the flowering dandelions have a feeling for poetry . . .
— Masaoka Shiki
***
First Dandelion by Walt Whitman
Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close emerging, As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been, Forth from its sunny nook of shelter'd grass—innocent, golden, calm as the dawn, The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful face.
***
Excerpt from "Queen Mab," by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Though storms may break the primrose on its stalk, Though frosts may blight the freshness of its bloom, Yet Spring’s awakening breath will woo the earth, To feed with kindliest dews its favourite flower, That blooms in mossy banks and darksome glens, Lighting the greenwood with its sunny smile.
***
everything I pick up is alive -- ebb-tide
— Chiyo-jo
***
firefly squid ... the Sea of Japan finally shows waves of springtime
— Takaki Susu no Ie
***
A Light exists in Spring Not present on the Year At any other period — When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad On Solitary Fields That Science cannot overtake But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn, It shows the furthest Tree Upon the furthest Slope you know It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step Or Noons report away Without the Formula of sound It passes and we stay —
A quality of loss Affecting our Content As Trade had suddenly encroached Upon a Sacrament.
— Emily Dickinson
***
The Rainbow by Walter de la Mare
I saw the lovely arch Of Rainbow span the sky, The gold sun burning As the rain swept by.
In bright-ringed solitude The showery foliage shone One lovely moment, And the Bow was gone.
***
The Rainbow (excerpt) by Felicia Hemans
E'en now full many a blossom's bell With fragrance fills the shade; And verdure clothes each grassy dell, In brighter tints arrayed.
But mark! what arch of varied hue From heaven to earth is bowed? Haste, ere it vanish, haste to view The Rainbow in the cloud.
How bright its glory! there behold The emerald's verdant rays, The topaz blends its hue of gold With the deep ruby's blaze.
***
St. Patrick’s Day (excerpt) by Jean Blewett
There’s an Isle, a green Isle, set in the sea, Here’s to the Saint that blessed it! And here’s to the billows wild and free That for centuries have caressed it!
A Seasonal Recipe: Chocolate Guinness Cake Recipe
For the cake:
Butter for pan
1 cup Guinness stout
10 tablespoons (1 stick plus 2 tablespoons) unsalted butter
¾ cup unsweetened cocoa
2 cups superfine sugar
¾ cup sour cream
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 ½ teaspoons baking soda
For the topping:
1 ¼ cups confectioners' sugar
8 ounces cream cheese at room temperature
½ cup heavy cream
splash of Bailey's (optional, to taste)
Preparation
For the cake: heat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9-inch springform pan and line with parchment paper. In a large saucepan, combine Guinness and butter. Place over medium-low heat until butter melts, then remove from heat. Add cocoa and superfine sugar, and whisk to blend.
In a small bowl, combine sour cream, eggs and vanilla; mix well. Add to Guinness mixture. Add flour and baking soda, and whisk again until smooth. Pour into buttered pan, and bake until risen and firm, 45 minutes to one hour. Place pan on a wire rack and cool completely in pan.
For the topping: Using a food processor or by hand, mix confectioners' sugar to break up lumps. Add cream cheese and blend until smooth. Add heavy cream, and mix until smooth and spreadable.
Remove cake from pan and place on a platter or cake stand. Ice top of cake only, so that it resembles a frothy pint of Guinness.
Quintet for Piano and Winds by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Garden Tiger by Pictures of the Floating World
Spring by Allister Thompson and Philippa Dowding
Constellations by Siddhartha Corsus
Empire of Light by Siddhartha Corsus
Lute Concerto in D Major by Antonio Vivaldi
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
Yamawarau / Laughing Mountains
Spring mists
Dandelion
Cowslip primrose
Clam digging
Spring Sea
Hatsucho / First butterfly
Rainbow
Garlic
Nira
Nira
Nobiru
Spring mud
Snow Becomes Rain Rediscovered
Feb 20, 2024
February 19 - March 4
In this stirring episode, Alexis and Kit return to the garden just as it is re-awakening with early flowers, and eagerly expect the spring thaw. In Hiro’s Corner, a look at the peach blossom and the spring festival it inspired.
In Earliest Spring by William Dean Howells Tossing mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles, Lion-like March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous breath, Through all the moaning chimneys, and 'thwart all the hollows and angles Round the shuddering house, threatening of winter and death.
But in my heart I feel the life of the wood and the meadow Thrilling the pulses that own kindred with fibres that lift Bud and blade to the sunward, within the inscrutable shadow, Deep in the oak's chill core, under the gathering drift.
Nay, to earth's life in mine some prescience, or dream, or desire (How shall I name it aright?) comes for a moment and goes- Rapture of life ineffable, perfect-as if in the brier, Leafless there by my door, trembled a sense of the rose.
***
March Hares, by Andrew Young
I made myself as a tree, No withered leaf twirling on me; No, not a bird that stirred the boughs, As looking out from wizard brows I watched those lithe and lovely forms That raised the leaves in storms. I watched them leap and run, Their bodies hollowed in the sun To thin transparency, That I could clearly see The shallow colour of their blood Joyous in love’s full flood. I was content enough, Watching that serious game of love, That happy hunting in the wood Where the pursuer was the more pursued, To stand in breathless hush With no more life myself than tree or bush. ***
The snow on my hut Melted Away In a clumsy manner
– Issa ***
The sun has set And the spring water Increased in volume? –Kito ***
Ice and water Their differences resolved Are friends again – Teishitsu ***
March is the Month of Expectation by Emily Dickinson
March is the Month of Expectation. The things we do not know— The Persons of prognostication Are coming now— We try to show becoming firmness— But pompous Joy Betrays us, as his first Betrothal Betrays a Boy. ***
The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett (excerpt)
As she came near the second of these alcoves she stopped skipping. There had once been a flowerbed in it, and she thought she saw something sticking out of the black earth—some sharp little pale green points. She remembered what Ben Weatherstaff had said and she knelt down to look at them.
“Yes, they are tiny growing things and they might be crocuses or snowdrops or daffodils,” she whispered.
She bent very close to them and sniffed the fresh scent of the damp earth. She liked it very much.
“Perhaps there are some other ones coming up in other places,” she said. “I will go all over the garden and look.”
She did not skip, but walked. She went slowly and kept her eyes on the ground. She looked in the old border beds and among the grass, and after she had gone round, trying to miss nothing, she had found ever so many more sharp, pale green points, and she had become quite excited again.
“It isn’t a quite dead garden,” she cried out softly to herself. “Even if the roses are dead, there are other things alive.” *** High Waving Heather by Emily Bronte
High waving heather, 'neath stormy blasts bending, Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars; Darkness and glory rejoicingly blending, Earth rising to heaven and heaven descending, Man's spirit away from its drear dongeon sending, Bursting the fetters and breaking the bars. All down the mountain sides, wild forest lending One mighty voice to the life-giving wind; Rivers their banks in the jubilee rending, Fast through the valleys a reckless course wending, Wider and deeper their waters extending, Leaving a desolate desert behind. Shining and lowering and swelling and dying, Changing for ever from midnight to noon; Roaring like thunder, like soft music sighing, Shadows on shadows advancing and flying, Lightning-bright flashes the deep gloom defying, Coming as swiftly and fading as soon.
***
This spring morning in bed I'm lying, Not to awake till the birds are crying. After one night of wind and showers, How many are the fallen flowers? — Meng Haoran *** The plum tree bent under the winter freeze, With showers, all at once opens its buds The moon, through mists, projects its shadow; In the dark, breezes carry its scent A few days back, the trunk was buried in snow; Now, branches bear flowers anew, Through hardship and the bitter cold— This dignity, at the forefront of spring.
– Hounsai
***
Witch hazel (excerpt) by Elizabeth Akers Allen
What wizard, wise in spells of drugs and gums, With weird divining-rod Conjures this luminous loveliness that comes As if by magic from the frozen sod? Fearless witch-hazel! braver than the oak That dares not bloom till spring, Thus to defy the frost's benumbing stroke With challenge of November blossoming! And yet it has an airy, delicate grace Denied all other flowers, And lights the gloom as some beloved face Dawns on the dark of melancholy hours. Miraculous shrub, that thus in frost and blight Smilest all undismayed, And scatterest from thy wands of golden light A sudden sunshine in the chilly glade. ***
Crocuses by Hannah Flagg Gould
Down in my solitude under the snow, Where nothing cheering can reach me; Here, without light to see how to grow, I’ll trust to nature to teach me.
I will not despair–nor be idle, nor frown, Locked in so gloomy a dwelling; My leaves shall run up, and my roots shall run down, While the bud in my bosom is swelling.
Soon as the frost will get out of my bed, From this cold dungeon to free me, I will peer up with my little bright head, And all will be joyful to see me.
Then from my heart will young petals diverge, As rays of the sun from their focus; I from the darkness of earth shall emerge, A happy and beautiful Crocus!
Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower, This little lesson may borrow, Patient today, through its gloomiest hour, We come out the brighter tomorrow. ***
The geese go north -- today they see rice fields full of water – Issa
***
Returning geese, have you completely given up on me? – Issa ***
March Poem (excerpt) by William Cullen Bryant
The stormy March is come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies, I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies.
Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild stormy month! in praise of thee; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. ***
For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. ***
Those ten years of sweat: wash them away in the hot springs of Dogo
– Shiki ***
In the cold air Float clouds from the second story Onsen – Natsume Souseki
***
Entering the waters Alone in spring The onsen overflows – Tetsunosuke Matsuzeki ***
The rain begins to fall We seek cover in the onsen – Shoha Kuroyanagi ***
Steam from the onsen If the north wind quieted The mountains would be hidden – Kenji Fukami ***
A train headed for onsen country One cherry blossom falls – Chiharu Yazaki ***
No hina dolls; you are the flower face of peach blossom – Rogetsu ***
This old thatched hut will change inhabitants now - a home with dolls – Basho ***
Unchanging dolls' faces -- I've had no choice, except to grow old – Seifu
***
Let’s light the lanterns Let’s place the peach flowers Five court musicians are playing flutes and drums Today is a joyful Hina Matsuri
March Hare
running streams
heather blossoms
crocuses
spring melt
returning geese
quince blossoms
witch hazel
peach blossoms
peach blossoms
enjoying onsen
Hina Matsuri doll display
The Beginning of Spring Rediscovered
Feb 03, 2024
February 4 - 20
In this hopeful episode, "The Beginning of Spring," Alexis and Kit notice signs of winter's end among the scents of the trees, the songs of birds, and a special, perhaps romantic, feeling in the air. Hiro's Corner takes a look at a boggy perennial.
O thrush, is it true? Your song tells Of a world born anew, Of fields gold with buttercups, woodlands all blue With hyacinth bells; Of primroses deep In the moss of the lane, Of a Princess asleep And dear magic to do. Will the sun wake the princess? O thrush, is it true? Will Spring come again?
Will Spring come again? Now at last With soft shine and rain Will the violet be sweet where the dead leaves have lain? Will Winter be past? In the brown of the copse Will white wind-flowers star through Where the last oak-leaf drops? Will the daisies come too, And the may and the lilac? Will Spring come again? O thrush, is it true?
*** More than shadow Is the wind Returning cold
— Teiko Inahata
*** The return of cold Then the return of cold again Springtime
— Nishiyama Hakun
*** Two hoes hang on the wall Shallow Spring — Murakami Kijo
*** Shallow Spring is coming And already I'm in the garden — Sekitei Hara
***
He Knows No Winter by Sudie Stuart Hager He knows no winter, he who loves the soil, For, stormy days, when he is free from toil, He plans his summer crops, selects his seeds From bright-paged catalogues for garden needs. When looking out upon frost-silvered fields, He visualizes autumn's golden yields; He sees in snow and sleet and icy rain Precious moisture for his early grain; He hears spring-heralds in the storm's turmoil He knows no winter, he who loves the soil.
***
As evening deepens The scent of burning fields Rises in the air — Inahata Teiko *** The morning’s blue sky of Aso Eagerly await The burning fields - Matuso Basho
*** February by Jane [Goodwin] Austin
I thought the world was cold in death; The flowers, the birds, all life was gone, For January's bitter breath Had slain the bloom and hushed the song. And still the earth is cold and white, And mead and forest yet are bare; But there's a something in the light That says the germ of life is there.
***
Evening In A Sugar Orchard by Robert Frost From where I lingered in a lull in march outside the sugar-house one night for choice, I called the fireman with a careful voice And bade him leave the pan and stoke the arch: 'O fireman, give the fire another stoke, And send more sparks up chimney with the smoke.' I thought a few might tangle, as they did, Among bare maple boughs, and in the rare Hill atmosphere not cease to glow, And so be added to the moon up there. The moon, though slight, was moon enough to show On every tree a bucket with a lid, And on black ground a bear-skin rug of snow. The sparks made no attempt to be the moon. They were content to figure in the trees As Leo, Orion, and the Pleiades. And that was what the boughs were full of soon.
***
If not for the call of the bush warbler coming out of the valley, who then would be aware of the arrival of springtime?
— Ôe no Chisato, from the Kokinshū
***
Singing practice every morning with the warbler
— Issa ***
Even the warbler’s voice gets hoarse - snow still on Fuji
— Chiyo-jo
***
The warbler has been perching on that plum-tree for all eternity
— Onitsura
*** A warbler sings so sweet… and by the eaves… plum blossoms
— Buson
***
When the east wind blows, Send me your perfume, Blossoms of the plum: Though your lord be absent, Forget not the spring.
— Sugawara Michizane
*** As on the plum comes blossom after blossom, so comes the warmth of spring.
— Ransetsu
*** All the snow melts -- everywhere the fragrance of wild plum blossoms
— Tagami Kikusha
***
When everything has faded they alone shine forth, encroaching on the charms of smaller gardens. Their scattered shadows fall lightly on clear water, their subtle scent pervades the moonlit dusk.
— Lin Bu
***
Lover cat as a cat in love has its own way
— Nagata Koui
***
While hitting the heads of dandelions cats in love
— Issa
***
Love drunk Chasing after a chicken A male cat
— Issa ***
Plum blossom scent sends him off carousing... lazy cat
— Issa
***
Cats in love when they stop in my bedroom a hazy moon
— Basho
***
Hearts Were Made to Give Away by Annette Wynne
Hearts were made to give away On Valentine's good day; Wrap them up in dainty white, Send them off the thirteenth night. Any kind of heart that's handy— Hearts of lace, and hearts of candy, Hearts all trimmed with ribbands fine Send for good St. Valentine. Hearts were made to give away On Valentine's dear day.
***
1886 ST. VALENTINE'S DAY By Christina Rossetti
Winter's latest snowflake is the snowdrop flower, Yellow crocus kindles the first flame of the Spring, At that time appointed, at that day and hour When life reawakens and hope in everything. Such a tender snowflake in the wintry weather, Such a feeble flamelet for chilled St. Valentine,-- But blest be any weather which finds us still together, My pleasure and my treasure O blessed Mother mine.
***
Pancakes by Christina Rossetti
Mix a pancake, Stir a pancake, Pop it in the pan; Fry the pancake, Toss the pancake— Catch it if you can.
***
Another year is gone with the sound of the firecrackers. Spring is coming, we can feel the warm wind. It is time to drink the tu su wine. On this bright new year’s day, thousands of families are busy. Every family is busy with changing the old scrolls and putting up the new ones.
1/4 cup (25g) cocoa powder (I use Dutch-processed)
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1/3 cup (65g) granulated sugar
1 cup (240 ml) whole milk
3 tablespoons canola or vegetable oil (or 45g melted butter)
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 cup (85g) chocolate chips or chunks
butter or oil , for cooking
Chocolate Ganache Sauce
140 g (5 oz.) bittersweet or semisweet chocolate
1/2 cup (120 ml) heavy cream
Instructions
In a large bowl, sift together flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, and salt (or whisk well with a whisk). Set aside.
In a separate medium bowl, whisk together egg and sugar until well combined. Add milk, oil (or melted butter), and vanilla extract. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir just until combined and moistened. Do not over mix. Mix in chocolate chips or chunks. Set batter aside and make the chocolate sauce.
Chocolate sauce: In a medium heatproof bowl, combine chocolate and heavy cream. Microwave in 20- to 30-second increments, mixing in between, until chocolate is melted and mixture is smooth. Set aside while making the pancakes. I like to pour it over the pancakes while it’s warm.
Cook the pancakes: Heat a griddle or skillet over medium heat. Coat with butter or oil. For each pancake, drop 1/4 cup of batter onto skillet. Cook 1-2 minutes, until surface of pancakes have some bubbles and the bottom appears to be done. Flip carefully and cook another 1-2 minutes. Transfer to a plate and if you want you can cover the plate loosely with aluminum foil to keep warm. Coat the skillet with butter or oil before every pancake or batch of pancakes to prevent sticking.
Serve immediately with chocolate sauce (rewarm sauce in the microwave for a few seconds if needed).
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
Deep Cold Rediscovered
Jan 20, 2024
January 20 - February 2
In this fortifying episode, Alexis and Kit weather the coldest days of the year by taking part in indoor pleasures, admiring the austere beauty of the winter landscape, and looking forward to spring. Hiro’s Corner takes a deeper look at the seasonal phrase “big cold.”
Excerpt from “The Invitation” by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Best and brightest, come away! Fairer far than this fair Day, Which, like thee to those in sorrow, Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough Year just awake In its cradle on the brake. The Brightest hour of unborn Spring, Through the winter wandering, Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn To hoar February born. Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, It kissed the forehead of the Earth, And smiled upon the silent sea, And bade the frozen streams be free, And waked to music all their fountains, And breathed upon the frozen mountains, And like a prophetess of May Strewed flowers upon the barren way, Making the wintry world appear Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.
***
Winter's Beauty by William Henry Davies
Is it not fine to walk in spring, When leaves are born, and hear birds sing? And when they lose their singing powers, In summer, watch the bees at flowers? Is it not fine, when summer's past, To have the leaves, no longer fast, Biting my heel where'er I go, Or dancing lightly on my toe? Now winter's here and rivers freeze; As I walk out I see the trees, Wherein the pretty squirrels sleep, All standing in the snow so deep: And every twig, however small, Is blossomed white and beautiful. Then welcome, winter, with thy power To make this tree a big white flower; To make this tree a lovely sight, With fifty brown arms draped in white, While thousands of small fingers show In soft white gloves of purest snow. ***
I'm January by Annette Wynne
I'm January bringing you A year of days—all brand, brand new; I step upon the frosty ground. When chimes and sleighbells ring around; You welcome me and children sing, And joy comes into everything. I bring you love and lots of cheer, And work and friends for all the year. ***
The winter storm Hide the bamboo grove And quieted away. – Basho
*** Winter solitude— In a world of one color The sound of wind. — Basho ***
Winter Dawn by Amos Russell Wells
The trees are still; the bare cold branches lie Against a waiting sky. Light everywhere, but ghostly light that seems The cast-off robe of dreams; And everywhere a hush that seems to hark At the doorway of the dark. O fields, white-sheeted, desolate and dumb,— If you knew what's to come!
*** Night wind-- the shrine's icicles reflect the lights – Issa
*** The Thawing Wind by Robert Frost
Come with rain, O loud Southwester! Bring the singer, bring the nester; Give the buried flower a dream; Make the settled snowbank steam; Find the brown beneath the white; But whate’er you do tonight, Bathe my window, make it flow, Melt it as the ice will go; Melt the glass and leave the sticks Like a hermit’s crucifix; Burst into my narrow stall; Swing the picture on the wall; Run the rattling pages o’er; Scatter poems on the floor; Turn the poet out of door. *** Excerpt from The House on Pooh Corner by A.A.Milne The more it snows (Tiddely pom) The more it goes (Tiddely pom) The more it goes (Tiddely pom) On snowing
And nobody knows (Tiddely pom) How cold my toes (Tiddely pom) How cold my toes (Tiddely pom) Are growing ***
No fix place to live in my traveler's mind - this little kotatsu – Basho
*** Moving to a new home it really fits perfectly, my old kotatsu . . .
– Buson
***
My true love night after night -- my hot water bottle — Kobayashi Issa
***
All I ask of the world, a hot water bottle - I'm cold! — Naito Meisetsu ***
Clicking of needles - the promise of warmth takes shape in my cold hands — Kit ***
Excerpt from The Winter’s Come, by John Clare
Tis Winter, and I love to read indoors, When the Moon hangs her crescent up on high; While on the window shutters the wind roars, And storms like furies pass remorseless by. How pleasant on a feather bed to lie, Or, sitting by the fire, in fancy soar With Dante or with Milton to regions high, Or read fresh volumes we've not seen before, Or o’er old Burton's Melancholy pore.
***
After the Winter by Claude McKay
Some day, when trees have shed their leaves And against the morning’s white The shivering birds beneath the eaves Have sheltered for the night, We’ll turn our faces southward, love, Toward the summer isle Where bamboos spire the shafted grove And wide-mouthed orchids smile.
And we will seek the quiet hill Where towers the cotton tree, And leaps the laughing crystal rill, And works the droning bee. And we will build a cottage there Beside an open glade, With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near, And ferns that never fade.
***
I Cannot Dance upon my Toes by Emily Dickinson
I cannot dance upon my Toes— No Man instructed me— But oftentimes, among my mind, A Glee possesseth me, That had I Ballet knowledge— Would put itself abroad
In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe— Or lay a Prima, mad, And though I had no Gown of Gauze— No Ringlet, to my Hair, Nor hopped to Audiences—like Birds, One Claw upon the Air, Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls, Nor rolled on wheels of snow
Till I was out of sight, in sound, The House encore me so— Nor any know I know the Art I mention—easy—Here— Nor any Placard boast me— It’s full as Opera—
*** The Poor Trees Stand and Shiver So, by Annette Wynne
The poor trees stand and shiver so, Like ragged beggars in a row, Without a cloak in frost and snow.
I think it's strange about the trees— In summer when there's little breeze They all dress up rich as you please.
No beggars then, but fine and grand Like Princes of a mighty land Across the world in rows they stand.
But now in cold they shiver so Like ragged beggars in a row— Without a cloak in wind and snow.
*** Firwood, by John Clare
The fir trees taper into twigs and wear The rich blue green of summer all the year, Softening the roughest tempest almost calm And offering shelter ever still and warm To the small path that towels underneath, Where loudest winds—almost as summer's breath— Scarce fan the weed that lingers green below When others out of doors are lost in frost and snow. And sweet the music trembles on the ear As the wind suthers through each tiny spear, Makeshifts for leaves; and yet, so rich they show, Winter is almost summer where they grow.
***
A Dream of Summer, by John Greenleaf Whittier
Bland as the morning breath of June The southwest breezes play; And, through its haze, the winter noon Seems warm as summer's day. The snow-plumed Angel of the North Has dropped his icy spear; Again the mossy earth looks forth, Again the streams gush clear.
The fox his hillside cell forsakes, The muskrat leaves his nook, The bluebird in the meadow brakes Is singing with the brook. "Bear up, O Mother Nature!" cry Bird, breeze, and streamlet free; "Our winter voices prophesy Of summer days to thee!"
So, in those winters of the soul, By bitter blasts and drear O'erswept from Memory's frozen pole, Will sunny days appear. Reviving Hope and Faith, they show The soul its living powers, And how beneath the winter's snow Lie germs of summer flowers!
Artwork & Artists Featured in This Podcast
Birds of Paradise by Laura Garcia Serventi
Laura Garcia Serventiis an Argentinian painter and illustrator based in Brooklyn. Her paintings, deeply inspired by her love of the Botanical world, are also related to the memories of her childhood spent in Buenos Aires. Laura's work is always evolving and ranges from large scaled original paintings to affordable art prints, stationary products, editorial work, animation and collaborations with clients such as Pure Sunfarms, Buccellati, Patrizia Pepe, Anthropologie, LeSportSac, Cloudberries Puzzles, Bridgeman Images, Victionary and Charles and Keith, among others. Learn more about her and her artwork on her website.
ELECTRIC DIAMOND is one of the longest-lived electronic performance ensembles - 40 years plus and going strong. It is a reimagining of the classical music chamber ensemble. The group first performed in 1979 playing concerts at Carnegie Recital Hall, Symphony Space, the Guggenheim Museum and other venues of the New York 1970s new music scene. In the mid 1980’s electronic wind player founder Stuart Diamond joined forces with the eclectic, electric keyboard innovator Don Slepian, whose credits and talents are legendary – from artist-engineer-in-residence at Bell Laboratories to the original ambient sound painter for “Music from the Hearts of Space.” Learn more on their website.
Ketsa - Gentle Wave, A Box of Delights, Sorrow of the Sun, Soul Zone, Scattered, Silent Dreams, Forest Friends
Faurepiece
Serge Quadrado - The River Song
Crowander - Overture
Lobo Loco - Mountain Bells
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
February in California (with eucalyptus)
snowstorms
icicles
frost
bare branches
evergreens
reading and indoor pleasures
knitting and knitwear
kotatsu
water bottle / yutanpo
Kit's water bottle cover
beans and oni for Setsubun
oni and ehomaki
Groundhog Day
groundhog
Early Cold Rediscovered
Jan 05, 2024
January 5 - 20
In the first Season by Season episode of the New Year, Alexis and Kit prepare for the upcoming year while discussing the season of keeping resolutions, visits from snow crows, windy winter weather, and early growing plants that herald the coming spring. Hiro's Corner takes a closer look at the Japanese calendar and the naming of the month of January.
Little January Tapped at my door today. And said, "Put on your winter wraps, And come outdoors to play." Little January Is always full of fun; Until the set of sun. Little January Will stay a month with me And we will have such jolly times - Just come along and see.
*** The old calendar Fills me with gratitude Like a sutra
- Yosa Buson
***
First calendar sheet - When I turn it I almost feel The globe has moved
- Yaki Tsutomu
***
New Year’s Resolutions (excerpt), by Rudyard Kipling
I am resolved throughout the year To lay my vices on the shelf; A godly, sober course to steer And love my neighbors as myself— Excepting always two or three Whom I detest as they hate me. I am resolved—that vows like these, Though lightly made, are hard to keep; Wherefore I’ll take them by degrees, Lest my back-slidings make me weep.
***
I went to the mountain And found the fires burning After the Coming of Age festival
— Koji Yoshida
*** On Coming of Age Day The snow storm, too Celebrates — Kaga Hosokawa
*** Static electricity from my sweater Coming of Age Day Is here — Keiichi Makino
***
Plough the land, plough the land; Hold the handles with each hand; Furrows keep straight and deep, Firm and steady stand. Quickly turn around we may, Ploughing back the other way; Plough the land, plough the land— Farmers understand.
***
Snow by Adelaide Crapsey
Look up… From bleakening hills Blows down the light, first breath Of wintry wind…look up, and scent The snow!
***
Ode to the East Wind by C. Kingsley
“Welcome, wild nor-easter Shame it is to see Odes to every zephyr Ne’er a verse to thee.
Welcome, black Nor-easer Over the German foam Over the Danish moorland From thy frozen home
Sweep the golden reed-beds Crisp the lazy dyke Hunger into madness Every plunging pike.
Through the black fir-forest Thunder harsh and dry, Shattering down the snow-flakes Off the curdled sky
***
Gently Falling by Emma Louise Clapp Softly from the sky is falling Snowflakes white as lilies fair; Gently to each other calling As they float down through the air. Softly, softly, oh so softly! Do they come from dizzy heights; Gently, gently, oh, so gently! Do they lay a blanket white. Over all the many housetops, Over shrubs and tall, tall trees, Over hills and field and meadows, Hiding stones and restless leaves.
***
When Days Are Crisp and Bright by Annette Wynne
When days are crisp and bright And flakes are downward hurled, O, to wake up in the light And find a white, white world! O, to look out all around On fence, and bush, and hill, And see the snow piled on the ground And on the window sill! It's hard to sit in school all day And work and study hard, 'Twould be such fun to go and play At soldiers in the yard. And build a fort just like the one The picture has with flag unfurled; The summer's good, but O, the fun To have a white, white world!
***
“A Year’s Windfalls” by Christina Rosetti (excerpt)
On the wind of January Down flits the snow, Travelling from the frozen North As cold as it can blow. Poor robin redbreast, Look where he comes; Let him in to feel your fire, And toss him of your crumbs.
***
A crow Which I'd usually hate So beautiful in morning snow.
— Basho
***
Pounding the seven herbs Doesn't drown him out... Crow
— Issa
***
Shepherd’s Purse by Cecily Mary Barker
Though I’m poor to human eyes Really I am rich and wise. Every tiny flower I shed Leaves a heart-shaped purse instead. In each purse is wealth indeed— Every coin a living seed. Sow the seed upon the earth— Living plants shall spring to birth. Silly people’s purses hold Lifeless silver, clinking gold; But you cannot grow a pound From a farthing in the ground. Money may become a curse: Give me then my Shepherd’s Purse.
***
To a Snowdrop, by William Wordsworth
Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they But hardier far, once more I see thee bend Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend, Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day, Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, waylay The rising sun, and on the plains descend; Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May Shall soon behold this border thickly set With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers; Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, Chaste Snowdrop, venturous harbinger of Spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
Music Featured in this Podcast
Béla Bartók - Romanian Folk Dances Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Marriage of Figaro Overture Johann Sebastian Bach - Pythagorean Tuning, Prelude 1 Lobo Loco - Dear Happy New Year Claude Debussy - Toccata for Piano Gabriel Faure - Fantasie Franz Schubert - Octet No. 2 Unheard Music Concepts - Dakota Robert Schumann - A Tale of Distant Lands Johann Strauss II - Tales from the Vienna Woods
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
Winter Solstice Rediscovered
Dec 21, 2023
December 21 - January 5
In this special double-length episode, Alexis and Kit celebrate the long Winter Solstice night with music, recipes, books, and joyful traditions of the holiday season. Together, they look forward to the coming new year: the Year of the Tiger.
The stormy winter's come at last, With snow and rain and bitter blast; Ponds and brooks are frozen o'er, We cannot sail there any more.
The little birds are flown away To warmer climes than ours; They'll come no more till gentle May Calls them back with flowers.
Oh, then the darling birds will sing From their neat nests in the trees. All creatures wake to welcome Spring, And flowers dance in the breeze.
With patience wait till winter is o'er, And all lovely things return; Of every season try the more Some knowledge or virtue to learn.
***
So the shortest day came, and the year died, And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world Came people singing, dancing, To drive the dark away.
— Susan Cooper
***
Excerpt from “Little Gidding,” by T.S. Eliot
Midwinter spring is its own season Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown, Suspended in time, between pole and tropic. When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire, The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches, In windless cold that is the heart's heat, Reflecting in a watery mirror A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon. And glow more intense than blaze of branch, or brazier, Stirs the dumb spirit: no wind, but pentecostal fire In the dark time of the year. …
***
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Since o’er shady groves they hover And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm And (when gay tombs are robb’d) sustain no harm; But keep the wolf far thence, that’s foe to men, For with his nails he’ll dig them up again. — John Webster
***
The north wind doth blow, And we shall have snow, And what will poor robin do then? Poor thing.
He'll sit in a barn, And keep himself warm, And hide his head under his wing, Poor thing. ***
The Yule Cat (Jólakötturinn) - (Abridged) Adapted by Kit, from an Icelandic poem by Jóhannes úr Kötlum (1899-1972) Now listen, and learn of the Yule Cat whose legend is dark and grim; No one knew where he came from Nor what became of him.
His whiskers are sharp as needles, His back arches with furious rage, His claws dart from his shaggy paws As he begins his yuletide rampage.
Hungry and wild, he prowls Through the bitter Yuletide snow; Yet it was not the cold that made people shiver Wherever the Yule Cat did go. Despair befell those who heard the yell Of that huge and vicious Yule Cat. ‘Twas not mice but men he hunted - Everybody knew that.
He preyed upon the very poor who received no new clothes for Yule, Those whose lives were very hard When winter was especially cruel.
So the mothers of the houses all would knit And work their spinning wheels, To make a dress, or scarf, or hat, Or socks with colorful heels.
For you mustn’t let the Cat Get hold of the innocent. The children must have something new to wear Each year, each parent is vigilant.
So when candles were lit on Yule Eve And the cat’s glowing eyes peered in, The little ones showed off their clothes proudly And celebration at last could begin.
Some might get new shoes, Or an apron with a ruffled hem, Whatever was needed, as long as it was new, That would be enough to save them.
The Yule Cat could not eat them, you see, If they had new clothes to put on. He’d growl and he’d hiss, but after this He eventually had to move on.
Is the Cat more than legend? I cannot say; But I can tell you this much is true: As long as each Yuletide you have new clothes to wear He’ll never have to come visit you.
Now you might be thinking of helping Where help is needed most each year. There are children with nothing, remember, Your gifts surely would bring great cheer.
Those who live in a lightless world Sometimes need a little help, it’s clear - So help where you can, and I wish that you’ll have A merry Yule, and a happy new year!
***
even dawn gets closer to the last day of the year - the sound of pounding mochi
— Matsuo Basho
*** to my hut too New Year's arrives... the zoni vendor
— Kobayashi Issa
***
with the poor man who lives next door I share some mochi . . .
— Masaoka Shiki
***
The year ends fast - with the echo of rice-cake pounding I sleep alone.
— Matsuo Basho
***
Every year, I pass the winter solstice alone in a foreign land, Every day, I suffer from depression and sorrow. In this place, I am the poorest and oldest one. Everywhere in the world, families get together this day. With my walking stick, I climb on the hill to watch the snowy scenery, Imagining myself in jade, leaving the palace after meeting with the Emperor. — Du Fu
***
The Winter Spiral by Nancy Foster
Deep Mid-Winter drawing near, Darkness in our Garden here - - One small flame yet bravely burns To show a path which ever turns.
Earth, please bear us as we go, Seeking Light to send a-glow: Branches green and moss and fern, Mark our path to trace each turn. Brother animals, teach us too To serve with patience as you do. We walk with candle toward the Light While Earth awaits with hope so bright: In the Light which finds new birth Love may spread o'er all the Earth. Deep Mid-Winter drawing near - - May Light arise in our Garden here.
***
Christmas Recipe by Amos Russell Witt
Take a cup of thoughtfulness, Take a cup of love, Take the herbs that cheer and bless, Drawn from stores above.
Take a pinch or two of pains, And an ounce of wit, And of secrecy two grains, Just to flavor it. Cook it at the fire of zest, Seeking not your own; You will have the merriest Christmas ever known.
**** Excerpt from “The Candy Country” by Louisa May Alcott
'Gingerbread, Go to the head. Your task is done; A soul is won. Take it and go Where muffins grow, Where sweet loaves rise To the very skies, And biscuits fair Perfume the air.
***
winter chrysanthemum-- heating amazake in front of the window
— Matsuo Basho ***
Picture-books in Winter by Robert Louis Stevenson from A Child’s Garden of Verses
Summer fading, winter comes— Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story-books.
Water now is turned to stone Nurse and I can walk upon; Still we find the flowing brooks In the picture story-books.
All the pretty things put by, Wait upon the children's eye, Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks, In the picture story-books.
We may see how all things are, Seas and cities, near and far, And the flying fairies' looks, In the picture story-books.
How am I to sing your praise, Happy chimney-corner days, Sitting safe in nursery nooks, Reading picture story-books? ***
Lyrics by Alf Prøysen
One should have been four years old in Romjula when the Christmas lights were shining all day long and the world was a house with four walls, where the very bliss was a grandmother’s lap.
***
A winters night O-soji complete A break, at last
— Unknown ***
An argument Over the one piece of paper Which cannot be thrown away
— Babu
***
The Tyger By William Blake
Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? ***
New Year’s Day What I feel, has been too much for words For the words
— Daio ***
New Years Day What luck! What luck! A pale blue sky
— Issa ***
The first dream of the year I kept it a secret And smiled to myself
— Sho-U
***
The New Year by Anon
I am the little New Year, ho, ho ! Here I come tripping it over the snow. Shaking my bells with a merry din – So open your doors and let me in!
Presents I bring for each and all – Big folks, little folks, short and tall; Each one from me a treasure may win – So open your doors and let me in!
Some shall have silver and some shall have gold, Some shall have new clothes and some shall have old; Some shall have brass and some shall have tin – So open your doors and let me in!
Some shall have water and some shall have milk, Some shall have satin and some shall have silk! But each from me a present may win – So open your doors and let me in!
Musicians & Music Featured this Episode
American ensemble Calliope Brass collaborates with the world’s most prominent creatives to build evocative, story-driven concert experiences for a variety of audiences. Inspired by the eponymous storytelling muse in Greek mythology, Calliope Brass (pronounced “Kuh-LIE-uh-pea”) is most known for its innovative approach, successfully expanding upon the more traditional norm of recital-style performances. As a registered nonprofit, Calliope has obtained several grants for performance and educational initiatives since its inception in 2015.
Pounding Mochi
Robin
Winter Spiral
Pepperkakebyen, Gingerbread Town
Charles Dickens
Hot Chocolate
Mulled Wine
Christmas Cake (Japan)
New Year's Decorations, including Mochi
Nengajo, New Year's Cards
O-zoni Soup
O-Sechi Ryouri
Heavy Snow Rediscovered
Dec 06, 2023
December 6 - 20
This episode of Season by Season finds Kit and Alexis preparing for the darkening days of winter. Together they discuss cold weather and snow, are cheered by winter birdsong, and find light and warmth in friendship during this merry season. Hiro's Corner explores the snowy landscapes that shape our artistic ideas of wintertime.
Dawn turned on her purple pillow— And late, late came the winter day, Snow was curved to the boughs of the willow. — The sunless world was white and grey.
At noon we heard a blue-jay scolding, — At five the last thin light was lost From snow-banked windows faintly holding — The feathery filigree of frost.
***
It Snows, by Hannah Flagg Gould
It snows! it snows! from out the sky The feathered flakes, how fast they fly, Like little birds, that don't know why They're on the chase, from place to place, While neither can the other trace. It snows! it snows! a merry play Is o'er us, on this heavy day!
To-morrow will the storm be done; Then, out will come the golden sun: And we shall see, upon the run Before his beams, in sparkling streams, What now a curtain o'er him seems. And thus, with life, it ever goes; 'T is shade and shine!—It snows! it snows!
***
I Heard a Bird Sing, by Oliver Herford
I heard a bird sing In the dark of December A magical thing And sweet to remember.
'We are nearer to Spring Than we were in September,' I heard a bird sing In the dark of December."
***
The Cardinal, by Alice E. Ball
When autumn woods are bare and dead, A crested bird, of cardinal red, Sways like an oak-leaf overhead; And sighs, "Drear! drear! Drear!"
When winter woods are white with snow, And drifts pile high as wild winds blow, Like flame this torchlike bird doth glow; And cries, "Whew! whew! whew!"
***
Do all the birds To the southlands go? No! No! Oh, no! Chickadee, Sparrow, Bunting, Crow Care not a whit When the wild winds blow. They care not a whit, They’re sad not a bit, They think naught of it, When the wild winds blow.
(Anon.)
***
Winterberry branch Calls winter birds for breakfast I will feed you now — Amy Ludwig VanDerwater ***
the wren wishes to be in the snow not the blossoms
— Chiyo-jo
***
Dust of Snow, by Robert Frost
The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood And saved some part Of a day I had rued.
*** Excerpt from Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott:
...Mrs. March got her wet things off, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy chair, drew Amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. The girls flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way. Meg arranged the tea table, Jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, over–turning, and clattering everything she touched. Beth trotted to and fro between parlor and kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy gave directions to everyone, as she sat with her hands folded. ***
There’s rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.
- William Shakespeare (Winter’s Tale, Act 4, Scene 4)
*** There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts. -William Shakespeare (Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 5)
***
The Christmas Holly by Eliza Cook
The holly! the holly! oh, twine it with bay— Come give the holly a song; For it helps to drive stern winter away, With his garment so sombre and long. It peeps through the trees with its berries of red, And its leaves of burnish’d green, When the flowers and fruits have long been dead, And not even the daisy is seen, Then sing to the holly, the Christmas holly, That hangs over peasant and king: While we laugh and carouse ’neath its glitt’ring boughs, To the Christmas holly we’ll sing.
***
People, Look East, by Eleanor Farjeon People, look east. The time is near Of the crowning of the year. Make your house fair as you are able, Trim the hearth and set the table. People, look east and sing today: Love, the guest, is on the way.
***
From "The Shortest Day," by Susan Cooper
“So the shortest day came, and the year died, And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world Came people singing, dancing, To drive the dark away.”
***
Night walks with a heavy step Round yard and hearth, As the sun departs from earth, Shadows are brooding. There in our dark house, Walking with lit candles, Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!
Night walks grand, yet silent, Now hear its gentle wings, In every room so hushed, Whispering like wings. Look, at our threshold stands, White-clad with light in her hair, Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!
Darkness shall take flight soon, From earth's valleys. So she speaks Wonderful words to us: A new day will rise again From the rosy sky… Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!
***
The Feast of Lights, by Emma Lazarus
Kindle the taper like the steadfast star Ablaze on evening's forehead o'er the earth, And add each night a lustre till afar An eightfold splendor shine above thy hearth. Clash, Israel, the cymbals, touch the lyre, Blow the brass trumpet and the harsh-tongued horn; Chant psalms of victory till the heart takes fire, The Maccabean spirit leap new-born.
*** In the Window
In the window where you can see the glow of my menorah on newly fallen snow, I will set you one little candle on this, the first night of Hanukkah.
St. Lucia Day Buns
1/3 cup milk 1/4 cup butter 1/4 lukewarm water 1 package dry yeast 1/4 cup sugar 1 egg 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/4 teaspoon saffron 2 3/4 cups flour 1 tablespoon cooking oil 1 egg 1 tablespoon water 24 raisins (currants) 1. Warm the milk in the small saucepan over low heat. Cut the butter into small pieces. Add the butter pieces to the warm milk and stir, then turn off the heat. 2. Measure the lukewarm water into the large mixing bowl. Sprinkle the yeast over the water. Stir well. Set the bowl aside for 5 minutes. 3. Add the warm milk and melted butter to the saffron. Stir in the sugar, egg, salt and saffron. Then add 1 1/2 cups flour and stir until smooth. 4. Add enough of the remaining flour so that you can shape the dough into a ball. Save some of the remaining flour for kneading the dough. 5. Put the dough on the floured cutting board. Dust your hands with flour and knead the dough. Add flour when the dough gets sticky. 6. After 5 to 10 minutes of kneading, you will have a smooth ball of dough. It should spring back when you poke it with your finger. Cover the dough with the towel and let it rest while you wash and dry the mixing bowl. 7. Spread cooking oil in the large bowl. Roll the dough in the oil until it is coated. Cover the bowl with the towel and set in a warm place to rise. After 45 minutes, the dough should be twice as large. If not, check it again in 15 minutes. 8. Punch down the dough. Then divide it into 6 sections. Take one section and divide it in half. Roll each half into an 8 inch rope. Cross the two ropes in the middle. Then coil the ends in tight circles. Shape 5 more buns in the same way. 9. Place the buns 2 inches apart on a greased cookie sheet. Cover with the towel. Let the buns rise for 30 to 45 minutes until they double in size. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees while they are rising. 10. Mix the egg and water with the fork in the small bowl. Brush this mixture lightly over the top of each bun. Decorate the buns with raisins. 11. Bake the buns for 15 to 20 minutes. When the buns are golden brown, move them to the wire rack to cool.
O Frondens by Hildegard of Bingen Peace Christmas by Lobo Loco
Deck the Halls by USAFB Concert Band
Sonata No. 8 by Ludwig Van Beethoven performed by Daniel Veesey
Wind Quintet Op. 78 by August Klughart
Violincello and Orchestra in B Minor by Antonin Dvorak
Flute Concerto in G Major by Carl Philipp Emmanuel Bach
Scherzo by Goens performed by John Michel
Light Snow Rediscovered
Nov 21, 2023
Visit: seasonbyseason.org for more information
The Beginning of Winter Rediscovered
Nov 06, 2023
November 6 - 21
In this brisk episode of Season by Season, Alexis and Kit savor the last moments of autumn. Join them as they kick through the fallen leaves under persimmon trees, prepare their appetites for heartier fare, and learn about the festival of lights Diwali. Hiro's Corner features an interlude with a uniquely autumnal kind of rain.
"November" by Elizabeth Stoddard Much have I spoken of the faded leaf; Long have I listened to the wailing wind, And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds, For autumn charms my melancholy mind.
When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge: The year must perish; all the flowers are dead; The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled!
Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer, The holly-berries and the ivy-tree: They weave a chaplet for the Old Year’s bier, These waiting mourners do not sing for me! I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods, Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss; The naked, silent trees have taught me this,— The loss of beauty is not always loss!
***
a shooting star... unable to use up the length of the vast sky
— Shugyo Takaha
*** Slurping ramen In Kitakata The north wind blows - hyuuuu! —Takasawa Yoichi ***
After a climb To the mountain top A ramen shop —Takasawa Yoichi
*** A jumbo serving of clams For my ramen The cold rain pelts —Akabane Toshiko
***
A cold, gray day, a lowering sky, A lonesome pigeon wheeling by; The soft, blue smoke that hangs and fades, The shivering crane that flaps and wades; Dead leaves that, whispering, quit their tree, The peace the river sings to me; The chill aloofness of the Fall— I love it all!
—Unknown
***
today too, today too autumn rain... mountainside house —Issa
*** Cold Winter shower! See all the people running Across the Seta Bridge
-Josa
*** The scarlet leaves Serve as armor for the mountain Against the rain
—Chobane ***
November Night by Adelaide Crapsey
Listen ... With faint, dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break free from the trees And fall.
*** fallen leaves-- not a single crow is irksome
— Issa
*** the wind has brought enough to build a fire... fallen leaves
— Issa *** The gods are absent everything is desolate among the fallen leaves
— Basho
***
In the Godless Month I wake at night and listen to what gives voice to a storm on this hillside . . . the sound of falling leaves
- Monk Noin (988-1050) ***
The Consent by Howard Nemerov
Late in November, on a single night Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees That stand along the walk drop all their leaves In one consent, and neither to rain nor to wind But as though to time alone: the golden and green Leaves litter the lawn today, that yesterday Had spread aloft their fluttering fans of light.
What signal from the stars? What senses took it in? What in those wooden motives so decided To strike their leaves, to down their leaves, Rebellion or surrender? and if this Can happen thus, what race shall be exempt? What use to learn the lessons taught by time, If a star at any time may tell us: Now. ***
three shadows from persimmons on a stick on the paper door
— Hayu ***
one persimmon droops listlessly... winter rain — Issa
***
on the high branch one astringent persimmon... like old times — Issa ***
Write me down As the one who loved Persimmons
— Shiki
***
Migrating down through northern seas Says the report Time to buy sanma — Toyama no Kanto
*** A gift from the north Grilled sanma
— Chris Mathlos ***
snow crabs ... together to Fukui on a winter trip — Rikei
***
Light by Rabindranath Tagore
Light, my light, the world-filling light, the eye-kissing light, heart-sweetening light!
Ah, the light dances, my darling, at the center of my life; the light strikes, my darling, the chords of my love; the sky opens, the wind runs wild, laughter passes over the earth.
The butterflies spread their sails on the sea of light. Lilies and jasmines surge up on the crest of the waves of light. The light is shattered into gold on every cloud, my darling, and it scatters gems in profusion.
Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf, my darling, and gladness without measure. The heaven's river has drowned its banks and the flood of joy is abroad.
Alexis and Kit take an autumn walk in this episode, "Cold Dew." What autumnal surprises await as they wander through the apple orchard and the pumpkin patch? Will they make it back to the kitchen before October mist sets in? In Hiro's Corner, we take a delightful look at an unusual seasonal transformation.
The rustling of leaves under the feet in woods and under hedges; The crumpling of cat-ice and snow down wood-rides, narrow lanes and every street causeway; Rustling through a wood or rather rushing, while the wind halloos in the oak-toop like thunder; The rustle of birds' wings startled from their nests or flying unseen into the bushes; The whizzing of larger birds overhead in a wood, such as crows, puddocks, buzzards; The trample of robins and woodlarks on the brown leaves. and the patter of squirrels on the green moss; The fall of an acorn on the ground, the pattering of nuts on the hazel branches as they fall from ripeness; The flirt of the groundlark's wing from the stubbles – how sweet such pictures on dewy mornings, when the dew flashes from its brown feathers.
***
vast sky vast earth autumn passes too
— Issa
***
wind is blowing and so the geese are honking — Issa
***
traveling geese-- the human heart, too wanders
— Issa
***
honking geese-- I picture skies over inns
— Issa
***
An early morning Yes, and a single goose Up in the white clouds, nothing more
— Basho
***
Ah, the pine cricket began to chirp, Chin-chiro chin-chiro chin-chiro-rin Ah, a bell-ring cricket also began to sing, Rin-in rini-rin riin-rin They chirp throughout the long fall night Oh, the voices of these funny insects!
— "Mushi No Koe," Traditional
***
“Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is filled with leaves, we have had our summer evenings: now for October eves!” - Humbert Wolfe
***
The leaves are falling In a house one cannot tell, As they go drop, drop, Whether rain is falling, Or whether rain is not falling
— Minamoto no Yorizan
***
The leaves had a wonderful frolic. They danced to the wind's loud song. They whirled, and they floated, and scampered. They circled and flew along.
The North Wind is calling, is calling, And we must whirl round and round, And then, when our dancing is ended, We'll make a warm quilt for the ground.
— Anonymous
***
Fall, Leaves, Fall, by Emily Brontë
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day; Every leaf speaks bliss to me Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow; I shall sing when night’s decay Ushers in a drearier day.
***
Old oak! old oak! the chosen one, Round which my poet's mesh I twine, When rosy wakes the joyous sun, Or, wearied, sinks at day's decline, I see the frost-king here and there, Claim some brown leaflet for his own, Or point in cold derision where He soon shall rear the usurper's throne.
— Lydia Huntley Sigourney
***
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there's a barrel that I didn't fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn't pick upon some bough. But I am done with apple-picking now. Essence of winter sleep is on the night, The scent of apples: I am drowsing off. I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight I got from looking through a pane of glass I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough And held against the world of hoary grass. It melted, and I let it fall and break. But I was well
— Robert Frost
***
Purple the narrowing alleys stretched between The spectral shocks, a purple harsh and cold, But spotted, where the gadding pumpkins run, With bursts of blaze that startle the serene Like sudden voices,—globes of orange bold, Elate to mimic the unrisen sun. — Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
***
Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling, When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin, Glaring out through the dark with a candle within!
— From “The Pumpkin,” by John Greenleaf Whittier
***
No pulse seems to throb, no voice dares to sob Beneath the grey calm of the cloud. No murmur. No sound. Only white on the ground There creeps the thin silence along— Creeps near and more near,—oh, so dim! oh, so drear! Till I shiver, as one who has stood by a bier, And the words die away in my song.
— From "The Fog," by Grace Denio Litchfield
***
If you buy a pomegranate, buy one whose ripeness has caused it to be cleft open with a seed-revealing smile. Its laughter is a blessing, for through its wide-open mouth it shows its heart, like a pearl in the jewel box of spirit. The red anemone laughs, too, but through its mouth you glimpse a blackness. A laughing pomegranate brings the whole garden to life.
— Rumi
***
the garden's chrysanthemum blooms at great pains… fallen leaves
— Issa
***
neck and neck with the mighty lord… chrysanthemum
— Issa
***
This is the feast-time of the year, When plenty pours her wine of cheer, And even humble boards may spare To poorer poor a kindly share. While bursting barns and granaries know A richer, fuller overflow. And they who dwell in golden ease Blest without toil, yet toil to please.
— Dora Reade Goodale
***
FROM HIRO'S CORNER
Sparrows having transmogrified into clams just eaten
— Kai Michiko
Mourning for not becoming a clam: dew on the chrysanthemum
— Natsume Sōseki
Not seeming even afraid to become clams, oh! sparrows
— Kobayashi Issa
The clam has sparrow’s freckles: how piteous
— Murakami Kijō
Method for Roasting Pumpkin Seeds
First, wash the seeds. Remove most of the pumpkin strings and pat the seeds dry with paper towels. Coat the inside of a bowl with butter or egg white then toss the seeds with ½ teaspoon of salt for each cup of seeds. Spread the seeds over a cookie sheet and roast them in a 250 F oven, stirring frequently until brown (approximately 15 to 30 minutes). Let them cool before eating.
In this exuberant episode, Alexis and Kit are joined by Annie Patterson and Peter Blood of “Rise Up & Sing” in discussing songs and music of the harvest season. Our co-hosts explore the community-driven traditions around the harvest and thanks-giving, and celebrations of the equinox around the world. In Hiro’s Corner, we gain perspective on rice paddies drying up.
It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes And roofs of villages, on woodland crests And their actual neighborhoods of nests Deserted, on the curtained window-panes Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests! Gone are the birds that were our summer guests, With the last sheaves return the laboring wains! All things are symbols: the external shows Of Nature have their image in the mind As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves The song-birds leave us at summer’s close, Only the empty nests are left behind, And the pipings of the quail amid the sheaves ****
Autumn, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (excerpt)
Go, sit upon the lofty hill, And turn your eyes around, Where waving woods and waters wild Do hymn an autumn sound. The summer sun is faint on them -- The summer flowers depart -- Sit still -- as all transform'd to stone, Except your musing heart. ***
We’ll stroke the gentleman With our naked sword Wherewith we shear meadows and fields We shear princes and lords If the gentleman will stand beer and brandy The joke will soon be over But, if our prayer he does not like The sword has the right to strike
— Unknown
***
Last night the reapers from their harvest home sang And stored the full garners with Grain The woods and the echoes with merry sounds rang As they bore the last sheaf from the plain
-- By Ann and Jane Taylor and Adelaide O'Keeffe
***
Corn Dolly by Minnie Lambeth
Tis but a thing of straw, they say Yet even straw can sturdy be Plaited into a doll like me And in the days of long ago To help the seeds once more to grow I was an offering to the gods A very simple say indeed Of asking them to intercede That barn and grainery o’erflow At harvest time with fruit and corn To fill again Amalthea’s horn
***
"The king and high priest of all the festivals was the autumn Thanksgiving. When the apples were all gathered and the cider was all made, and the yellow pumpkins were rolled in from many a hill in billows of gold, and the corn was husked, and the labors of the season were done, and the warm, late days of Indian Summer came in, dreamy, and calm, and still, with just enough frost to crisp the ground of a morning, but with warm traces of benignant, sunny hours at noon, there came over the community a sort of genial repose of spirit - a sense of something accomplished." — Harriet Beacher Stowe
***
The Corn Song (excerpt), by John Greenleaf Whittier
Heap high the farmer’s wintry hoard! Heap high the golden corn! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn!
Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from the pine, The orange from its glossy green, The cluster from the vine; We better love the hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow, To cheer us when the storm shall drift Our harvest-fields with snow.
***
Everywhere there are ancestor sprits - everywhere there are spider lilies
— Morio Suzume 森尾雀子
*** Up into the sky a penetrating azure-- red spider lily — Yamaguchi Seishi
***
In the drained fields, How long and thin The legs of the scarecrow
— Buson
***
Gleaning the rice field They work toward The sunny places
--Buson
*** Awakening
Dawn, and I am completely still, weightless In that space where dreams drift away Quietly in the moments of daybreak. My senses, aware something stirs As morning comes bending the light softly To whisper a new day. Imperceptibly, energy breezes in the treetops, A dance that proclaims nature’s presence Before high noon. There is a change in that first cool day That follows a long summer’s heat. A time to listen and watch the differences Fall brings In the parallels to cycle life. The afternoon of recognition, a shift in paradigm. Awake, prepare before day’s end. Bounty comes, before Winter’s night.'
The Seasons in Art
The Harvest by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (1565).
Musicians & Music Featured this Episode
Shelley Otis, Harpist
Shelley Otis is a harpist, pianist, arranger, composer; seven-time winner of the annual Couple’s Choice Award, multi-year winner of the Knot’s Best of Weddings. Alexis first met Shelley when they were seated next to each other in Grenoble, France. When it came time to create this episode, Alexis thought that Shelley’s beautiful harp would be absolutely perfect. Learn more about Shelley and her services on her website.
Roma Ransom
Roma Ransom plays eclectic bohemian world folk-jazz music that aims at transcending our audience and invigorating the crowd with tunes that can transport the listener. Learn more on their website.
Larry Piper
Larry Piper is known on the internet as a spouse, pop, guy in the choir, physical chemist, and computer/web dilettante. He lives in Reading, MA with his spouse and his little Jug dog, Edamame.
He used to sing his children to sleep. But, since his granddaughters live far away, he decided an antidote to their distance was to record a series of 'Grampa Songs', which their parents could then play for them. The selection used in this pod cast is much in the style of 'Grampa Songs'.
Annie Patterson & Peter Blood / Rise Up and Sing
Annie Patterson has a rare voice that spreads hope, stirs your soul and makes you glad to be working together for a better world. She is a singer songwriter, old timey banjo player as well as jazz vocalist with the swing trio, Girls from Mars. Her long time partner, Peter Blood, often accompanies her on fiddle & guitar. Together, Annie & Peter have played a central role in helping create a quiet revolution of group singing in North America. A new documentary film, We Began to Sing, follows their musical journey as well as the work of friend and mentor Pete Seeger in creating peace and social justice through communal singing. Learn more on their website.
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
Higanbana / Spider Lily
Inari
Inari fox messangers
John Barleycorn
Green Corn Dance
Ta no Kami
Terraced Rice Fields
Cider Pressing
Chuseok
Grange Display
Corn Dolly
Grange Display No. 2
White Dew Rediscovered
Sep 07, 2023
Spring Equinox
Mar 20, 2022
March 20 - April 4
In this reflective episode, Alexis and Kit joyfully welcome brighter days, remember springs past amid wildflower meadows and cherry blossoms, and look forward to the shining future. Hiroaki Sato leaves “Hiro’s Corner” to join our co-hosts for an interview about haiku.
“One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands alone and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun--which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in some one's eyes.
“And it was like that with Colin when he first saw and heard and felt the Springtime inside the four high walls of a hidden garden. That afternoon the whole world seemed to devote itself to being perfect and radiantly beautiful and kind to one boy. Perhaps out of pure heavenly goodness the spring came and crowned everything it possibly could into that one place.”
– Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
***
"March bustles in on windy feet And sweeps my doorstep and my street. She washes and cleans with pounding rains, Scrubbing the earth of winter stains. She shakes the grime from carpet green Till naught but fresh new blades are seen. Then, house in order, all neat as a pin, She ushers gentle springtime in." — Susan Reiner, Spring Cleaning
***
From a court lady I get some Botamochi - spring equinox – Buson
*** Rice cake with bean paste for the crossroads Buddha... spring breeze – Issa
***
Sparkling, the blue boat in the shining wind – Junko Tamaki
***
In the shining wind, white flowers bloom in the handkerchief
– Sachiko Hagiya
***
Lively talking About local lore and legend Shining wind – Atsuko Oyanagi
***
Do I hear the sound of spring dawn rain? – Kazuhiko Endo
*** Pulled From my dream, the spring dawn. – Kazuo Hosoka
***
The thrush sings In spring dawn A star remains – Akio Nagata
*** Spring peace-- a mountain monk peeks through the hedge – Kobayashi Issa
***
Spring peace– After rain, a gang war Garden sparrows. – Kobayashi Issa
***
I do not grieve that the willow catkins have flown away But that, in the Western Garden, The fallen red cannot be gathered. When dawn comes and the rain is over, Where are the traces they have left? A pond full of brock duckweeds! Of all the clors of springtime, Two thirds have gone with the fust And one-third with the flowing water! When you look closely, These are not willow catkins, But, drop after drop, parted lovers’ tears! — Su Shih
*** Up to your crown, O willow, dressed in the green of jades, Myriads of twigs so verdant, droop like your silken braids. Who knows who the tailor is, who’s cut your leaves so fine? It’s The vernal winds past February, sharp as the scissors’ blades. — He Zhizhang
***
“No, you don't understand, naturally' said the second swallow. 'First, we feel it stirring within us, a sweet unrest; then back come the recollections one by one, like homing pigeons. They flutter through our dreams at night, they fly with us in our wheelings and circlings by day. We hunger to inquire of each other, to compare notes and assure ourselves that it was all really true, as one by one the scents and sounds and names of long-forgotten places come gradually back and beckon to us...'I tried stopping on one year,' said the third swallow. 'I had grown so fond of the place that when the time came I hung back and let the others go on without me. For a few weeks it was all well enough, but afterwards, O the weary length of the nights! The shivering, sunless days! The air so clammy and chill, and not an insect in an acre of it! No, it was no good; my courage broke down, and one cold, stormy night I took wing, flying well inland on account of the strong easterly gales. It was snowing hard as I beat through the passes of the great mountains, and I had a stiff fight to win through; but never shall I forget the blissful feeling of the hot sun again on my back as I sped down to the lakes that lay so blue and placid below me, and the taste of my first fat insect. The past was like a bad dream; the future was all happy holiday.”
― Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows
***
The first sparrow of spring! The year beginning with younger hope than ever! The faint silvery warblings heard over the partially bare and moist fields from the bluebird, the song sparrow, and the red-wing, as if the last flakes of winter tinkled as they fell! ***
“Just listen to them birds – th’ world seems full of ‘em – all whistlin’ an’ pipin’,” he said. “Look at ‘em dartin’ about, an’ hearken at ‘em callin’ to each other. Come springtime seems like as if all th’ world’s callin’. The leaves is uncurlin’ so you can see ‘em – an’, my word, th’ nice smells there is about!”
***
Like warbling pure haiku mountain cuckoo — Issa
***
"When April scatters charms of primrose gold Among the copper leaves in thickets old, And singing skylarks from the meadows rise, To twinkle like black stars in sunny skies;
When I can hear the small woodpecker ring Time on a tree for all the birds that sing; And hear the pleasant cuckoo, loud and long -- The simple bird that thinks two notes a song." — William Henry Davies, April's Charms
***
The canola flowers, And the tide goes back The small stream. – Kawahigashi Hekigoto
***
The impact of canola flowers everywhere obscures the Rivers of Yodo and Katsura — Gonsui
***
Bitter green, sweet gold With this sip, I remember Riverside flowers – Alexis
***
This tidy tea room Brightened by these golden buds - the warm light of spring — Kit ***
It's better to be a buttercup out in the grass Where a hundred children pass, And at evening drink the dew, Than be you, Poor little rich flower, Shut up in a lady's bower. Does the lady look your way Any day? Ever stoop to you and bless? Give your head a soft caress? You are such a tiny part Of all her things. Her heart A crowded palace is; but O, to know the bliss Of being meadow-glad—like this— You should be out in the grass Where the happy children pass— We would like to welcome you To our sunshine, rain, and dew, Flower, in a lady's bower. ***
The Seedling by Paul Laurence Dunbar
As a quiet little seedling Lay within its darksome bed, To itself it fell a-talking, And this is what it said: "I am not so very robust, But I'll do the best I can;" And the seedling from that moment Its work of life began.
So it pushed a little leaflet Up into the light of day, To examine the surroundings And show the rest the way. The leaflet liked the prospect, So it called its brother, Stem; Then two other leaflets heard it, And quickly followed them.
To be sure, the haste and hurry Made the seedling sweat and pant; But almost before it knew it It found itself a plant. The sunshine poured upon it, And the clouds they gave a shower; And the little plant kept growing Till it found itself a flower.
Little folks, be like the seedling, Always do the best you can; Every child must share life's labor Just as well as every man. And the sun and showers will help you Through the lonesome, struggling hours, Till you raise to light and beauty Virtue's fair, unfading flowers.
***
“Putting in the Seed”
You come to fetch me from my work to-night When supper’s on the table, and we’ll see If I can leave off burying the white Soft petals fallen from the apple tree. (Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite, Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;) And go along with you ere you lose sight Of what you came for and become like me, Slave to a springtime passion for the earth. How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed On through the watching for that early birth When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed, The sturdy seedling with arched body comes Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.
***
“To-day is very beautiful — just as bright, just as blue, just as green and as white and as crimson as the cherry-trees full in bloom, and the half-opening peach-blossoms, and the grass just waving, and sky and hill and cloud can make it, if they try. How I wish you were here … you thought last Saturday beautiful, yet to this golden day 't was but one single gem to whole handfuls of jewels…” – Emily Dickinson
***
A lovely spring night suddenly vanished while we viewed cherry blossoms – Matsuo Basho ***
Gazing at them, immersed, I become so intimate with the blossoms; and with the falling away and separation comes sorrow — Saigyo (1118-1190)
***
Are we to look at cherry blossoms only in full bloom, the moon only when it is cloudless? To long for the moon while looking on the rain, to lower the blinds and be unaware of the passing of spring—these are even more deeply moving. Branches about to blossom or gardens strewn with faded flowers are worthier of our admiration. – Yoshida Kenko, Essays in Idleness (1330-1332)
***
If there were no such thing as cherry blossoms in this world, in springtime how untroubled our hearts would be! — Ariwara no Narihira
***
"Loveliest of Trees, the Cherry Now" by A. E. Housman
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow.
Hebrides Overture, Fingal’s Cave, Felix Mendelssohn
Shade Ways, Blue Dot Sessions
On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring, Frederick Delius
The Derricks, Blue Dot Sessions
Pasture, Blue Dot Sessions
Jog to the Water, Blue Dot Sessions
Convergence, Pictures of the Floating Wolrd
Cycles, Pictures of the Floating World
Circadian, Pictures of the Floating World
Memories, Pictures of the Floating World
Works Cited/Further Research
East Wind Melts the Ice by Liza Dalby
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
spring meadow
tsukushi / field horsetail
mustard flower
willow
Two Barn Swallows in Flight, Willow Branch and Flowering Cherry above
swallow
sparrow
nanohana / canola flower
botamochi
wildflowers
full moon over cherry blossoms at night
Kit's yozakura / cherry blossom evening
sakura / cherry blossoms
cherry blossoms
Alexis' creek
Thank you for being a part of our seasonal journey.
See you in another season!
Snow Becomes Rain
Feb 19, 2022
February 19 - March 4
In this stirring episode, Alexis and Kit return to the garden just as it is re-awakening with early flowers, and eagerly expect the spring thaw. In Hiro’s Corner, a look at the peach blossom and the spring festival it inspired.
In Earliest Spring by William Dean Howells Tossing mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles, Lion-like March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous breath, Through all the moaning chimneys, and 'thwart all the hollows and angles Round the shuddering house, threatening of winter and death.
But in my heart I feel the life of the wood and the meadow Thrilling the pulses that own kindred with fibres that lift Bud and blade to the sunward, within the inscrutable shadow, Deep in the oak's chill core, under the gathering drift.
Nay, to earth's life in mine some prescience, or dream, or desire (How shall I name it aright?) comes for a moment and goes- Rapture of life ineffable, perfect-as if in the brier, Leafless there by my door, trembled a sense of the rose.
***
March Hares, by Andrew Young
I made myself as a tree, No withered leaf twirling on me; No, not a bird that stirred the boughs, As looking out from wizard brows I watched those lithe and lovely forms That raised the leaves in storms. I watched them leap and run, Their bodies hollowed in the sun To thin transparency, That I could clearly see The shallow colour of their blood Joyous in love’s full flood. I was content enough, Watching that serious game of love, That happy hunting in the wood Where the pursuer was the more pursued, To stand in breathless hush With no more life myself than tree or bush. ***
The snow on my hut Melted Away In a clumsy manner
– Issa ***
The sun has set And the spring water Increased in volume? –Kito ***
Ice and water Their differences resolved Are friends again – Teishitsu ***
March is the Month of Expectation by Emily Dickinson
March is the Month of Expectation. The things we do not know— The Persons of prognostication Are coming now— We try to show becoming firmness— But pompous Joy Betrays us, as his first Betrothal Betrays a Boy. ***
The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett (excerpt)
As she came near the second of these alcoves she stopped skipping. There had once been a flowerbed in it, and she thought she saw something sticking out of the black earth—some sharp little pale green points. She remembered what Ben Weatherstaff had said and she knelt down to look at them.
“Yes, they are tiny growing things and they might be crocuses or snowdrops or daffodils,” she whispered.
She bent very close to them and sniffed the fresh scent of the damp earth. She liked it very much.
“Perhaps there are some other ones coming up in other places,” she said. “I will go all over the garden and look.”
She did not skip, but walked. She went slowly and kept her eyes on the ground. She looked in the old border beds and among the grass, and after she had gone round, trying to miss nothing, she had found ever so many more sharp, pale green points, and she had become quite excited again.
“It isn’t a quite dead garden,” she cried out softly to herself. “Even if the roses are dead, there are other things alive.” *** High Waving Heather by Emily Bronte
High waving heather, 'neath stormy blasts bending, Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars; Darkness and glory rejoicingly blending, Earth rising to heaven and heaven descending, Man's spirit away from its drear dongeon sending, Bursting the fetters and breaking the bars. All down the mountain sides, wild forest lending One mighty voice to the life-giving wind; Rivers their banks in the jubilee rending, Fast through the valleys a reckless course wending, Wider and deeper their waters extending, Leaving a desolate desert behind. Shining and lowering and swelling and dying, Changing for ever from midnight to noon; Roaring like thunder, like soft music sighing, Shadows on shadows advancing and flying, Lightning-bright flashes the deep gloom defying, Coming as swiftly and fading as soon.
***
This spring morning in bed I'm lying, Not to awake till the birds are crying. After one night of wind and showers, How many are the fallen flowers? — Meng Haoran *** The plum tree bent under the winter freeze, With showers, all at once opens its buds The moon, through mists, projects its shadow; In the dark, breezes carry its scent A few days back, the trunk was buried in snow; Now, branches bear flowers anew, Through hardship and the bitter cold— This dignity, at the forefront of spring.
– Hounsai
***
Witch hazel (excerpt) by Elizabeth Akers Allen
What wizard, wise in spells of drugs and gums, With weird divining-rod Conjures this luminous loveliness that comes As if by magic from the frozen sod? Fearless witch-hazel! braver than the oak That dares not bloom till spring, Thus to defy the frost's benumbing stroke With challenge of November blossoming! And yet it has an airy, delicate grace Denied all other flowers, And lights the gloom as some beloved face Dawns on the dark of melancholy hours. Miraculous shrub, that thus in frost and blight Smilest all undismayed, And scatterest from thy wands of golden light A sudden sunshine in the chilly glade. ***
Crocuses by Hannah Flagg Gould
Down in my solitude under the snow, Where nothing cheering can reach me; Here, without light to see how to grow, I’ll trust to nature to teach me.
I will not despair–nor be idle, nor frown, Locked in so gloomy a dwelling; My leaves shall run up, and my roots shall run down, While the bud in my bosom is swelling.
Soon as the frost will get out of my bed, From this cold dungeon to free me, I will peer up with my little bright head, And all will be joyful to see me.
Then from my heart will young petals diverge, As rays of the sun from their focus; I from the darkness of earth shall emerge, A happy and beautiful Crocus!
Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower, This little lesson may borrow, Patient today, through its gloomiest hour, We come out the brighter tomorrow. ***
The geese go north -- today they see rice fields full of water – Issa
***
Returning geese, have you completely given up on me? – Issa ***
March Poem (excerpt) by William Cullen Bryant
The stormy March is come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies, I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies.
Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild stormy month! in praise of thee; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. ***
For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. ***
Those ten years of sweat: wash them away in the hot springs of Dogo
– Shiki ***
In the cold air Float clouds from the second story Onsen – Natsume Souseki
***
Entering the waters Alone in spring The onsen overflows – Tetsunosuke Matsuzeki ***
The rain begins to fall We seek cover in the onsen – Shoha Kuroyanagi ***
Steam from the onsen If the north wind quieted The mountains would be hidden – Kenji Fukami ***
A train headed for onsen country One cherry blossom falls – Chiharu Yazaki ***
No hina dolls; you are the flower face of peach blossom – Rogetsu ***
This old thatched hut will change inhabitants now - a home with dolls – Basho ***
Unchanging dolls' faces -- I've had no choice, except to grow old – Seifu
***
Let’s light the lanterns Let’s place the peach flowers Five court musicians are playing flutes and drums Today is a joyful Hina Matsuri
March Hare
running streams
heather blossoms
crocuses
spring melt
returning geese
quince blossoms
witch hazel
peach blossoms
peach blossoms
enjoying onsen
Hina Matsuri doll display
Deep Cold
Jan 20, 2022
January 20 - February 2
In this fortifying episode, Alexis and Kit weather the coldest days of the year by taking part in indoor pleasures, admiring the austere beauty of the winter landscape, and looking forward to spring. Hiro’s Corner takes a deeper look at the seasonal phrase “big cold.”
Excerpt from “The Invitation” by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Best and brightest, come away! Fairer far than this fair Day, Which, like thee to those in sorrow, Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough Year just awake In its cradle on the brake. The Brightest hour of unborn Spring, Through the winter wandering, Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn To hoar February born. Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, It kissed the forehead of the Earth, And smiled upon the silent sea, And bade the frozen streams be free, And waked to music all their fountains, And breathed upon the frozen mountains, And like a prophetess of May Strewed flowers upon the barren way, Making the wintry world appear Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.
***
Winter's Beauty by William Henry Davies
Is it not fine to walk in spring, When leaves are born, and hear birds sing? And when they lose their singing powers, In summer, watch the bees at flowers? Is it not fine, when summer's past, To have the leaves, no longer fast, Biting my heel where'er I go, Or dancing lightly on my toe? Now winter's here and rivers freeze; As I walk out I see the trees, Wherein the pretty squirrels sleep, All standing in the snow so deep: And every twig, however small, Is blossomed white and beautiful. Then welcome, winter, with thy power To make this tree a big white flower; To make this tree a lovely sight, With fifty brown arms draped in white, While thousands of small fingers show In soft white gloves of purest snow. ***
I'm January by Annette Wynne
I'm January bringing you A year of days—all brand, brand new; I step upon the frosty ground. When chimes and sleighbells ring around; You welcome me and children sing, And joy comes into everything. I bring you love and lots of cheer, And work and friends for all the year. ***
The winter storm Hide the bamboo grove And quieted away. – Basho
*** Winter solitude— In a world of one color The sound of wind. — Basho ***
Winter Dawn by Amos Russell Wells
The trees are still; the bare cold branches lie Against a waiting sky. Light everywhere, but ghostly light that seems The cast-off robe of dreams; And everywhere a hush that seems to hark At the doorway of the dark. O fields, white-sheeted, desolate and dumb,— If you knew what's to come!
*** Night wind-- the shrine's icicles reflect the lights – Issa
*** The Thawing Wind by Robert Frost
Come with rain, O loud Southwester! Bring the singer, bring the nester; Give the buried flower a dream; Make the settled snowbank steam; Find the brown beneath the white; But whate’er you do tonight, Bathe my window, make it flow, Melt it as the ice will go; Melt the glass and leave the sticks Like a hermit’s crucifix; Burst into my narrow stall; Swing the picture on the wall; Run the rattling pages o’er; Scatter poems on the floor; Turn the poet out of door. *** Excerpt from The House on Pooh Corner by A.A.Milne The more it snows (Tiddely pom) The more it goes (Tiddely pom) The more it goes (Tiddely pom) On snowing
And nobody knows (Tiddely pom) How cold my toes (Tiddely pom) How cold my toes (Tiddely pom) Are growing ***
No fix place to live in my traveler's mind - this little kotatsu – Basho
*** Moving to a new home it really fits perfectly, my old kotatsu . . .
– Buson
***
My true love night after night -- my hot water bottle — Kobayashi Issa
***
All I ask of the world, a hot water bottle - I'm cold! — Naito Meisetsu ***
Clicking of needles - the promise of warmth takes shape in my cold hands — Kit ***
Excerpt from The Winter’s Come, by John Clare
Tis Winter, and I love to read indoors, When the Moon hangs her crescent up on high; While on the window shutters the wind roars, And storms like furies pass remorseless by. How pleasant on a feather bed to lie, Or, sitting by the fire, in fancy soar With Dante or with Milton to regions high, Or read fresh volumes we've not seen before, Or o’er old Burton's Melancholy pore.
***
After the Winter by Claude McKay
Some day, when trees have shed their leaves And against the morning’s white The shivering birds beneath the eaves Have sheltered for the night, We’ll turn our faces southward, love, Toward the summer isle Where bamboos spire the shafted grove And wide-mouthed orchids smile.
And we will seek the quiet hill Where towers the cotton tree, And leaps the laughing crystal rill, And works the droning bee. And we will build a cottage there Beside an open glade, With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near, And ferns that never fade.
***
I Cannot Dance upon my Toes by Emily Dickinson
I cannot dance upon my Toes— No Man instructed me— But oftentimes, among my mind, A Glee possesseth me, That had I Ballet knowledge— Would put itself abroad
In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe— Or lay a Prima, mad, And though I had no Gown of Gauze— No Ringlet, to my Hair, Nor hopped to Audiences—like Birds, One Claw upon the Air, Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls, Nor rolled on wheels of snow
Till I was out of sight, in sound, The House encore me so— Nor any know I know the Art I mention—easy—Here— Nor any Placard boast me— It’s full as Opera—
*** The Poor Trees Stand and Shiver So, by Annette Wynne
The poor trees stand and shiver so, Like ragged beggars in a row, Without a cloak in frost and snow.
I think it's strange about the trees— In summer when there's little breeze They all dress up rich as you please.
No beggars then, but fine and grand Like Princes of a mighty land Across the world in rows they stand.
But now in cold they shiver so Like ragged beggars in a row— Without a cloak in wind and snow.
*** Firwood, by John Clare
The fir trees taper into twigs and wear The rich blue green of summer all the year, Softening the roughest tempest almost calm And offering shelter ever still and warm To the small path that towels underneath, Where loudest winds—almost as summer's breath— Scarce fan the weed that lingers green below When others out of doors are lost in frost and snow. And sweet the music trembles on the ear As the wind suthers through each tiny spear, Makeshifts for leaves; and yet, so rich they show, Winter is almost summer where they grow.
***
A Dream of Summer, by John Greenleaf Whittier
Bland as the morning breath of June The southwest breezes play; And, through its haze, the winter noon Seems warm as summer's day. The snow-plumed Angel of the North Has dropped his icy spear; Again the mossy earth looks forth, Again the streams gush clear.
The fox his hillside cell forsakes, The muskrat leaves his nook, The bluebird in the meadow brakes Is singing with the brook. "Bear up, O Mother Nature!" cry Bird, breeze, and streamlet free; "Our winter voices prophesy Of summer days to thee!"
So, in those winters of the soul, By bitter blasts and drear O'erswept from Memory's frozen pole, Will sunny days appear. Reviving Hope and Faith, they show The soul its living powers, And how beneath the winter's snow Lie germs of summer flowers!
Artwork & Artists Featured in This Podcast
Birds of Paradise by Laura Garcia Serventi
Laura Garcia Serventiis an Argentinian painter and illustrator based in Brooklyn. Her paintings, deeply inspired by her love of the Botanical world, are also related to the memories of her childhood spent in Buenos Aires. Laura's work is always evolving and ranges from large scaled original paintings to affordable art prints, stationary products, editorial work, animation and collaborations with clients such as Pure Sunfarms, Buccellati, Patrizia Pepe, Anthropologie, LeSportSac, Cloudberries Puzzles, Bridgeman Images, Victionary and Charles and Keith, among others. Learn more about her and her artwork on her website.
ELECTRIC DIAMOND is one of the longest-lived electronic performance ensembles - 40 years plus and going strong. It is a reimagining of the classical music chamber ensemble. The group first performed in 1979 playing concerts at Carnegie Recital Hall, Symphony Space, the Guggenheim Museum and other venues of the New York 1970s new music scene. In the mid 1980’s electronic wind player founder Stuart Diamond joined forces with the eclectic, electric keyboard innovator Don Slepian, whose credits and talents are legendary – from artist-engineer-in-residence at Bell Laboratories to the original ambient sound painter for “Music from the Hearts of Space.” Learn more on their website.
Ketsa - Gentle Wave, A Box of Delights, Sorrow of the Sun, Soul Zone, Scattered, Silent Dreams, Forest Friends
Faurepiece
Serge Quadrado - The River Song
Crowander - Overture
Lobo Loco - Mountain Bells
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
February in California (with eucalyptus)
snowstorms
icicles
frost
bare branches
evergreens
reading and indoor pleasures
knitting and knitwear
kotatsu
water bottle / yutanpo
Kit's water bottle cover
beans and oni for Setsubun
oni and ehomaki
Groundhog Day
groundhog
The Winter Solstice
Dec 21, 2021
December 21 - January 5
In this special double-length episode, Alexis and Kit celebrate the long Winter Solstice night with music, recipes, books, and joyful traditions of the holiday season. Together, they look forward to the coming new year: the Year of the Tiger.
The stormy winter's come at last, With snow and rain and bitter blast; Ponds and brooks are frozen o'er, We cannot sail there any more.
The little birds are flown away To warmer climes than ours; They'll come no more till gentle May Calls them back with flowers.
Oh, then the darling birds will sing From their neat nests in the trees. All creatures wake to welcome Spring, And flowers dance in the breeze.
With patience wait till winter is o'er, And all lovely things return; Of every season try the more Some knowledge or virtue to learn.
***
So the shortest day came, and the year died, And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world Came people singing, dancing, To drive the dark away.
— Susan Cooper
***
Excerpt from “Little Gidding,” by T.S. Eliot
Midwinter spring is its own season Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown, Suspended in time, between pole and tropic. When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire, The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches, In windless cold that is the heart's heat, Reflecting in a watery mirror A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon. And glow more intense than blaze of branch, or brazier, Stirs the dumb spirit: no wind, but pentecostal fire In the dark time of the year. …
***
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Since o’er shady groves they hover And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm And (when gay tombs are robb’d) sustain no harm; But keep the wolf far thence, that’s foe to men, For with his nails he’ll dig them up again. — John Webster
***
The north wind doth blow, And we shall have snow, And what will poor robin do then? Poor thing.
He'll sit in a barn, And keep himself warm, And hide his head under his wing, Poor thing. ***
The Yule Cat (Jólakötturinn) - (Abridged) Adapted by Kit, from an Icelandic poem by Jóhannes úr Kötlum (1899-1972) Now listen, and learn of the Yule Cat whose legend is dark and grim; No one knew where he came from Nor what became of him.
His whiskers are sharp as needles, His back arches with furious rage, His claws dart from his shaggy paws As he begins his yuletide rampage.
Hungry and wild, he prowls Through the bitter Yuletide snow; Yet it was not the cold that made people shiver Wherever the Yule Cat did go. Despair befell those who heard the yell Of that huge and vicious Yule Cat. ‘Twas not mice but men he hunted - Everybody knew that.
He preyed upon the very poor who received no new clothes for Yule, Those whose lives were very hard When winter was especially cruel.
So the mothers of the houses all would knit And work their spinning wheels, To make a dress, or scarf, or hat, Or socks with colorful heels.
For you mustn’t let the Cat Get hold of the innocent. The children must have something new to wear Each year, each parent is vigilant.
So when candles were lit on Yule Eve And the cat’s glowing eyes peered in, The little ones showed off their clothes proudly And celebration at last could begin.
Some might get new shoes, Or an apron with a ruffled hem, Whatever was needed, as long as it was new, That would be enough to save them.
The Yule Cat could not eat them, you see, If they had new clothes to put on. He’d growl and he’d hiss, but after this He eventually had to move on.
Is the Cat more than legend? I cannot say; But I can tell you this much is true: As long as each Yuletide you have new clothes to wear He’ll never have to come visit you.
Now you might be thinking of helping Where help is needed most each year. There are children with nothing, remember, Your gifts surely would bring great cheer.
Those who live in a lightless world Sometimes need a little help, it’s clear - So help where you can, and I wish that you’ll have A merry Yule, and a happy new year!
***
even dawn gets closer to the last day of the year - the sound of pounding mochi
— Matsuo Basho
*** to my hut too New Year's arrives... the zoni vendor
— Kobayashi Issa
***
with the poor man who lives next door I share some mochi . . .
— Masaoka Shiki
***
The year ends fast - with the echo of rice-cake pounding I sleep alone.
— Matsuo Basho
***
Every year, I pass the winter solstice alone in a foreign land, Every day, I suffer from depression and sorrow. In this place, I am the poorest and oldest one. Everywhere in the world, families get together this day. With my walking stick, I climb on the hill to watch the snowy scenery, Imagining myself in jade, leaving the palace after meeting with the Emperor. — Du Fu
***
The Winter Spiral by Nancy Foster
Deep Mid-Winter drawing near, Darkness in our Garden here - - One small flame yet bravely burns To show a path which ever turns.
Earth, please bear us as we go, Seeking Light to send a-glow: Branches green and moss and fern, Mark our path to trace each turn. Brother animals, teach us too To serve with patience as you do. We walk with candle toward the Light While Earth awaits with hope so bright: In the Light which finds new birth Love may spread o'er all the Earth. Deep Mid-Winter drawing near - - May Light arise in our Garden here.
***
Christmas Recipe by Amos Russell Witt
Take a cup of thoughtfulness, Take a cup of love, Take the herbs that cheer and bless, Drawn from stores above.
Take a pinch or two of pains, And an ounce of wit, And of secrecy two grains, Just to flavor it. Cook it at the fire of zest, Seeking not your own; You will have the merriest Christmas ever known.
**** Excerpt from “The Candy Country” by Louisa May Alcott
'Gingerbread, Go to the head. Your task is done; A soul is won. Take it and go Where muffins grow, Where sweet loaves rise To the very skies, And biscuits fair Perfume the air.
***
winter chrysanthemum-- heating amazake in front of the window
— Matsuo Basho ***
Picture-books in Winter by Robert Louis Stevenson from A Child’s Garden of Verses
Summer fading, winter comes— Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story-books.
Water now is turned to stone Nurse and I can walk upon; Still we find the flowing brooks In the picture story-books.
All the pretty things put by, Wait upon the children's eye, Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks, In the picture story-books.
We may see how all things are, Seas and cities, near and far, And the flying fairies' looks, In the picture story-books.
How am I to sing your praise, Happy chimney-corner days, Sitting safe in nursery nooks, Reading picture story-books? ***
Lyrics by Alf Prøysen
One should have been four years old in Romjula when the Christmas lights were shining all day long and the world was a house with four walls, where the very bliss was a grandmother’s lap.
***
A winters night O-soji complete A break, at last
— Unknown ***
An argument Over the one piece of paper Which cannot be thrown away
— Babu
***
The Tyger By William Blake
Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? ***
New Year’s Day What I feel, has been too much for words For the words
— Daio ***
New Years Day What luck! What luck! A pale blue sky
— Issa ***
The first dream of the year I kept it a secret And smiled to myself
— Sho-U
***
The New Year by Anon
I am the little New Year, ho, ho ! Here I come tripping it over the snow. Shaking my bells with a merry din – So open your doors and let me in!
Presents I bring for each and all – Big folks, little folks, short and tall; Each one from me a treasure may win – So open your doors and let me in!
Some shall have silver and some shall have gold, Some shall have new clothes and some shall have old; Some shall have brass and some shall have tin – So open your doors and let me in!
Some shall have water and some shall have milk, Some shall have satin and some shall have silk! But each from me a present may win – So open your doors and let me in!
Musicians & Music Featured this Episode
American ensemble Calliope Brass collaborates with the world’s most prominent creatives to build evocative, story-driven concert experiences for a variety of audiences. Inspired by the eponymous storytelling muse in Greek mythology, Calliope Brass (pronounced “Kuh-LIE-uh-pea”) is most known for its innovative approach, successfully expanding upon the more traditional norm of recital-style performances. As a registered nonprofit, Calliope has obtained several grants for performance and educational initiatives since its inception in 2015.
Pounding Mochi
Robin
Winter Spiral
Pepperkakebyen, Gingerbread Town
Gingerbread Town
Charles Dickens
Hot Chocolate
Mulled Wine
Christmas Cake (Japan)
New Year's Decorations, including Mochi
Nengajo, New Year's Cards
O-zoni Soup
O-Sechi Ryouri
Light Snow
Nov 20, 2021
Visit: seasonbyseason.org for more information
First Frost
Oct 23, 2021
Visit: seasonbyseason.org for more information
Autumn Equinox
Sep 19, 2021
September 22 - October 7
In this exuberant episode, Alexis and Kit are joined by Annie Patterson and Peter Blood of “Rise Up & Sing” in discussing songs and music of the harvest season. Our co-hosts explore the community-driven traditions around the harvest and thanks-giving, and celebrations of the equinox around the world. In Hiro’s Corner, we gain perspective on rice paddies drying up.
It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes And roofs of villages, on woodland crests And their actual neighborhoods of nests Deserted, on the curtained window-panes Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests! Gone are the birds that were our summer guests, With the last sheaves return the laboring wains! All things are symbols: the external shows Of Nature have their image in the mind As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves The song-birds leave us at summer’s close, Only the empty nests are left behind, And the pipings of the quail amid the sheaves ****
Autumn, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (excerpt)
Go, sit upon the lofty hill, And turn your eyes around, Where waving woods and waters wild Do hymn an autumn sound. The summer sun is faint on them -- The summer flowers depart -- Sit still -- as all transform'd to stone, Except your musing heart. ***
We’ll stroke the gentleman With our naked sword Wherewith we shear meadows and fields We shear princes and lords If the gentleman will stand beer and brandy The joke will soon be over But, if our prayer he does not like The sword has the right to strike
— Unknown
***
Last night the reapers from their harvest home sang And stored the full garners with Grain The woods and the echoes with merry sounds rang As they bore the last sheaf from the plain
-- By Ann and Jane Taylor and Adelaide O'Keeffe
***
Corn Dolly by Minnie Lambeth
Tis but a thing of straw, they say Yet even straw can sturdy be Plaited into a doll like me And in the days of long ago To help the seeds once more to grow I was an offering to the gods A very simple say indeed Of asking them to intercede That barn and grainery o’erflow At harvest time with fruit and corn To fill again Amalthea’s horn
***
"The king and high priest of all the festivals was the autumn Thanksgiving. When the apples were all gathered and the cider was all made, and the yellow pumpkins were rolled in from many a hill in billows of gold, and the corn was husked, and the labors of the season were done, and the warm, late days of Indian Summer came in, dreamy, and calm, and still, with just enough frost to crisp the ground of a morning, but with warm traces of benignant, sunny hours at noon, there came over the community a sort of genial repose of spirit - a sense of something accomplished." — Harriet Beacher Stowe
***
The Corn Song (excerpt), by John Greenleaf Whittier
Heap high the farmer’s wintry hoard! Heap high the golden corn! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn!
Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from the pine, The orange from its glossy green, The cluster from the vine; We better love the hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow, To cheer us when the storm shall drift Our harvest-fields with snow.
***
Everywhere there are ancestor sprits - everywhere there are spider lilies
— Morio Suzume 森尾雀子
*** Up into the sky a penetrating azure-- red spider lily — Yamaguchi Seishi
***
In the drained fields, How long and thin The legs of the scarecrow
— Buson
***
Gleaning the rice field They work toward The sunny places
--Buson
*** Awakening
Dawn, and I am completely still, weightless In that space where dreams drift away Quietly in the moments of daybreak. My senses, aware something stirs As morning comes bending the light softly To whisper a new day. Imperceptibly, energy breezes in the treetops, A dance that proclaims nature’s presence Before high noon. There is a change in that first cool day That follows a long summer’s heat. A time to listen and watch the differences Fall brings In the parallels to cycle life. The afternoon of recognition, a shift in paradigm. Awake, prepare before day’s end. Bounty comes, before Winter’s night.'
The Seasons in Art
The Harvest by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (1565).
Musicians & Music Featured this Episode
Shelley Otis, Harpist
Shelley Otis is a harpist, pianist, arranger, composer; seven-time winner of the annual Couple’s Choice Award, multi-year winner of the Knot’s Best of Weddings. Alexis first met Shelley when they were seated next to each other in Grenoble, France. When it came time to create this episode, Alexis thought that Shelley’s beautiful harp would be absolutely perfect. Learn more about Shelley and her services on her website.
Roma Ransom
Roma Ransom plays eclectic bohemian world folk-jazz music that aims at transcending our audience and invigorating the crowd with tunes that can transport the listener. Learn more on their website.
Larry Piper
Larry Piper is known on the internet as a spouse, pop, guy in the choir, physical chemist, and computer/web dilettante. He lives in Reading, MA with his spouse and his little Jug dog, Edamame.
He used to sing his children to sleep. But, since his granddaughters live far away, he decided an antidote to their distance was to record a series of 'Grampa Songs', which their parents could then play for them. The selection used in this pod cast is much in the style of 'Grampa Songs'.
Annie Patterson & Peter Blood / Rise Up and Sing
Annie Patterson has a rare voice that spreads hope, stirs your soul and makes you glad to be working together for a better world. She is a singer songwriter, old timey banjo player as well as jazz vocalist with the swing trio, Girls from Mars. Her long time partner, Peter Blood, often accompanies her on fiddle & guitar. Together, Annie & Peter have played a central role in helping create a quiet revolution of group singing in North America. A new documentary film, We Began to Sing, follows their musical journey as well as the work of friend and mentor Pete Seeger in creating peace and social justice through communal singing. Learn more on their website.
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
Higanbana / Spider Lily
Inari
Inari fox messangers
John Barleycorn
Green Corn Dance
Ta no Kami
Terraced Rice Fields
Cider Pressing
Chuseok
Grange Display
Corn Dolly
Grange Display No. 2
Fading Heat
Aug 21, 2021
August 22 - September 6
In this very vegetal episode, author John Forti joins Alexis and Kit to discuss his new book “The Heirloom Gardener.” Our co-hosts take a look at the bounty of the late summer vegetable garden, and admire a beautiful visitor to the garden: the dragonfly.
"The Heirloom Gardener - Traditional Plants and Skills for the Modern World" by John Forti
Published by Timber Press/Workman Publishing.
These days, we all need some good news and a way to participate in meaningful change. The Heirloom Gardeneris a book for gardeners who want to deepen their knowledge and improve life for families, pollinators and wildlife in their own backyards. It’s a love poem to the earth; a map to the art of living intentionally and a guidepost for environmental gardeners and artisans. It unearths old-ways, storied plants and artisanal life-skills; like seed-saving, herbalism, foraging, distillation, ethnobotany and organics which contribute to a new 21st century arts and crafts movement. With woodcuts from Caldecott Medal artist Mary Azarian, The Heirloom Garden offers a dose of wild hope for a weary nation. Learn more.
John Forti is a garden historian and ethnobotanist who has directed gardens for Plimoth Plantation Museum, Strawbery Banke Museum, Massachusetts Horticultural Society, and Bedrock Gardens. As a Slow Food Slow Food USA Governor and biodiversity specialist, his preservation work has helped to restore countless native and heirloom plants and has brought traditional artisanal practices to modern thinking. He has won numerous awards for historic garden preservation, children’s garden design, herbal and historical education, and the 2021 Award of Excellence from National Garden Clubs, the largest volunteer gardening organization in the world. This book was inspired by his posts as 'The Heirloom Gardener - John Forti' which go out regularly to millions on Facebook that value his uniquely curated blend of history, horticulture, environmentalism, poetry, art, kitchen, and garden craft. He gardens and lives along the banks of the Piscataqua River in Maine.
Reviews for The Heirloom Gardener
“The Heirloom Gardener is a book for gardeners who want to engage with nature through pollinators and wildlife in their own backyards. It offers a tapestry of storied plants, artisanal practices, and homestead lifestyles. In its pages, John reminds us that there is always room for an undercurrent when the mainstream gets too big; and empowers readers with a toolkit of traditional and sustainable practices for an emerging artisanal crafts movement, and a brighter future”. Alice Waters, Chef & Owner, Chez Panisse, Founder, The Edible Schoolyard Project
“Rather than dwelling solely in the past, John Forti’s groundbreaking book builds on shared roots to forge a stronger, better, greener tomorrow. Every sentence inspires you to personally become a participant in the evolution. This book is flat out brilliant.”—Tovah Martin, horticulturist and author of The Garden in Every Sense and Season.
Poems Featured in this Podcast
Plant a Garden, by Edgar Guest
If your purse no longer bulges and you’ve lost your golden treasure, If at times you think you’re lonely and have hungry grown for pleasure, Don’t sit by your hearth and grumble, don’t let mind and spirit harden. If it’s thrills of joy you wish for get to work and plant a garden!
If it’s drama that you sigh for, plant a garden and you’ll get it You will know the thrill of battle fighting foes that will beset it If you long for entertainment and for pageantry most glowing, Plant a garden and this summer spend your time with green things growing. If it’s comradeship you sight for, learn the fellowship of daisies. You will come to know your neighbor by the blossoms that he raises; If you’d get away from boredom and find new delights to look for, Learn the joy of budding pansies which you’ve kept a special nook for.
If you ever think of dying and you fear to wake tomorrow Plant a garden! It will cure you
of your melancholy sorrow Once you’ve learned to know peonies, petunias, and roses, You will find every morning some new happiness discloses.
***
"O Spirit of the Summertime! Bring back the roses to the dells; The swallow from her distant clime, The honey-bee from drowsy cells. Bring back the friendship of the sun; The gilded evenings, calm and late, When merry children homeward run, And peeping stars bid lovers wait. Bring back the singing; and the scent Of meadowlands at dewy prime;— Oh, bring again my heart's content, Thou Spirit of the Summertime!"
- William Allingham ***
We have a little garden, A garden of our own, And every day we water there The seeds that we have sown.
We love our little garden, And tend it with such care, You will not find a faced leaf Or blighted blossom there.
-- Beatrix Potter ***
Isabella, or The Pot of Basil by John Keats
And so she ever fed it with thin tears, Whence thick, and green, and beautiful it grew, So that it smelt more balmy than its peers Of Basil-tufts in Florence; for it drew Nurture besides, and life, from human fears, From the fast mouldering head there shut from view: So that the jewel, safely casketed, Came forth, and in perfumed leafits spread.
***
Sunflowers by Grace Hazard Conkling
Sun-flowers, stop growing! If you touch the sky where those clouds are passing Like tufts of dandelion gone to seed, The sky will put you out! You know it is blue like the sea . . . Maybe it is wet, too! Your gold faces will be gone forever If you brush against that blue Ever so softly!
***
Tomatoes by Pablo Neruda The street filled with tomatoes, midday, summer, light is halved like a tomato, its juice runs through the streets. In December, unabated, the tomato invades the kitchen, it enters at lunchtime, takes its ease on countertops, among glasses, butter dishes, blue saltcellars. It sheds its own light, benign majesty. Unfortunately, we must murder it: the knife sinks into living flesh, red viscera, a cool sun, profound, inexhaustible, populates the salads of Chile, happily, it is wed to the clear onion, and to celebrate the union we pour oil, essential child of the olive, onto its halved hemispheres, pepper adds its fragrance, salt, its magnetism; it is the wedding of the day, parsley hoists its flag, potatoes bubble vigorously, the aroma of the roast knocks at the door, it's time! come on! and, on the table, at the midpoint of summer, the tomato, star of earth, recurrent and fertile star, displays its convolutions, its canals, its remarkable amplitude and abundance, no pit, no husk, no leaves or thorns, the tomato offers its gift or fiery color and cool completeness. ***
Tall nettles cover up, as they have done These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plough Long worn out, and the roller made of stone: Only the elm butt tops the nettles now. This corner of the farmyard I like most: As well as any bloom upon a flower I like the dust on the nettles, never lost Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.
-- Edward Thomas ***
The Aster Flower by John Gould Fletcher
Pale on its stalk, the aster flower Exhales its beauty to the night; The dry leaves scatter on the grass, Brown flecks on bits of jade. The haze of autumn hides the trees, To-night shall be turned the hour-glass of my life; Now all my thoughts going homewards In the distance are singing songs of you.
Purple and gold, the aster flower Is an image of my autumnal love: Its golden centre is like a torch To kindle joy in the long still night, A torch of love with violet rays, Grief at its enigmatic heart: Frail clustered flower of my dreams, You shall bloom to-night, you shall bloom to-night!
***
It isn't alone the asters In my garden, It is the butterflies gleaming Like crowns of kings and queens! It isn't alone purple And blue on the edge of purple, It is what the sun does, And the air moving clearly, The petals moving and the wings, In my queer little garden!
-Hilda Conkling
***
I wish I was a dragonfly hallelujah in sungleam.
-- Anonymous
***
Today I saw the dragonfly Come from the wells where he did lie. An inner impulse rent the veil Of his old husk: from head to tail Came out clear plates of sapphire mail. He dried his wings: like gauze they grew; Thro’ crofts and pastures wet with dew A living flash of light he flew.
Alfred Tennyson
*** A Dragonfly, by Eleanor Farjeon
When the heat of summer Made drowsy the land, A dragonfly came And sat on my hand, With its blue jointed body, And wings like spun glass, It lit on my fingers As though they were grass.
***
alert eyes always open -- dragonfly
— Issa *** The start of autumn is always decided by The red dragonfly
–Kaya Shirao
*** Over the flowing water chasing its shadow - the dragonfly
-- Chiyo-jo
***
Zucchini that never came to be, Summer 2021 by Ryan Trump and Caroline Ideus Peel it, spiral it, bake it, fry it, mash it, caramelize it, prepare it and plate it in ways only limited by imagination. The thrill of early summer sprouts with alpine-shaped leaves, crisp orange blossoms hold endless possibilities. The promise of a continued harvest, defiantly unending, until winter dreams clash with the realities of limited imagination. Till it, compost it, mix it, weed it, aerate it, mulch it, prepare and pamper the earth with comfort and routine. Thrill of unexpected garden defeats and surprise harvests. Crisp spring sprouts cut short by unspoken twilight guests, the promise of orange blossoms dashed by wilted leaves. Uprooted hopes of zucchini that never came to be, turned into a renewed thrill of midsummer sprouts and endless possibilities.
Works Referenced & Quotes
“How to Pick a Peach” by John Ruskins, Zucchini chapter
This balmy episode features special guest Elijah Sobel, discussing swimming holes. Alexis and Kit chill out by finding ways to stay cool during record-breaking hot temperatures, focusing on “cooling things” such as iced tea, goldfish, and “uchimizu.” In Hiro's Corner, a refreshing look at the coolness of far-away twinkling lights.
Coming Up in August 2021: The Heirloom Gardener and its author, John Forti
"The Heirloom Gardener - Traditional Plants and Skills for the Modern World" by John Forti
Published by Timber Press/Workman Publishing.
These days, we all need some good news and a way to participate in meaningful change. The Heirloom Gardeneris a book for gardeners who want to deepen their knowledge and improve life for families, pollinators and wildlife in their own backyards. It’s a love poem to the earth; a map to the art of living intentionally and a guidepost for environmental gardeners and artisans. It unearths old-ways, storied plants and artisanal life-skills; like seed-saving, herbalism, foraging, distillation, ethnobotany and organics which contribute to a new 21st century arts and crafts movement. With woodcuts from Caldecott Medal artist Mary Azarian, The Heirloom Garden offers a dose of wild hope for a weary nation. Learn more.
John Forti is a garden historian and ethnobotanist who has directed gardens for Plimoth Plantation Museum, Strawbery Banke Museum, Massachusetts Horticultural Society, and Bedrock Gardens. As a Slow Food Slow Food USA Governor and biodiversity specialist, his preservation work has helped to restore countless native and heirloom plants and has brought traditional artisanal practices to modern thinking. He has won numerous awards for historic garden preservation, children’s garden design, herbal and historical education, and the 2021 Award of Excellence from National Garden Clubs, the largest volunteer gardening organization in the world. This book was inspired by his posts as 'The Heirloom Gardener - John Forti' which go out regularly to millions on Facebook that value his uniquely curated blend of history, horticulture, environmentalism, poetry, art, kitchen, and garden craft. He gardens and lives along the banks of the Piscataqua River in Maine.
Reviews for The Heirloom Gardener
“The Heirloom Gardener is a book for gardeners who want to engage with nature through pollinators and wildlife in their own backyards. It offers a tapestry of storied plants, artisanal practices, and homestead lifestyles. In its pages, John reminds us that there is always room for an undercurrent when the mainstream gets too big; and empowers readers with a toolkit of traditional and sustainable practices for an emerging artisanal crafts movement, and a brighter future”. Alice Waters, Chef & Owner, Chez Panisse, Founder, The Edible Schoolyard Project
“Rather than dwelling solely in the past, John Forti’s groundbreaking book builds on shared roots to forge a stronger, better, greener tomorrow. Every sentence inspires you to personally become a participant in the evolution. This book is flat out brilliant.”—Tovah Martin, horticulturist and author of The Garden in Every Sense and Season.
Want to experience the river with Elijah? Check out his company in New Hampshire: North Country Kayak
About Elijah:
Born and raised in New Hampshire, Elijah fell in love with the White Mountains at an early age with ski trips to Tuckerman’s Ravine and hiking the Presidential Range. When he was a child, his dad, David Sobel stuck him in the front of a whitewater canoe, and he ran his first Class III rapid at age seven. After attending the University of Vermont, Elijah moved to North Lake Tahoe, California. He spent seven years working in the outdoor recreation industry, honing his passion and craft for guiding individuals and groups in wilderness settings. In 2019, Elijah relocated back to Bethlehem, New Hampshire and currently works for Holderness School. His excitement for paddling and experiences on the water is contagious, along with a strong focus on safety for everyone. Inspired by an enduring sense of adventure and the possibilities of sharing his passion with others, Elijah is excited to bring guided trips for all skill levels to the North Country.
Poems Featured in this Episode
Summer Wind, by William Cullen Bryant
It is a sultry day; the sun has drank The dew that lay upon the morning grass; There is no rustling in the lofty elm That canopies my dwelling, and its shade Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint And interrupted murmur of the bee, Settling on the sick flowers, and then again Instantly on the wing. The plants around Feel the too potent fervours: the tall maize Rolls up its long green leaves; the clover droops Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms.
***
Hot Weather Philosophy (excerpt) by J. H. Harding
I only wish I could believe While here in the flesh I moan, That heat is cold and cold is heat, I'd make a temperate zone... I cannot... crawl from out my heated flesh While winds blow through my bones. Yet, I can dream of frost and snow, Icicles and icebergs grand...
***
The first melon shall it be cut into quarters or into round slices?
— Basho
***
if someone comes change into frogs! cooling melons
— Issa ***
the clinking of ice even this tea perspires in sweltering heat
— Kit
*** Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of toast and tea
— T. S. Eliot
***
This edamame bean - it flies for nine centimeters and then enters my mouth
— Shiki
***
With a kitchen knife choosing eels... a cool evening
— Issa
***
Excerpt from The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame:
“The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.”
***
Gently I stir a white feather fan, With open shirt sitting in a green wood. I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone; A wind from the pine-trees trickles on my bare head.
— Li Po
***
The setting sun is shining on the drops of sprinkled water on the road
-- Toru Sakano
***
The bustle of the alleys Is arush with water
-- Mayumi Yoshida ***
As we wait A small breeze alights Off the dampened streets
-- Mieko Takanashi
***
Midday nap-- the scent of lotuses Meanders
— Issa
*** Chased away from my napping spot... mosquito-spurting grass
— Issa
*** Since it's cool down there take a little nap... bottom of the well
-- Issa
***
The melon can't sink completely... the well
— Issa *** The gleam of a goldfish being scooped at a festival stall at night
— Taneda Santoka *** A goldfish seller with a smile on this straight road
— Hirahata Seito
***
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold — That is the madman; The lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt. The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And, as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination, That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Or, in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear.
— William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 5, sc. 1
***
And after seven nights of summer's brightness Weed-month slips into the dwellings; everywhere August brings to peoples of the earth Lammas Day. So autumn comes, after that number of nights but one, bright, laden with fruits. Plenty is revealed, beautiful upon the earth. — from The Menologium of The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
Josh Woodward, Water in the Creek (Instramental version)
Xylo-Ziko, Imagery
Almusic34, Wind chimes harmony
Pistol Jazz, Hi no Tori
James Beaudreau, Plum
Debussy, Pour less agrements
Edoy, Fruition
Summer Solstice
Jun 19, 2021
June 20 - July 7
In this mouth-watering episode, Kit and Alexis celebrate the longest day of the year by dining al fresco! Our co-hosts prepare for picnics and barbecues, consider the outdoor activities of berry picking and fishing, and savor cooling foods. In Hiro's Corner, an examination of what we enjoy about shorter nights.
Summer, by James Russell Lowell. Excerpt from The Vision of Sir Launfal. Now is the high tide of the year, And whatever of life hath ebbed away Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, Into every bare inlet and creek and bay. We may shut our eyes, but we can not help knowing That skies are clear and grass is growing; The breeze comes whispering in our ear, That dandelions are blossoming near, That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, That the river is bluer than the sky, That the robin is plastering his house hard by; And if the breeze kept the good news back For other couriers we should not lack; We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,— And hark! how clear bold chanticleer, Warmed with the new wine of the year, Tells all in his lusty crowing.
***
Summer by Jackie Meyer
At very long last the summer is here! It's barbecue time with coolers of beer, Watermelon slices for children at play Hydrants will soon be exploding their spray!
Laughter is heard from the tables outdoors As merchandise beckons from neighboring stores.
Business booms for my man on the street His cart pictured with colors of great things to eat. Mangoes, papayas, and melons galore! Cherries and berries and so very much more!
Yes! Summer is here, it has finally begun, Let's toast to a future of days in the sun!
***
At Stonehenge by Katherine Lee Bates (excerpt)
Grim stones whose gray lips keep your secret well, Our hands that touch you touch an ancient terror, An ancient woe, colossal citadel Of some fierce faith, some heaven-affronting error. Rude-built, as if young Titans on this wold Once played with ponderous blocks a striding giant Had brought from oversea, till child more bold Tumbled their temple down with foot defiant.
***
Excerpt from “Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: 'Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy: Apples and quinces, Lemons and oranges, Plump unpecked cherries, Melons and raspberries, Bloom-down-cheeked peaches, Swart-headed mulberries, Wild free-born cranberries, Crab-apples, dewberries, Pine-apples, blackberries, Apricots, strawberries;-- All ripe together In summer weather,-- Morns that pass by, Fair eves that fly; Come buy, come buy: Our grapes fresh from the vine, Pomegranates full and fine, Dates and sharp bullaces, Rare pears and greengages, Damsons and bilberries, Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries, Bright-fire-like barberries, Figs to fill your mouth, Citrons from the South, Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; Come buy, come buy.'
***
Are these juice-stained hands mine, or my grandmother’s? Blackberry season
Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb, Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum In the cavernous pail of the first one to come! And all ripe together, not some of them green And some of them ripe! You ought to have seen!
***
The Queen of Hearts She made some tarts, All on a summer's day The Knave of Hearts He stole those tarts, And took them clean away.
The King of Hearts Called for the tarts, And beat the knave full sore; The Knave of Hearts Brought back the tarts, And vowed he'd steal no more.
— Anonymous
***
A handful of cherries She gave me in passing, The wizened old woman, And wished me good luck- And again I was dreaming, A boy in the sunshine, And life but an orchard Of cherries to pluck.
— Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
***
“Les Temps des Cerises” - words by Jean-Baptiste Clément
When are in the time of cherries The gay nightingale and the mockingbird rejoice together. The pretty girls have folly in their heads And the lovers sun in their hearts. When we sing the time of the cherries The mockingbird sing far better.
But the time of the cherries is very short, When we go by two by two to pick hanging earrings, Love cherries dressed in bright red like rubies, Falling under the leaves like drops of blood, But the time of the cherries is very short, Coral earrings that we pick up while we dream!
***
Midsummer, by William Cullen Bryant A power is on the earth and in the air, From which the vital spirit shrinks afraid, And shelters him in nooks of deepest shade, From the hot steam and from the fiery glare. Look forth upon the earth—her thousand plants Are smitten; even the dark sun-loving maize Faints in the field beneath the torrid blaze; The herd beside the shaded fountain pants; For life is driven from all the landscape brown; The bird hath sought his tree, the snake his den, The trout floats dead in the hot stream, and men Drop by the sunstroke in the populous town: As if the Day of Fire had dawned, and sent Its deadly breath into the firmament.
***
Plum-wine making complete A cat arrives — Murayama Furusato
***
Aging plum wine Made for someone
— Nihei Yoko
***
In her pajamas Mom shakes the plum wine bottle
— Sonoko Tamura
***
Heaven, by Rupert Brooke (excerpt) Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June, Dawdling away their wat’ry noon) Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear, Each secret fishy hope or fear. Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond; But is there anything Beyond?
***
In a water basin they nod to each other - gourds and eggplants
— Yosa Buson *** kneading eggplants… purple on salt remains like light after the sunset — Yabuki Nobuhiko *** The parent bee its honey being stolen buzzes near
— Issa
***
The Song of the Bee, by Marian Douglas Buzz! buzz! buzz! This is the song of the bee. His legs are of yellow; A jolly, good fellow, And yet a great worker is he. In days that are sunny He's getting his honey; In days that are cloudy He's making his wax: On pinks and on lilies, And gay daffodillies, And columbine blossoms, He levies a tax!
Buzz! buzz! buzz! The sweet-smelling clover, He, humming, hangs over; The scent of the roses Makes fragrant his wings: He never gets lazy; From thistle and daisy, And weeds of the meadow, Some treasure he brings. Buzz! buzz! buzz! From morning's first light Till the coming of night, He's singing and toiling The summer day through. Oh! we may get weary, And think work is dreary; 'Tis harder by far To have nothing to do.
***
Chopsticks float In the water the end of the somen nagashi slide
— Hakko Yokoyama
***
Into the flow of the somen Nagashi Chopsticks Some skillful, others clumsy
— Yamada Yoshiyuki
*** Nagashi somen I am eating What coolness tastes like
— Junzo Yoshida
***
Moonlight, Summer Moonlight by Emily Jane Brontë
’Tis moonlight, summer moonlight, All soft and still and fair; The solemn hour of midnight Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,
But most where trees are sending Their breezy boughs on high, Or stooping low are lending A shelter from the sky.
And there in those wild bowers A lovely form is laid; Green grass and dew-steeped flowers Wave gently round her head.
Join Alexis and Kit for a sunny day in the garden in this episode celebrating “the season when the weather becomes fine and everything starts to go well,” or Fine Weather. Birdsong and the delight of growing things await us during the brighter days of this fine season. In Hiro’s Corner, we look at three rare kigo of early summertime.
“Sometimes since I've been in the garden I've looked up through the trees at the sky and I have had a strange feeling of being happy as if something was pushing and drawing in my chest and making me breathe fast. Magic is always pushing and drawing and making things out of nothing. Everything is made out of magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us. In this garden - in all the places.”
— From The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett
***
Seed-Time and Harvest by E. Nesbit
I'll plant and water, sow and weed, Till not an inch of earth shows brown, And take a vow of each small seed To grow to greenness and renown: And then some day you'll pass my way, See gold and crimson, bell and star, And catch my garden's soul, and say: "How sweet these cottage gardens are!"
***
Red Geraniums by Martha Haskell Clark
Life did not bring me silken gowns, Nor jewels for my hair, Nor signs of gabled foreign towns In distant countries fair, But I can glimpse, beyond my pane, a green and friendly hill, And red geraniums aflame upon my window sill. The brambled cares of everyday, The tiny humdrum things, May bind my feet when they would stray, But still my heart has wings While red geraniums are bloomed against my window glass, And low above my green-sweet hill the gypsy wind-clouds pass. And if my dreamings ne'er come true, The brightest and the best, But leave me lone my journey through, I'll set my heart at rest, And thank God for home-sweet things, a green and friendly hill, And red geraniums aflame upon my window sill.
***
dressed in a summer robe the pleasant breeze wraps me up -- Nakamura Teijo
***
A seasonal change of clothing-- Travelers through the green fields Slight dots in white. -- Yosa Buson
***
that worm-eaten fan looks charming too -- first summer clothes -- Enomoto Seifu ***
The Green Cornfield, by Christina Rossetti (excerpt)
The earth was green, the sky was blue: I saw and heard one sunny morn A skylark hang between the two, A singing speck above the corn; A stage below, in gay accord, White butterflies danced on the wing, And still the singing skylark soared, And silent sank and soared to sing.
***
To a Skylark, by Percy Bysshe Shelley (excerpt)
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
. . .
Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!
Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then, as I am listening now.
***
May Song, by E. Nesbit
BIRDS in the green of my garden Blackbirds and throstle and wren, Wet your dear wings in the tears that are Spring's And so to your singing again! Birds in my blossoming orchard, Chaffinch and goldfinch and lark, Preen your bright wings, little happy live things; The May trees grow white in the park!
Birds in the leafy wet woodlands, Cuckoo and nightingalebrown, Sing to the sound of the rain on green ground-- The rain on green leaves dripping down! Fresh with the rain of the May-time, Rich with the promise of June, Deep in her heart, where the little leaves part, Love, like a bird, sings in tune!
***
The deep purple and blue of lupines Studded, amid the dewy green of the hills Trimmed, with the wispy grey and white clouds Pinned, against the fresh blue of the sky Billowing, up and up, Mysterious, castle in the air Of childhood
— Alexis
***
From the car seat I spy Regal Lupines, Joyful poppies, Frenzied mustard, Prim buttercups, Rambling Indian paintbrush, Waxy miners lettuce, Dusty asters, Alluring magenta thistles, Hazy blackberry blossoms, These, the roadside flowers
— Alexis
***
Hiding in the forest of broadbeans, Peter Pan
— Kakihara Kanegome
***
Four hands and a bowl Pop, pop, pop go the broadbeans Grandma and I sit
***
Weeds by Edna St. Vincent Millay
White with daisies and red with sorrel And empty, empty under the sky!— Life is a quest and love a quarrel— Here is a place for me to lie. Daisies spring from damnèd seeds, And this red fire that here I see Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds, Cursed by farmers thriftily. But here, unhated for an hour, The sorrel runs in ragged flame, The daisy stands, a bastard flower, Like flowers that bear an honest name. And here a while, where no wind brings The baying of a pack athirst, May sleep the sleep of blessèd things, The blood too bright, the brow accurst.
***
Why, he was met even now As mad as the vexed sea, singing aloud Crowned with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds, With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn- Search every acre in the high-grown field.
— William Shakespeare, King Lear (Act 4, Scene 4)
***
Virtue? a fig! 'tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus. Or bodies are our gardens; to the which, our wills are gardeners; so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuces; set hyssop, and weed up thyme; supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many; either to have it sterile with idleness or manured with industry; why the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills.
— William Shakespeare, Othello (Act 1, Scene 3)
***
Pear and Peach alike decorated with bags, the swallow flies above the field
- Sumio Mori
***
With sharp edges, fruit bags dampened by the rain
-- Toshio Hisaki
***
The red paper of hanging bags, the bungalow
— Awano Seiho
***
The Ladybird, by Enid Blyton
Ladybird, you’re very neat From tiny head to little feet, I like your coat of red and black, I like your clean and shining back. Do you polish it each night To make it shine so gay and bright, Or do you keep a tiny fay Who rubs it up for you each day? Beneath your shiny back there lie The gauzy wings with which you fly, You’re spreading them – oh please don’t go, There’s such a lot I want to know. Your house is burning, do you say? Ah, well, of course, you mustn’t stay!
***
Little Folks in the Grass by Annette Wynne
In the grass A thousand little people pass, And all about a myriad little eyes look out, For there are houses every side Where the little folks abide, Where the little folks take tea On a grass blade near a tree; Where they hold their Sabbath meetings, Pass each other, giving greetings, So remember when you pass Through the grass; Little folks are everywhere; Walk quite softly, take great care Lest you hurt them unaware, Lest the giant that is YOU Pull a house down with his shoe, Pull a house down, roof and all, Killing children, great and small; So the wee eyes look at you As you walk the meadows through, So remember when you pass Through the grass!
***
Garden Dusk by Grace Hazard Conkling
This stillness made of azure And veiled with lavender Must be my daylight garden Where all the pigeons were! Blue dusk upon my eyelids, Your drifting moods disclose The moth that is a flower, The wings that are a rose. Make haste, exhale your sweetness, For you must vanish soon: The garden will forget you At rising of the moon A glory dawns predestined Of old to banish you And bind you fast with rainbows In dungeons of the dew. And who will then remember Your cool and gossamer art? Ah, never moon may exile Your beauty from my heart!
Violist Paul Laraia is enjoying the early stages of a multifaceted career as soloist, chamber musician, and quartet violist. Acclaimed for offering “long lines with lyricsm and poise”, in recent seasons Paul has soloed with the Pittsburgh, Atlanta, Bogata, New Jersey, and Nashville Symphonies, traveled all over the world as a principal member of the International Sejong Soloists, and has given hundreds of performances globally with the rising Catalyst Quartet, which Paul joined in 2013. Additionally, he is in demand as a freelance chamber musician, and has been guest artist at many major festivals such as the Yellow Barn, Sarasota, Festival Del Sole, Sitka, Banff, Grand Canyon, and Vail, where he has collaborated with artists such as Donald Weilerstein, Roger Tapping, Anthony Marwood, Michael Kannen, Maria Lambros, Natasha Brofsky, Daniel Phillips, Barry Shiffman, Robert Vermuelan, Joshua Bell, Gil Shaham, Cho-lang Lin, and Stephan Milenkovich.
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
Fine Weather
Growing things in the garden
Geraniums in a window garden
Gardening
Soramame / Broad Beans
Weeding
Skylark
Skylark in flight
Lupines
Tomatoes
lady bug / lady bird
Grain Rain
Apr 17, 2021
April 18 - May 5
In this bounteous episode, "Grain Rain," Alexis and Kit are full of anticipation for a season in full bloom, beginning with the branching out from April’s ripeness into May’s freshness. Author Winifred Bird joins our co-host for an interview discussing her new book, “Eating Wild Japan” from Stonebridge Press.
Rain Clouds by Elizabeth-Ellen Long Along a road Not built by man There winds a silent Caravan Of camel-clouds Whose humped gray backs Are weighted down With heavy packs Of long-awaited, Precious rain To make the old earth Young again And dress her shabby Fields and hills In green grass silk With wild-flower frills
*** When April steps aside for May, Like diamonds all the rain-drops glisten; Fresh violets open every day: To some new bird each hour we listen.
- Lucy Larcom
***
Spring Patchwork, by Abbie Farwell Brown
If I could patch a coverlet From pieces of the Spring, What dreams a happy child would have Beneath so fair a thing! A centre of the dear blue sky, A bordering of green, With patches of the yellow sun All chequered in between. Bright ribbons of the silky grass Laced prettily across, With satin of new little leaves, And velvet of the moss. In every corner, violets, Half-hidden from the view, With many-flowered squares betwixt, Of pinky tints and blue.. Embroideries of little vines, And spider-webs of lace... With gold-thread I would sew the seams, And needles of the pine; Oh, never child in all the world Would have a quilt like mine!
***
Wisteria trellis-- behind it, in the light wildflowers
-- Issa
*** Wisteria plumes sweep the earth, and soon the rains will fall
-- Shiki
***
Come, let us plant a tree, Tenderly, lovingly, Some heart to cheer. Long may its branches sway Shelter sweet birds alway, Long may its blossoms say 'Springtide is here.'
– Anonymous
***
Arbor Day, by Annette Wynne
On Arbor Day We think of birds and greening trees, Of meadowlands and humming bees, Of orchards far from crowded town, Of heights where streams go tumbling down, Wee mountain rills that sing and play— On Arbor Day.
Of how the tree tops coax the rain From flying clouds till hill and plain Are clean and fresh from sea to sea; We plant a seed; a tiny tree Wakes up and throws aside the clod, And stretches for the climb toward God— We sing a song for the joy of May— On Arbor Day.
***
The Polliwog by Arthur Guiterman Oh, the polliwog is woggling In his pleasant native bog With his beady eyes a-goggling Through the underwater fog And his busy tail a-joggling And his eager ahead agog Just a happy little frogling Who is bound to be a frog
***
May is Pretty, May is Mild by Annette Wynne May is pretty, May is mild, Dances like a happy child; Sing out, robin; spring out, flowers; April went with all her showers, And the world is green again; Come out, children, to the glen, To the meadows, to the wood, For the earth is clean and good, And the sky is clear and blue, And bright May is calling you! May is pretty, May is mild, Dances like a happy child, On a blessèd holiday, Come out, children, join the play!
***
Even while yawning she keeps the tune... tea picking -- Issa
***
Spring Fever, by Charles Andrews Heath
When a feller feels a longing For the medder in his breast. When the robins north are thronging, Where they haste to build their nest. When the frogs peep in the puddle Where I love to hear them sing, Then my brain is in a muddle, For I know it's really spring.
When the double windows smother Us until we want more air; When a protest comes and mother Can't endure them longer there; When we ope the cellar shutters, Kitchen doors are on the swing, Clean the cisterns, fix the gutters― Then I know it’s truly spring.
***
Wisteria dangles to its heart's content... fresh green leaves
-- Issa
***
Wind on the greenery-- coming to see my house the morning sun
-- Issa
***
Voices of the Earth, by Archibald Lampman
We have not heard the music of the spheres, The song of star to star, but there are sounds More deep than human joy and human tears, That Nature uses in her common rounds; The fall of streams, the cry of winds that strain The oak, the roaring of the sea’s surge, Might of thunder breaking afar off, or rain That falls by minutes in the summer night. These are the voices of earth’s secret soul, Uttering the mystery from which she came. To him who hears them grief beyond control, Or joy inscrutable without a name, Wakes in his heart thoughts bedded there, impearled, Before the birth and making of the world.
Music Heard in this Episode
Nomadic by Pictures of the Floating World
Piano concerto, No. 1, 3rd movement by Franz Liszt
Fantasia No. 8 by Georg Philipp Telemann performed by David Hernando Vitores
Wisteria by the Blue Dot Sessions
Grand Duo Cocertant for clarinet and piano, Allegro by Weber
Frog Legs Rag by James Scott
Lark in the Morning by The Atholl Highlanders
Fomalhaut by Pictures of the Floating World
Merry-go-round by Howie and Ann Mitchell
Mono shino sora e by Mekoisu
Julian’s Song by John Pickens
Orecchio di Dioniso by Sergi Boal
Piano Sonato No. 4 op. 7, 1, Allegro molto e con brio by Ludwig van Beethoven
Sonata No. 15 in D Major, Op 28 “pastorale” I. allegro by Ludwig van Beethoven
Eating Wild Japan
About the book: From bracken to butterbur to "princess" bamboo, some of Japan's most iconic foods are foraged, not grown, in its forests, fields, and coastal waters--yet most Westerners have never heard of them. In this book, journalist Winifred Bird eats her way from one end of the country to the other in search of the hidden stories of Japan's wild foods, the people who pick them, and the places whose histories they've shaped. "A beautiful and thoughtful exploration of the deep relationship--past and present--between people and wild plants in one of the world's richest foraging regions."--Samuel Thayer, author of Incredible Wild Edibles and The Forager's Harvest
About Winifred Bird: Winifred Bird is a writer, translator, lifelong cook, and lover of plants both wild and domesticated. For almost a decade she lived in rural Japan, where she worked as an environmental journalist, grew organic rice and vegetables, and ate as many foraged foods as possible. She currently lives with her family in northern Illinois. Paul Poynter (illustrations) is an artist, tree climber, and woodsman living in Matsumoto, Japan.
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
Warabi (Sansai)
Flowering Dogwood
Polliwogs
May Day
Wisteria
Tea Picking
Wisteria Trellis
Spring Naps
Wintering Insects Awake
Mar 06, 2021
March 5 -20
In this invigorating episode, "Wintering Insects Awake," Alexis and Kit are swept away by March winds to the mountains and the seaside as they traverse this season of awakenings. Our co-hosts reflect on a year of Season by Season, while looking forward to the seasons still to come. In Hiro's Corner, a trio of fragrant plants are on the menu: ninniku, nira, and nobiru.
Dear March, come in! How glad I am! I looked for you before. Put down your hat — You must have walked — How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you? And the rest? Did you leave Nature well? Oh, March, come right upstairs with me, I have so much to tell!
I got your letter, and the birds’; The maples never knew That you were coming, — I declare, How red their faces grew! But, March, forgive me — And all those hills You left for me to hue; There was no purple suitable, You took it all with you. Who knocks? That April! Lock the door! I will not be pursued! He stayed away a year, to call When I am occupied. But trifles look so trivial As soon as you have come, That blame is just as dear as praise And praise as mere as blame.
***
March Poem by William Cullent Bryant
The stormy March is come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies, I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies. Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild stormy month! in praise of thee; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me.
For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. And, in thy reign of blast and storm, Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, When the changed winds are soft and warm, And heaven puts on the blue of May.
***
The Mountains in March by Ada A. Mosher
Hark, how in impotent rage old Euroclydon Scourges the bare-shouldered mountains to-night! While their low laughter doth answer to mock the one Wielding the lash that the lash is so light. Laugh they as laughed in his slumber old Ymir, When the great Norse giant's ponderous mace Smote his bare forehead, low muttered the dreamer, "Breezes must blow, I feel leaves on my face." So these grim giants that, hoary and battle-proof, Guard this old pass, spurn Euroclydon's guage; Laugh him to scorn while his anger doth but behoof Sport for these warriors who mock at his rage. Loose are his storm-steeds; the snap of his lariat Maddens to fury the pulse of their speed; Down the deep gorges on thunders his chariot Hot in pursuit of each mane-tossing steed.
***
Quarreling water flows down The laughing mountains
— Katsuo Sekimori
***
The sound of wings flapping As they return to the sky Laughing mountain
— Akira Horimai
***
The old shoji screens Open to let in the light On the day the mountain laughs
— Nojimia Shijin
***
Unveiled by Jessie Belle Rittenhouse
To-day the hills put off their haze And stand so green and clear That every peak remote and strange Is intimate and near. I can make out the very trees That mass upon their sides, And look deep into the white cloud That swift above them rides. But, oh, I would not have them stand Unveiled by blowing air; Give me the blue, blue mists again That make them far and fair!
***
Through clouds of spring mud The mountain road — Nishijima Bakunan
***
The sun sets And the puddles of spring mud Turn gold — Ryōtei Fukuda
***
Splashing in the spring mud You forget your age — Kimiko Kato
***
Above ground and below ground the air is ready for insects to stir.
— Ishii Rogetsu
***
The insects are astir in the garden as I'm sweeping
— Shimada Shige
***
wake up! wake up! and become my friend you sleeping butterfly
— Basho
***
the dandelion sometimes wakes the butterfly from its dream
— Chiyo-jo
***
in my garden the flowering dandelions have a feeling for poetry . . .
— Masaoka Shiki
***
First Dandelion by Walt Whitman
Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close emerging, As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been, Forth from its sunny nook of shelter'd grass—innocent, golden, calm as the dawn, The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful face.
***
Excerpt from "Queen Mab," by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Though storms may break the primrose on its stalk, Though frosts may blight the freshness of its bloom, Yet Spring’s awakening breath will woo the earth, To feed with kindliest dews its favourite flower, That blooms in mossy banks and darksome glens, Lighting the greenwood with its sunny smile.
***
everything I pick up is alive -- ebb-tide
— Chiyo-jo
***
firefly squid ... the Sea of Japan finally shows waves of springtime
— Takaki Susu no Ie
***
A Light exists in Spring Not present on the Year At any other period — When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad On Solitary Fields That Science cannot overtake But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn, It shows the furthest Tree Upon the furthest Slope you know It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step Or Noons report away Without the Formula of sound It passes and we stay —
A quality of loss Affecting our Content As Trade had suddenly encroached Upon a Sacrament.
— Emily Dickinson
***
The Rainbow by Walter de la Mare
I saw the lovely arch Of Rainbow span the sky, The gold sun burning As the rain swept by.
In bright-ringed solitude The showery foliage shone One lovely moment, And the Bow was gone.
***
The Rainbow (excerpt) by Felicia Hemans
E'en now full many a blossom's bell With fragrance fills the shade; And verdure clothes each grassy dell, In brighter tints arrayed.
But mark! what arch of varied hue From heaven to earth is bowed? Haste, ere it vanish, haste to view The Rainbow in the cloud.
How bright its glory! there behold The emerald's verdant rays, The topaz blends its hue of gold With the deep ruby's blaze.
***
St. Patrick’s Day (excerpt) by Jean Blewett
There’s an Isle, a green Isle, set in the sea, Here’s to the Saint that blessed it! And here’s to the billows wild and free That for centuries have caressed it!
A Seasonal Recipe: Chocolate Guinness Cake Recipe
For the cake:
Butter for pan
1 cup Guinness stout
10 tablespoons (1 stick plus 2 tablespoons) unsalted butter
¾ cup unsweetened cocoa
2 cups superfine sugar
¾ cup sour cream
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 ½ teaspoons baking soda
For the topping:
1 ¼ cups confectioners' sugar
8 ounces cream cheese at room temperature
½ cup heavy cream
splash of Bailey's (optional, to taste)
Preparation
For the cake: heat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9-inch springform pan and line with parchment paper. In a large saucepan, combine Guinness and butter. Place over medium-low heat until butter melts, then remove from heat. Add cocoa and superfine sugar, and whisk to blend.
In a small bowl, combine sour cream, eggs and vanilla; mix well. Add to Guinness mixture. Add flour and baking soda, and whisk again until smooth. Pour into buttered pan, and bake until risen and firm, 45 minutes to one hour. Place pan on a wire rack and cool completely in pan.
For the topping: Using a food processor or by hand, mix confectioners' sugar to break up lumps. Add cream cheese and blend until smooth. Add heavy cream, and mix until smooth and spreadable.
Remove cake from pan and place on a platter or cake stand. Ice top of cake only, so that it resembles a frothy pint of Guinness.
Quintet for Piano and Winds by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Garden Tiger by Pictures of the Floating World
Spring by Allister Thompson and Philippa Dowding
Constellations by Siddhartha Corsus
Empire of Light by Siddhartha Corsus
Lute Concerto in D Major by Antonio Vivaldi
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
Yamawarau / Laughing Mountains
Spring mists
Dandelion
Cowslip primrose
Clam digging
Spring Sea
Hatsucho / First butterfly
Rainbow
Garlic
Nira
Nira
Nobiru
Spring mud
The Beginning of Spring
Feb 07, 2021
February 4 - 20
In this hopeful episode, "The Beginning of Spring," Alexis and Kit notice signs of winter's end among the scents of the trees, the songs of birds, and a special, perhaps romantic, feeling in the air. Hiro's Corner takes a look at a boggy perennial.
O thrush, is it true? Your song tells Of a world born anew, Of fields gold with buttercups, woodlands all blue With hyacinth bells; Of primroses deep In the moss of the lane, Of a Princess asleep And dear magic to do. Will the sun wake the princess? O thrush, is it true? Will Spring come again?
Will Spring come again? Now at last With soft shine and rain Will the violet be sweet where the dead leaves have lain? Will Winter be past? In the brown of the copse Will white wind-flowers star through Where the last oak-leaf drops? Will the daisies come too, And the may and the lilac? Will Spring come again? O thrush, is it true?
*** More than shadow Is the wind Returning cold
— Teiko Inahata
*** The return of cold Then the return of cold again Springtime
— Nishiyama Hakun
*** Two hoes hang on the wall Shallow Spring — Murakami Kijo
*** Shallow Spring is coming And already I'm in the garden — Sekitei Hara
***
He Knows No Winter by Sudie Stuart Hager He knows no winter, he who loves the soil, For, stormy days, when he is free from toil, He plans his summer crops, selects his seeds From bright-paged catalogues for garden needs. When looking out upon frost-silvered fields, He visualizes autumn's golden yields; He sees in snow and sleet and icy rain Precious moisture for his early grain; He hears spring-heralds in the storm's turmoil He knows no winter, he who loves the soil.
***
As evening deepens The scent of burning fields Rises in the air — Inahata Teiko *** The morning’s blue sky of Aso Eagerly await The burning fields - Matuso Basho
*** February by Jane [Goodwin] Austin
I thought the world was cold in death; The flowers, the birds, all life was gone, For January's bitter breath Had slain the bloom and hushed the song. And still the earth is cold and white, And mead and forest yet are bare; But there's a something in the light That says the germ of life is there.
***
Evening In A Sugar Orchard by Robert Frost From where I lingered in a lull in march outside the sugar-house one night for choice, I called the fireman with a careful voice And bade him leave the pan and stoke the arch: 'O fireman, give the fire another stoke, And send more sparks up chimney with the smoke.' I thought a few might tangle, as they did, Among bare maple boughs, and in the rare Hill atmosphere not cease to glow, And so be added to the moon up there. The moon, though slight, was moon enough to show On every tree a bucket with a lid, And on black ground a bear-skin rug of snow. The sparks made no attempt to be the moon. They were content to figure in the trees As Leo, Orion, and the Pleiades. And that was what the boughs were full of soon.
***
If not for the call of the bush warbler coming out of the valley, who then would be aware of the arrival of springtime?
— Ôe no Chisato, from the Kokinshū
***
Singing practice every morning with the warbler
— Issa ***
Even the warbler’s voice gets hoarse - snow still on Fuji
— Chiyo-jo
***
The warbler has been perching on that plum-tree for all eternity
— Onitsura
*** A warbler sings so sweet… and by the eaves… plum blossoms
— Buson
***
When the east wind blows, Send me your perfume, Blossoms of the plum: Though your lord be absent, Forget not the spring.
— Sugawara Michizane
*** As on the plum comes blossom after blossom, so comes the warmth of spring.
— Ransetsu
*** All the snow melts -- everywhere the fragrance of wild plum blossoms
— Tagami Kikusha
***
When everything has faded they alone shine forth, encroaching on the charms of smaller gardens. Their scattered shadows fall lightly on clear water, their subtle scent pervades the moonlit dusk.
— Lin Bu
***
Lover cat as a cat in love has its own way
— Nagata Koui
***
While hitting the heads of dandelions cats in love
— Issa
***
Love drunk Chasing after a chicken A male cat
— Issa ***
Plum blossom scent sends him off carousing... lazy cat
— Issa
***
Cats in love when they stop in my bedroom a hazy moon
— Basho
***
Hearts Were Made to Give Away by Annette Wynne
Hearts were made to give away On Valentine's good day; Wrap them up in dainty white, Send them off the thirteenth night. Any kind of heart that's handy— Hearts of lace, and hearts of candy, Hearts all trimmed with ribbands fine Send for good St. Valentine. Hearts were made to give away On Valentine's dear day.
***
1886 ST. VALENTINE'S DAY By Christina Rossetti
Winter's latest snowflake is the snowdrop flower, Yellow crocus kindles the first flame of the Spring, At that time appointed, at that day and hour When life reawakens and hope in everything. Such a tender snowflake in the wintry weather, Such a feeble flamelet for chilled St. Valentine,-- But blest be any weather which finds us still together, My pleasure and my treasure O blessed Mother mine.
***
Pancakes by Christina Rossetti
Mix a pancake, Stir a pancake, Pop it in the pan; Fry the pancake, Toss the pancake— Catch it if you can.
***
Another year is gone with the sound of the firecrackers. Spring is coming, we can feel the warm wind. It is time to drink the tu su wine. On this bright new year’s day, thousands of families are busy. Every family is busy with changing the old scrolls and putting up the new ones.
1/4 cup (25g) cocoa powder (I use Dutch-processed)
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1/3 cup (65g) granulated sugar
1 cup (240 ml) whole milk
3 tablespoons canola or vegetable oil (or 45g melted butter)
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 cup (85g) chocolate chips or chunks
butter or oil , for cooking
Chocolate Ganache Sauce
140 g (5 oz.) bittersweet or semisweet chocolate
1/2 cup (120 ml) heavy cream
Instructions
In a large bowl, sift together flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, and salt (or whisk well with a whisk). Set aside.
In a separate medium bowl, whisk together egg and sugar until well combined. Add milk, oil (or melted butter), and vanilla extract. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir just until combined and moistened. Do not over mix. Mix in chocolate chips or chunks. Set batter aside and make the chocolate sauce.
Chocolate sauce: In a medium heatproof bowl, combine chocolate and heavy cream. Microwave in 20- to 30-second increments, mixing in between, until chocolate is melted and mixture is smooth. Set aside while making the pancakes. I like to pour it over the pancakes while it’s warm.
Cook the pancakes: Heat a griddle or skillet over medium heat. Coat with butter or oil. For each pancake, drop 1/4 cup of batter onto skillet. Cook 1-2 minutes, until surface of pancakes have some bubbles and the bottom appears to be done. Flip carefully and cook another 1-2 minutes. Transfer to a plate and if you want you can cover the plate loosely with aluminum foil to keep warm. Coat the skillet with butter or oil before every pancake or batch of pancakes to prevent sticking.
Serve immediately with chocolate sauce (rewarm sauce in the microwave for a few seconds if needed).
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
Early Cold
Jan 07, 2021
January 5 - 20
In the first Season by Season episode of the New Year, Alexis and Kit prepare for the upcoming year while discussing the season of keeping resolutions, visits from snow crows, windy winter weather, and early growing plants that herald the coming spring. Hiro's Corner takes a closer look at the Japanese calendar and the naming of the month of January.
Little January Tapped at my door today. And said, "Put on your winter wraps, And come outdoors to play." Little January Is always full of fun; Until the set of sun. Little January Will stay a month with me And we will have such jolly times - Just come along and see.
*** The old calendar Fills me with gratitude Like a sutra
- Yosa Buson
***
First calendar sheet - When I turn it I almost feel The globe has moved
- Yaki Tsutomu
***
New Year’s Resolutions (excerpt), by Rudyard Kipling
I am resolved throughout the year To lay my vices on the shelf; A godly, sober course to steer And love my neighbors as myself— Excepting always two or three Whom I detest as they hate me. I am resolved—that vows like these, Though lightly made, are hard to keep; Wherefore I’ll take them by degrees, Lest my back-slidings make me weep.
***
I went to the mountain And found the fires burning After the Coming of Age festival
— Koji Yoshida
*** On Coming of Age Day The snow storm, too Celebrates — Kaga Hosokawa
*** Static electricity from my sweater Coming of Age Day Is here — Keiichi Makino
***
Plough the land, plough the land; Hold the handles with each hand; Furrows keep straight and deep, Firm and steady stand. Quickly turn around we may, Ploughing back the other way; Plough the land, plough the land— Farmers understand.
***
Snow by Adelaide Crapsey
Look up… From bleakening hills Blows down the light, first breath Of wintry wind…look up, and scent The snow!
***
Ode to the East Wind by C. Kingsley
“Welcome, wild nor-easter Shame it is to see Odes to every zephyr Ne’er a verse to thee.
Welcome, black Nor-easer Over the German foam Over the Danish moorland From thy frozen home
Sweep the golden reed-beds Crisp the lazy dyke Hunger into madness Every plunging pike.
Through the black fir-forest Thunder harsh and dry, Shattering down the snow-flakes Off the curdled sky
***
Gently Falling by Emma Louise Clapp Softly from the sky is falling Snowflakes white as lilies fair; Gently to each other calling As they float down through the air. Softly, softly, oh so softly! Do they come from dizzy heights; Gently, gently, oh, so gently! Do they lay a blanket white. Over all the many housetops, Over shrubs and tall, tall trees, Over hills and field and meadows, Hiding stones and restless leaves.
***
When Days Are Crisp and Bright by Annette Wynne
When days are crisp and bright And flakes are downward hurled, O, to wake up in the light And find a white, white world! O, to look out all around On fence, and bush, and hill, And see the snow piled on the ground And on the window sill! It's hard to sit in school all day And work and study hard, 'Twould be such fun to go and play At soldiers in the yard. And build a fort just like the one The picture has with flag unfurled; The summer's good, but O, the fun To have a white, white world!
***
“A Year’s Windfalls” by Christina Rosetti (excerpt)
On the wind of January Down flits the snow, Travelling from the frozen North As cold as it can blow. Poor robin redbreast, Look where he comes; Let him in to feel your fire, And toss him of your crumbs.
***
A crow Which I'd usually hate So beautiful in morning snow.
— Basho
***
Pounding the seven herbs Doesn't drown him out... Crow
— Issa
***
Shepherd’s Purse by Cecily Mary Barker
Though I’m poor to human eyes Really I am rich and wise. Every tiny flower I shed Leaves a heart-shaped purse instead. In each purse is wealth indeed— Every coin a living seed. Sow the seed upon the earth— Living plants shall spring to birth. Silly people’s purses hold Lifeless silver, clinking gold; But you cannot grow a pound From a farthing in the ground. Money may become a curse: Give me then my Shepherd’s Purse.
***
To a Snowdrop, by William Wordsworth
Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they But hardier far, once more I see thee bend Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend, Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day, Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, waylay The rising sun, and on the plains descend; Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May Shall soon behold this border thickly set With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers; Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, Chaste Snowdrop, venturous harbinger of Spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
Music Featured in this Podcast
Béla Bartók - Romanian Folk Dances Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Marriage of Figaro Overture Johann Sebastian Bach - Pythagorean Tuning, Prelude 1 Lobo Loco - Dear Happy New Year Claude Debussy - Toccata for Piano Gabriel Faure - Fantasie Franz Schubert - Octet No. 2 Unheard Music Concepts - Dakota Robert Schumann - A Tale of Distant Lands Johann Strauss II - Tales from the Vienna Woods
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
Heavy Snow
Dec 07, 2020
December 6 - 20
This episode of Season by Season finds Kit and Alexis preparing for the darkening days of winter. Together they discuss cold weather and snow, are cheered by winter birdsong, and find light and warmth in friendship during this merry season. Hiro's Corner explores the snowy landscapes that shape our artistic ideas of wintertime.
Dawn turned on her purple pillow— And late, late came the winter day, Snow was curved to the boughs of the willow. — The sunless world was white and grey.
At noon we heard a blue-jay scolding, — At five the last thin light was lost From snow-banked windows faintly holding — The feathery filigree of frost.
***
It Snows, by Hannah Flagg Gould
It snows! it snows! from out the sky The feathered flakes, how fast they fly, Like little birds, that don't know why They're on the chase, from place to place, While neither can the other trace. It snows! it snows! a merry play Is o'er us, on this heavy day!
To-morrow will the storm be done; Then, out will come the golden sun: And we shall see, upon the run Before his beams, in sparkling streams, What now a curtain o'er him seems. And thus, with life, it ever goes; 'T is shade and shine!—It snows! it snows!
***
I Heard a Bird Sing, by Oliver Herford
I heard a bird sing In the dark of December A magical thing And sweet to remember.
'We are nearer to Spring Than we were in September,' I heard a bird sing In the dark of December."
***
The Cardinal, by Alice E. Ball
When autumn woods are bare and dead, A crested bird, of cardinal red, Sways like an oak-leaf overhead; And sighs, "Drear! drear! Drear!"
When winter woods are white with snow, And drifts pile high as wild winds blow, Like flame this torchlike bird doth glow; And cries, "Whew! whew! whew!"
***
Do all the birds To the southlands go? No! No! Oh, no! Chickadee, Sparrow, Bunting, Crow Care not a whit When the wild winds blow. They care not a whit, They’re sad not a bit, They think naught of it, When the wild winds blow.
(Anon.)
***
Winterberry branch Calls winter birds for breakfast I will feed you now — Amy Ludwig VanDerwater ***
the wren wishes to be in the snow not the blossoms
— Chiyo-jo
***
Dust of Snow, by Robert Frost
The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood And saved some part Of a day I had rued.
*** Excerpt from Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott:
...Mrs. March got her wet things off, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy chair, drew Amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. The girls flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way. Meg arranged the tea table, Jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, over–turning, and clattering everything she touched. Beth trotted to and fro between parlor and kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy gave directions to everyone, as she sat with her hands folded. ***
There’s rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.
- William Shakespeare (Winter’s Tale, Act 4, Scene 4)
*** There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts. -William Shakespeare (Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 5)
***
The Christmas Holly by Eliza Cook
The holly! the holly! oh, twine it with bay— Come give the holly a song; For it helps to drive stern winter away, With his garment so sombre and long. It peeps through the trees with its berries of red, And its leaves of burnish’d green, When the flowers and fruits have long been dead, And not even the daisy is seen, Then sing to the holly, the Christmas holly, That hangs over peasant and king: While we laugh and carouse ’neath its glitt’ring boughs, To the Christmas holly we’ll sing.
***
People, Look East, by Eleanor Farjeon People, look east. The time is near Of the crowning of the year. Make your house fair as you are able, Trim the hearth and set the table. People, look east and sing today: Love, the guest, is on the way.
***
From "The Shortest Day," by Susan Cooper
“So the shortest day came, and the year died, And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world Came people singing, dancing, To drive the dark away.”
***
Night walks with a heavy step Round yard and hearth, As the sun departs from earth, Shadows are brooding. There in our dark house, Walking with lit candles, Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!
Night walks grand, yet silent, Now hear its gentle wings, In every room so hushed, Whispering like wings. Look, at our threshold stands, White-clad with light in her hair, Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!
Darkness shall take flight soon, From earth's valleys. So she speaks Wonderful words to us: A new day will rise again From the rosy sky… Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!
***
The Feast of Lights, by Emma Lazarus
Kindle the taper like the steadfast star Ablaze on evening's forehead o'er the earth, And add each night a lustre till afar An eightfold splendor shine above thy hearth. Clash, Israel, the cymbals, touch the lyre, Blow the brass trumpet and the harsh-tongued horn; Chant psalms of victory till the heart takes fire, The Maccabean spirit leap new-born.
*** In the Window
In the window where you can see the glow of my menorah on newly fallen snow, I will set you one little candle on this, the first night of Hanukkah.
St. Lucia Day Buns
1/3 cup milk 1/4 cup butter 1/4 lukewarm water 1 package dry yeast 1/4 cup sugar 1 egg 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/4 teaspoon saffron 2 3/4 cups flour 1 tablespoon cooking oil 1 egg 1 tablespoon water 24 raisins (currants) 1. Warm the milk in the small saucepan over low heat. Cut the butter into small pieces. Add the butter pieces to the warm milk and stir, then turn off the heat. 2. Measure the lukewarm water into the large mixing bowl. Sprinkle the yeast over the water. Stir well. Set the bowl aside for 5 minutes. 3. Add the warm milk and melted butter to the saffron. Stir in the sugar, egg, salt and saffron. Then add 1 1/2 cups flour and stir until smooth. 4. Add enough of the remaining flour so that you can shape the dough into a ball. Save some of the remaining flour for kneading the dough. 5. Put the dough on the floured cutting board. Dust your hands with flour and knead the dough. Add flour when the dough gets sticky. 6. After 5 to 10 minutes of kneading, you will have a smooth ball of dough. It should spring back when you poke it with your finger. Cover the dough with the towel and let it rest while you wash and dry the mixing bowl. 7. Spread cooking oil in the large bowl. Roll the dough in the oil until it is coated. Cover the bowl with the towel and set in a warm place to rise. After 45 minutes, the dough should be twice as large. If not, check it again in 15 minutes. 8. Punch down the dough. Then divide it into 6 sections. Take one section and divide it in half. Roll each half into an 8 inch rope. Cross the two ropes in the middle. Then coil the ends in tight circles. Shape 5 more buns in the same way. 9. Place the buns 2 inches apart on a greased cookie sheet. Cover with the towel. Let the buns rise for 30 to 45 minutes until they double in size. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees while they are rising. 10. Mix the egg and water with the fork in the small bowl. Brush this mixture lightly over the top of each bun. Decorate the buns with raisins. 11. Bake the buns for 15 to 20 minutes. When the buns are golden brown, move them to the wire rack to cool.
O Frondens by Hildegard of Bingen Peace Christmas by Lobo Loco
Deck the Halls by USAFB Concert Band
Sonata No. 8 by Ludwig Van Beethoven performed by Daniel Veesey
Wind Quintet Op. 78 by August Klughart
Violincello and Orchestra in B Minor by Antonin Dvorak
Flute Concerto in G Major by Carl Philipp Emmanuel Bach
Scherzo by Goens performed by John Michel
Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
The Beginning of Winter
Nov 07, 2020
November 7 - 21
In this brisk episode of Season by Season, Alexis and Kit savor the last moments of autumn. Join them as they kick through the fallen leaves under persimmon trees, prepare their appetites for heartier fare, and learn about the festival of lights Diwali. Hiro's Corner features an interlude with a uniquely autumnal kind of rain.
"November" by Elizabeth Stoddard Much have I spoken of the faded leaf; Long have I listened to the wailing wind, And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds, For autumn charms my melancholy mind.
When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge: The year must perish; all the flowers are dead; The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled!
Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer, The holly-berries and the ivy-tree: They weave a chaplet for the Old Year’s bier, These waiting mourners do not sing for me! I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods, Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss; The naked, silent trees have taught me this,— The loss of beauty is not always loss!
***
a shooting star... unable to use up the length of the vast sky
— Shugyo Takaha
*** Slurping ramen In Kitakata The north wind blows - hyuuuu! —Takasawa Yoichi ***
After a climb To the mountain top A ramen shop —Takasawa Yoichi
*** A jumbo serving of clams For my ramen The cold rain pelts —Akabane Toshiko
***
A cold, gray day, a lowering sky, A lonesome pigeon wheeling by; The soft, blue smoke that hangs and fades, The shivering crane that flaps and wades; Dead leaves that, whispering, quit their tree, The peace the river sings to me; The chill aloofness of the Fall— I love it all!
—Unknown
***
today too, today too autumn rain... mountainside house —Issa
*** Cold Winter shower! See all the people running Across the Seta Bridge
-Josa
*** The scarlet leaves Serve as armor for the mountain Against the rain
—Chobane ***
November Night by Adelaide Crapsey
Listen ... With faint, dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break free from the trees And fall.
*** fallen leaves-- not a single crow is irksome
— Issa
*** the wind has brought enough to build a fire... fallen leaves
— Issa *** The gods are absent everything is desolate among the fallen leaves
— Basho
***
In the Godless Month I wake at night and listen to what gives voice to a storm on this hillside . . . the sound of falling leaves
- Monk Noin (988-1050) ***
The Consent by Howard Nemerov
Late in November, on a single night Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees That stand along the walk drop all their leaves In one consent, and neither to rain nor to wind But as though to time alone: the golden and green Leaves litter the lawn today, that yesterday Had spread aloft their fluttering fans of light.
What signal from the stars? What senses took it in? What in those wooden motives so decided To strike their leaves, to down their leaves, Rebellion or surrender? and if this Can happen thus, what race shall be exempt? What use to learn the lessons taught by time, If a star at any time may tell us: Now. ***
three shadows from persimmons on a stick on the paper door
— Hayu ***
one persimmon droops listlessly... winter rain — Issa
***
on the high branch one astringent persimmon... like old times — Issa ***
Write me down As the one who loved Persimmons
— Shiki
***
Migrating down through northern seas Says the report Time to buy sanma — Toyama no Kanto
*** A gift from the north Grilled sanma
— Chris Mathlos ***
snow crabs ... together to Fukui on a winter trip — Rikei
***
Light by Rabindranath Tagore
Light, my light, the world-filling light, the eye-kissing light, heart-sweetening light!
Ah, the light dances, my darling, at the center of my life; the light strikes, my darling, the chords of my love; the sky opens, the wind runs wild, laughter passes over the earth.
The butterflies spread their sails on the sea of light. Lilies and jasmines surge up on the crest of the waves of light. The light is shattered into gold on every cloud, my darling, and it scatters gems in profusion.
Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf, my darling, and gladness without measure. The heaven's river has drowned its banks and the flood of joy is abroad.
Alexis and Kit take an autumn walk in this episode, "Cold Dew." What autumnal surprises await as they wander through the apple orchard and the pumpkin patch? Will they make it back to the kitchen before October mist sets in? In Hiro's Corner, we take a delightful look at an unusual seasonal transformation.
The rustling of leaves under the feet in woods and under hedges; The crumpling of cat-ice and snow down wood-rides, narrow lanes and every street causeway; Rustling through a wood or rather rushing, while the wind halloos in the oak-toop like thunder; The rustle of birds' wings startled from their nests or flying unseen into the bushes; The whizzing of larger birds overhead in a wood, such as crows, puddocks, buzzards; The trample of robins and woodlarks on the brown leaves. and the patter of squirrels on the green moss; The fall of an acorn on the ground, the pattering of nuts on the hazel branches as they fall from ripeness; The flirt of the groundlark's wing from the stubbles – how sweet such pictures on dewy mornings, when the dew flashes from its brown feathers.
***
vast sky vast earth autumn passes too
— Issa
***
wind is blowing and so the geese are honking — Issa
***
traveling geese-- the human heart, too wanders
— Issa
***
honking geese-- I picture skies over inns
— Issa
***
An early morning Yes, and a single goose Up in the white clouds, nothing more
— Basho
***
Ah, the pine cricket began to chirp, Chin-chiro chin-chiro chin-chiro-rin Ah, a bell-ring cricket also began to sing, Rin-in rini-rin riin-rin They chirp throughout the long fall night Oh, the voices of these funny insects!
— "Mushi No Koe," Traditional
***
“Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is filled with leaves, we have had our summer evenings: now for October eves!” - Humbert Wolfe
***
The leaves are falling In a house one cannot tell, As they go drop, drop, Whether rain is falling, Or whether rain is not falling
— Minamoto no Yorizan
***
The leaves had a wonderful frolic. They danced to the wind's loud song. They whirled, and they floated, and scampered. They circled and flew along.
The North Wind is calling, is calling, And we must whirl round and round, And then, when our dancing is ended, We'll make a warm quilt for the ground.
— Anonymous
***
Fall, Leaves, Fall, by Emily Brontë
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day; Every leaf speaks bliss to me Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow; I shall sing when night’s decay Ushers in a drearier day.
***
Old oak! old oak! the chosen one, Round which my poet's mesh I twine, When rosy wakes the joyous sun, Or, wearied, sinks at day's decline, I see the frost-king here and there, Claim some brown leaflet for his own, Or point in cold derision where He soon shall rear the usurper's throne.
— Lydia Huntley Sigourney
***
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there's a barrel that I didn't fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn't pick upon some bough. But I am done with apple-picking now. Essence of winter sleep is on the night, The scent of apples: I am drowsing off. I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight I got from looking through a pane of glass I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough And held against the world of hoary grass. It melted, and I let it fall and break. But I was well
— Robert Frost
***
Purple the narrowing alleys stretched between The spectral shocks, a purple harsh and cold, But spotted, where the gadding pumpkins run, With bursts of blaze that startle the serene Like sudden voices,—globes of orange bold, Elate to mimic the unrisen sun. — Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
***
Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling, When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin, Glaring out through the dark with a candle within!
— From “The Pumpkin,” by John Greenleaf Whittier
***
No pulse seems to throb, no voice dares to sob Beneath the grey calm of the cloud. No murmur. No sound. Only white on the ground There creeps the thin silence along— Creeps near and more near,—oh, so dim! oh, so drear! Till I shiver, as one who has stood by a bier, And the words die away in my song.
— From "The Fog," by Grace Denio Litchfield
***
If you buy a pomegranate, buy one whose ripeness has caused it to be cleft open with a seed-revealing smile. Its laughter is a blessing, for through its wide-open mouth it shows its heart, like a pearl in the jewel box of spirit. The red anemone laughs, too, but through its mouth you glimpse a blackness. A laughing pomegranate brings the whole garden to life.
— Rumi
***
the garden's chrysanthemum blooms at great pains… fallen leaves
— Issa
***
neck and neck with the mighty lord… chrysanthemum
— Issa
***
This is the feast-time of the year, When plenty pours her wine of cheer, And even humble boards may spare To poorer poor a kindly share. While bursting barns and granaries know A richer, fuller overflow. And they who dwell in golden ease Blest without toil, yet toil to please.
— Dora Reade Goodale
***
FROM HIRO'S CORNER
Sparrows having transmogrified into clams just eaten
— Kai Michiko
Mourning for not becoming a clam: dew on the chrysanthemum
— Natsume Sōseki
Not seeming even afraid to become clams, oh! sparrows
— Kobayashi Issa
The clam has sparrow’s freckles: how piteous
— Murakami Kijō
Method for Roasting Pumpkin Seeds
First, wash the seeds. Remove most of the pumpkin strings and pat the seeds dry with paper towels. Coat the inside of a bowl with butter or egg white then toss the seeds with ½ teaspoon of salt for each cup of seeds. Spread the seeds over a cookie sheet and roast them in a 250 F oven, stirring frequently until brown (approximately 15 to 30 minutes). Let them cool before eating.
The season "White Dew" reflects a changing of the light and the beginning of autumnal journeys for Alexis and Kit; a moon-viewing party brings together famous voices in haiku; and "Hiro's Corner" is particularly fruitful in an exploration of grapes.
Sweet is the voice that calls From babbling waterfalls In meadows where the downy seeds are flying; And soft the breezes blow And eddying come and go In faded gardens where the rose is dying. Among the stubbled corn The blithe quail pipes at morn, The merry partridge drums in hidden places, And glittering insects gleam Above the reedy stream Where busy spiders spin their filmy laces. At eve, cool shadows fall Across the garden wall, And on the clustered grapes to purple turning, And pearly vapors lie Along the eastern sky Where the broad harvest-moon is redly burning. Ah, soon on field and hill The winds shall whistle chill, And patriarch swallows call their flocks together To fly from frost and snow, And seek for lands where blow The fairer blossoms of a balmier weather. The pollen-dusted bees Search for the honey-lees That linger in the last flowers of September, While plaintive mourning doves Coo sadly to their loves Of the dead summer they so well remember. The cricket chirps all day, 'O, fairest summer, stay!' The squirrel eyes askance the chestnuts browning; The wild-fowl fly afar Above the foamy bar And hasten southward ere the skies are frowning. Now comes a fragrant breeze Through the dark cedar-trees And round about my temples fondly lingers, In gentle playfulness Like to the soft caress Bestowed in happier days by loving fingers. Yet, though a sense of grief Comes with the falling leaf, And memory makes the summer doubly pleasant, In all my autumn dreams A future summer gleams Passing the fairest glories of the present!
***
Flowers blossoming in autumn fields When I count them on my fingers then they number seven
- Yamanoue-no-Okura, Manyoshu Imperial Anthology
***
the silence between us a quail finds its way through the underbrush
— Michael Dylan Welch (permission received)
***
By a paulownia tree A quail is crying Inside the garden
— Basho
***
Bush Clover My heart is withered, even dew on the branches of bush clover is futile in the autumn evening.
— Fujiwara Kinmori
***
Dewdrops on a blade of grass, Having so little time Before the sun rises Let not the autumn wind Blow so quickly on the field
— Dogen Zenji
*** travelers set out in familiar grass... autumn dew
— Issa
***
Blowing from the west Fallen leaves gather In the east
— Buson
***
I go, Though stayest; Two autumns
— Buson
***
On a bare branch crows have settled -- autumn sunset.
— Basho
***
They end their flight one by one-- crows at dusk
— Yosa Buson
***
Pines shed their needles-- come mushroom-hunting time who'll be here?
— Issa
***
pine mushrooms live a thousand years in one autumn
— Den Sutejo
*** mushroom hunting--keep to the path within the mountain
— Chiyo-Jo
***
Viewing the moon No one at the party has such a beautiful face.
— Basho
***
Even more so because of being alone the moon is a friend
— Buson
***
straight out of a full moon painting... the geese depart
— Issa
***
whatever you wear becomes beautiful--moon-viewing
— Chiyo-jo
***
Around the lone moon Countless stars the sky now green
— Shiki
***
The moon looks cozier
in the sky when you see it
through the bamboo blind
— Den Sutejo
***
Occasional clouds one gets a rest from moon-viewing.
— Basho
***
the harvest moon hangs over it... rice cake gift
— Issa
***
under the harvest moon awestruck crows curb their voices
— Kawai Chigetsu
***
What a huge one, how splendid it was -The chestnut. I couldn’t get at it — Issa
***
horse chestnut-- how many days till you roll down the mountain?
— Issa
***
Though autumn winds blow It is still green Bur of chestnut
— Basho
***
WE are the roadside flowers, Straying from garden grounds, —Lovers of idle hours, Breakers of ordered bounds. If only the earth will feed us, If only the wind be kind, We blossom for those who need us, The stragglers left behind. And lo, the Lord of the Garden, He makes his sun to rise, And his rain to fall like pardon On our dusty paradise. — Bliss William Carman
***
"September," by Helen Hunt Jackson
O golden month! How high thy gold is heaped! The yellow birch-leaves shine like bright coins strung On wands; the chestnut's yellow pennons tongue To every wind its harvest challenge. Steeped In yellow, still lie fields where wheat was reaped; And yellow still the corn sheaves, stacked among The yellow gourds, which from the earth have wrung Her utmost gold. To highest boughs have leaped The purple grape,—last thing to ripen, late By very reason of its precious cost. O Heart, remember, vintages are los tIf grapes do not for freezing night-dews wait. Think, while thou sunnest thyself in Joy's estate,May hap thou canst not ripen without frost!
***
The Road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.
Brush both sides of the bread with oil and toast or grill on both sides until golden and crispy. Set aside.
Heat a large sauté pan over medium high heat. Add the rest of the oil and 2 tbsp of butter. Once hot, add the garlic and thyme. Cook for 1 minute while making sure the garlic does not get too brown.
Turn the heat to high and add the sliced mushrooms. Make sure not to overcrowd the pan. Cook until the mushrooms are golden brown and deglaze the pan with the white wine.
Turn the heat to medium and cook for 1-2 minutes until the most of the wine has evaporated. Add the stock and cook until the liquids have reduced to half. Add the creme fraiche and 1 tbsp of butter.
Mix until incorporated and season with salt and pepper.
Take out the stems from the thyme and top each toast with the mushrooms and finally drizzle with truffle oil and garnish with chives.
Music Featured in this Episode in Order of Appearance
Band of Shearers performed by Shelley Otis
Season by Season Opening Theme composed and performed by Chris Whittaker
Philippa by Dowding and Allister Thompson (FMA)
Bird in Hand by John Shaw (FMA)
Autumn Sunset by John Shaw (FMA)
September by Kai Engle (FMA)
Yuyake Koyake by Ukou Nakamura. Performed by Chris Whittaker
Grand Duo Concertant by Carl Maria von Weber (Wikimedia Commons)
Pour les agréments by Claude Debussy (Wikimedia Commons)
Tsuki (Moon) performed by Chris Whittaker
Piano Sonata No. 4, 1st movement by Ludwig von Beethoven
Piano Concerto No. 3, 2nd movement by Ludwig von Beethoven
Clear Stream performed by Shelley Otis
Season by Season Closing Theme composed and performed by Chris Whittaker
About the Musician Shelley Otis
Shelley Otis is a harpist, pianist, arranger, composer; seven-time winner of the annual Couple’s Choice Award, multi-year winner of the Knot’s Best of Weddings. Alexis first met Shelley when they were seated next to each other in Grenoble, France. When it came time to create this episode, Alexis thought that Shelley’s beautiful harp would be absolutely perfect. Learn more about Shelley and her services on her website. Visual Examples of Seasonal Words
The Beginning of Autumn
Aug 07, 2020
August 7 - 22
Alexis and Kit bid farewell to summer and welcome in the harvest season in this episode, "the Beginning of Autumn," featuring nostalgic summer fruits, a soundscape of the Dog Days of summer, and an awe-inspiring meteor shower. In "Hiro's Corner," we take a look at a special seasonal fish.
An August Wood Road by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts When the partridge coveys fly In the birch-tops cool and high;When the dry cicadas twang Where the purpling fir-cones hang; When the bunch-berries emboss—Scarlet beads—the roadside moss; Brown with shadows, bright with sun, All day long till day is done Sleeps in murmuring solitude The worn old road that threads the wood. In its deep cup—grassy, cool—Sleeps the little roadside pool; Sleeps the butterfly on the weed, Sleeps the drifted thistle-seed. Like a great and blazing gem, Basks the beetle on the stem. Up and down the shining rays Dancing midges weave their maze. High among the moveless boughs, Drunk with day, the night-hawks drowse. Far up, unfathomably blue, August's heaven vibrates through. The old road leads to all things good; The year's at full, and time's at flood. *
August’s Crown by Michelle L. Thieme Whilst August yet wears her golden crown, Ripening fields lush- bright with promise; Summer waxes long, then wanes, quietly passing Her fading green glory on to riotous Autumn. * Excerpt from the Illiad by Homer Priam saw him first, with his old man's eyes, A single point of light on Troy's dusty plain. Sirius rises late in the dark, liquid sky On summer nights, star of stars, Orion's Dog they call it, brightest Of all, but an evil portent, bringing heat And fevers to suffering humanity. Achilles' bronze gleamed like this as he ran.
*
August by John Updike
The sprinkler twirls The summer wanes The pavement wears Popsicle stains The playground grass Is worn to dust The weary swings Creak, creak with rust The trees are bored With being green Some people leave the local scene And go to seaside bungalows And nearly take off all theirs clothes
* Fog by Carl Sandburg The fog comes on little cat feet.
It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
* autumn fog-- the river beach's pinks barely visible
— Issa
*
Color of the wind Sparsely planted Autumn garden
— Matsuo Basho
*
Autumn wind - More transparent than water Fins of a fish
— Mitsuhashi Takajo
*
Ode to the Onion, by Pablo Neruda
Onion, luminous flask, your beauty formed petal by petal, crystal scales expanded you and in the secrecy of the dark earth your belly grew round with dew. Under the earth the miracle happened and when your clumsy green stem appeared, and your leaves were born like swords in the garden, the earth heaped up her power showing your naked transparency, and as the remote sea in lifting the breasts of Aphrodite duplicating the magnolia, so did the earth make you, onion clear as a planet and destined to shine, constant constellation, round rose of water, upon the table of the poor. You make us cry without hurting us. I have praised everything that exists, but to me, onion, you are more beautiful than a bird of dazzling feathers, heavenly globe, platinum goblet, unmoving dance of the snowy anemone and the fragrance of the earth lives in your crystalline nature.
*
Canning Time, by Edward Albert Guest
There's a wondrous smell of spices In the kitchen, Most bewitchin'; There are fruits cut into slices That just set the palate itchin'; There's the sound of spoon on platter And the rattle and the clatter; And a bunch of kids are hastin' To the splendid joy of tastin': It's the fragrant time of year When fruit-cannin' days are here.
*
The Cardinal Flower by John Burroughs
Like peal of a bugle Upon the still night, So flames her deep scarlet In dim forest light. A heart-throb of color Lit up the dim nook, A dash of deep scarlet The dark shadows shook. Thou darling of August, Thou flame of her flame, ‘Tis only bold autumn Thy ardor can tame.
*
Purple so deep as to make them black: grapes! —Masaoka Shiki
*
Just delivered From my hometown Tasseled grapes
芝宮須磨子
*
a cricket rides unsteadily... horse-shaped eggplant
— Issa
*
Horse-shaped melons and ancestors worshiped together
— Issa
*
Horse-shaped melon -- "Gimme! Gimme!" cries the crying child
— Issa
*
Tanko Bushi Song
The moon, has come out, Oh, the moon is out, heave ho Over Miike Coal Mine has the moon come out. The chimney is so high, I wonder if the moon chokes on the smoke... Heave Ho!
*
one dies out two die out lanterns for the dead
— Issa
*
From "Summer Haibun" by Aimee Nezhukumatathil
There are not enough jam jars to can this summer sky at night. I want to spread those little meteors on a hunk of still-warm bread this winter.
*
Now my loneliness following the fireworks . . . Look! A falling star!
Combine flour, oats and brown sugar in bowl; mix well. Cut in butter with pastry blender or fork until mixture resembles coarse crumbs; set aside.
Combine apples, blackberries, figs, orange juice and orange zest in bowl; toss to coat. Place into ungreased 8-inch baking dish. Sprinkle topping evenly over fruit mixture. Bake 40-45 minutes or until apples are fork tender and top is golden brown.
Serve warm.
Music Featured in this Episode in Order of Appearance
Beau Soir by Claude Debussy Oak by Ben McElroy Toscanini - Scherzo by Berlioz I Recall by Blue Dot Sessions Pour les Agrements by Claude Debussy I, Livre, Preludes by Claude Debussy Organisms by Chad Crouch Within the Fog by Hudson Winds Howl by Ketsa Romance by Anonimo Disappearing Memory by Ketsa Japanese Communities: Night Toad’s Path to the Home of the Dead Sea Stars (Instrumental) by Monk Parker Hymn by Scott Buckley
Summer heats up in this episode of Season by Season, "the Beginning of Midsummer / Minor Heat." Join Alexis and Kit as they appreciate cumulonimbus clouds, get ready to celebrate a star festival and bask in the resplendence of some very special flowers.
Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the gray trout lies asleep, Up the river and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me.
Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee, That's the way for Billy and me.
Where the mowers mow the cleanest, Where the hay lies thick and greenest, There to trace the homeward bee, That's the way for Billy and me.
Where the hazel bank is steepest, Where the shadow falls the deepest, Where the clustering nuts fall free, That's the way for Billy and me.
Why the boys should drive away, Little sweet maidens from the play, Or love to banter and fight so well, That's the thing I never could tell.
But this I know, I love to play, Through the meadow, among the hay; Up the water and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me.
*
the well bucket taken by morning glories: water borrowed
— Chiyojo (Tr. Hiroaki Sato)
*
morning glories -- in the evening, they let us admire their buds — Tagami Kikusha *
from the morning glory’s blossom midsummer begins
— Issa
*
Somewhere where the lotus blooms, the breeze wafts its fragrance, clarifying the water of the pond of my heart.
— Fujiwara no Teika (tr. Hiroaki Sato)
*
The Lotus by Ryokan English version by John Stevens
First blooming in the Western Paradise, The lotus has delighted us for ages. Its white petals are covered with dew, its jade green leaves spread out over the pond, And its pure fragrance perfumes the wind. Cool and majestic, it raises from the murky water. The sun sets behind the mountains But I remain in the darkness, too captivated to leave.
*
The Parasol by Emily Dickinson
The parasol is the umbrella's daughter, And associates with a fan While her father abuts the tempest And abridges the rain. The former assists a siren In her serene display; But her father is borne and honored, And borrowed to this day.
*
in the cloudburst an enormous morning-glory has bloomed! — Issa
*
mountain water shows off a sudden downpour
— Issa (Tr. Chris Drake)
*
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!You sulphurous and thought-executing fires Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And though, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world! Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once That make ungrateful man!
William Shakespeare
*
The Hawk by Paul Hamilton Hayne
Ambushed in yonder cloud of white, Far-glittering from its azure height, He shrouds his swiftness and his might! But oft across the echoing sky, Long-drawn, though uttered suddenly, We hear his strange, shrill, bodeful cry. Winged robber! in his vaporous tower Secure in craft, as strong in power, Coolly he bides the fated hour, When thro' cloud-rifts of shadowy rise, Earthward are bent his ruthless eyes, Where, blind to doom, the quarry lies! And from dense cloud to noontide glow, (His fiery gaze still fixed below), He sails on pinions proud and slow! Till, like a fierce, embodied ray, He hurtles down the dazzling day,— A death-flash on his startled prey; And where but now a nest was found, Voiceful, beside its grassy mound. A few brown feathers strew the ground!
*
The Butterfly's Day by Emily Dickinson
From cocoon forth a butterfly As lady from her door Emerged — a summer afternoon — Repairing everywhere, Without design, that I could trace, Except to stray abroad On miscellaneous enterprise The clovers understood. Her pretty parasol was seen Contracting in a field Where men made hay, then struggling hard With an opposing cloud, Where parties, phantom as herself, To Nowhere seemed to go In purposeless circumference, As 't were a tropic show. And notwithstanding bee that worked, And flower that zealous blew, This audience of idleness Disdained them, from the sky, Till sundown crept, a steady tide, And men that made the hay, And afternoon, and butterfly, Extinguished in its sea.
*
drinking tea alone every day the butterfly stops by
— Issa
*
morning-glories softly floating... in the teacup
— Issa
*
All night the crickets chirp, Like little stars of twinkling sound In the dark silence. They sparkle through the summer stillness With a crisp rhythm: They lift the shadows on their tiny voices. But at the shining note of birds that wake, Flashing from tree to tree till all the wood is lit — O golden coloratura of dawn!— The cricket-stars fade slowly, One by one.
*
The cool breeze Crooked and meandering It comes to me
— Issa
*
Huge trees are many, Their names unknown The voices of cicadas
— Shiki
*
Big rain big moon cicada in the pine
— Issa
*
Birds were few And waters distant The sound of the cicada — Buson
*
The bamboo leaves rustle, And sway under the eaves. The stars twinkle Like gold and silver grains of sand. The five-color paper strips I have written them. The stars twinkle, Watching from above.
*
At Tanabata, Worshipful hearts Are all as one; The threads of prayers Are all our own, each and every one!
— Minamoto Yorimasa
*
The melons are so hot They have rolled Out of their leafy hiding
— Kyorai
*
The melons look cool Flecked with mud From the morning dew
Hydrangeas are blooming, fireflies are flitting, and rice fields are bustling with activity in this season, "The Time for Planting Grains." Joining Alexis and Kit in a new segment is Hiroaki Sato, sharing haiku about a special kigo for this rainy mini-season.
June (from The Poet’s Calendar), by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Mine is the Month of Roses; yes, and mine The Month of Marriages! All pleasant sights And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming vine, The foliage of the valleys and the heights. Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights; The mower's scythe makes music to my ear; I am the mother of all dear delights; I am the fairest daughter of the year.
*
In the evening dusk A single butterfly Hovers above the water mirror — Karahara
***
Amid the summer grasses A single flower Mirrored in the water — Onitsura ***
Cool, cool, Running into the rice paddies Clear water — Socho
***
flute practice the rice fields one and all so green!
— Issa
***
The mosquito smudge Is also a consolation, Being alone.
— Issa
***
A matter for congratulation: I have been bit By this year’s mosquito’s too
— Issa
***
smoking out mosquitoes-- soon the fireflies are gone too
— Issa
***
Fireflies, by Eugene Lee-Hamilton
Now one by one the live winged sparks of night, Like souls allowed to wander as they please Through old loved haunts, go by between the trees In silent zigzags of alternate light; And grow in number, bodiless and bright, So that the eye, too slow to count them, sees Nothing but fire all round; till by degrees Quenched in the dawn, they vanish from the sight. And those more subtle sparks, which they recall, The countless souls with which regret and love Once peopled Death's great night, are they quenched too ? Has Thought's strong dawn, which searches into all, Reached even them, unpeopling Heaven above, To leave us nothing but the empty blue?
***
sparkling fireflies-- even the frog's mouth gapes
— Issa
***
The river alone Darkness is slowing The fire-flies
— Chiyo-ni
***
three raindrops and three or four Fireflies
— Issa
***
with my umbrella I part the branches of the willow trees . . .
— Basho
***
Early summer rain the five thousand five hundredth rented umbrella
— Issa
***
Hydrangea in the season of unlined robes pale blue
— Basho
***
hydrangeas pale blue in the rain blue in the moonlight
— Shiki
***
watching the glow of flickering fireflies at twilight love lingers all the more in a garden colored by hydrangeas
— Fujiwara Ieyoshi
***
A Rose, by Emily Dickinson
A sepal, petal, and a thorn Upon a common summer's morn, A flash of dew, a bee or two, A breeze A caper in the trees, — And I'm a rose!
***
two feet tall, the crimson-budded roses, their young thorns tender in the soft falling rain
— Shiki
***
Wild Strawberries, by Robert Graves
Strawberries that in gardens grow Are plump and juicy fine, But sweeter far as wise men know Spring from the woodland vine. No need for bowl or silver spoon, Sugar or spice or cream, Has the wild berry plucked in June Beside the trickling stream.
***
Summer’s Promise,by Alexis On walks through my quiet neighborhood I would spy you Hanging out on the corner Or over a wall Dark, tall, mysterious With glints of gold I did not know what you were at first But one day, spied you on display Nestled between the grapes Gentle loquat, to me you are The vision of early summer And the taste of all the promise that awaits
***
Poems Featured in Hiro’s Corner
Husband home from work haiku for dinner again
— Alexis Rotella
*** 剥製の鷲の眼光のみ黴びず hakusei no washi no gankō nomi kabizu The mounted eagle: only his glare never molds — Takaha Shugyō
***
黴の香もおろそかならず資料室 kabi no ka mo orosokonarazu shiryō-shitsu The scent of the mold, too, can’t be neglected: the library
In this episode, Alexis and Kit explore the warm beginnings of summer through an array of early summer delights including irises, clouds, and festivals.
Tis like the birthday of the world, When earth was born in bloom; The light is made of many dyes, The air is all perfume: There's crimson buds, and white and blue, The very rainbow showers Have turned to blossoms where they fell, And sown the earth with flowers.
*
Young Lambsby John Clare
The spring is coming by a many signs; The trays are up, the hedges broken down, That fenced the haystack, and the remnant shines Like some old antique fragment weathered brown. And where suns peep, in every sheltered place, The little early buttercups unfold A glittering star or two--till many trace The edges of the blackthorn clumps in gold. And then a little lamb bolts up behind The hill and wags his tail to meet the yoe, And then another, sheltered from the wind, Lies all his length as dead--and lets me go Close bye and never stirs but baking lies, With legs stretched out as though he could not rise
*
The Hen by Lord Alfred Douglas
The hen is a ferocious fowl, She pecks you till she makes you howl. And all the time she flaps her wings, And says the most insulting things. And when you try to take her eggs, She bites large pieces from your legs. The only safe way to get these, Is to creep on your hands and knees. In the meanwhile a friend must hide, And jump out on the other side. And then you snatch the eggs and run, While she pursues the other one. The difficulty is, to find A trusty friend who will not mind.
*
The Month of May by Thomas Dekker
I saw a hundred of shades of green today And everything that man made was outclassed The month of May, the merry month of May Now hello pink and white and farewell grey My spirits are no longer overcast The winter is over and its time to play. *
Rabbit-ear iris it gives me an idea for a poem
— Basho
*
Irises where the rainbow starts from
— Basho
*
The cuckoo singing about five feet of iris leaves
— Issa
*
Mountains are yellow green, pale yellow- a cuckoo cries
— Shiki
* It seems to me as if A little cuckoo could have come flying To aim at deutzia flowers
— Shiki
*
Dawn-- from atop the wheat "cuckoo!"
— Issa
*
The cuckoo singing, flying, singing, ever busy
— Basho
* Night Clouds by Amy Lowell
The white mares of the moon rush along the sky Beating their golden hoofs upon the glass Heavens; The white mares of the moon are all standing on their hind legs Pawing at the green porcelain doors of the remote Heavens. Fly, Mares!Strain your utmost,Scatter the milky dust of stars, Or the tiger sun will leap upon you and destroy you With one lick of his vermilion tongue. *
Kites by Alice Thorn Frost
Up and Up, then down and down, On a breezy day, Jolly kites in colors fine Proudly sail away. Each is held, how wonderful! By a slender string. Children’s laughter, darting kites, Make a day of spring.
*
Carp streamers are higher than the roof The biggest carp is the father The small carp are children Enjoying swimming in the sky Japanese folk song “Koinobori”
*
Both sword and satchel display them in May - paper streamers
— Basho
*
Best friends forever mom and me Picking flowers and climbing trees. A shoulder to cry on secrets to share Warm hearts and hands that really care.
— Anonymous
*
Rhubarb Pie — Anonymous
If rhubarb pie You've never eaten Give it a try It can't be beaten I know what you're thinking Oh how can this be Rhubarb's reminiscent Of red celery How can something This stringy Become a great pie There's a sweet little secret Of that I won't lie It takes lots of sugar A half plus a cup And a third cup of flour To thicken things up An eighth teaspoon of salt And the Rhubarb you add Four cups peeled and chopped Won't turn out too bad Mix it all up And pour in a pie pan Lined with a crust You mixed up by hand Dot it with butter Or margarine is ok Two tablespoons should do At least that's what they say Put on a top crust Flute the edges up high And cut in some vents So the top doesn't fly Sprinkle with sugar And put in to bake At 425 Three-fourths hour Should take When it is done Place on rack for to cool Don't eat it too soon Or you'll get burned you fool When it's just warm Then open the fridge With vanilla ice cream You'll want more than a smidge With milk in a glass Or coffee in cup You might soon discover That you've eaten it up Then go tell your friends That you've found a new gem And maybe next time You'll save some for them!
Music Featured in this Podcast
“Venit tempus“ Words by A.A. Sanborn, Performed by Ruth Cunningham
Venit tempus vernum plena flores, et caritas Dei, et mirantibus tactu frigus. Springtime comes, full of flowers and God's love, with a touch of cold wonder.
“Longing for Spring / Komm, Lieber Mai“ W.A. Mozart, Performed by Madelyn Wanner Salazar
In this episode, Alexis and Kit celebrate the season known as "Clear and Bright," discuss seasonal keywords known as kigo, and share the joys of the beginning of spring around the world.
“Is the spring coming?" he said. "What is it like?" "It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine...”
Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
***
I come, I come! Ye have called me long, I come o’er the mountains with light and song! Ye may trace my step o’er wakening earth By the winds that tell of violets’ birth By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass By the leaves opening as I pass
Ms. Hemans, from a The Nature Notes of an Edwardian Lady
***
Spring has come In all its simplicity A bright yellow sky
— Issa
***
Springtime is upon us. The birds celebrate her return with festive song, and murmuring streams are softly caressed by the breezes.
Antonio Vivaldi
***
All the day long Yet not enough for the skylark Singing, singing
— Basho
***
Voices Above the white clouds Skylarks
— Kyoroku
*** The skylark Hides itself In the expanse of blue sky — Rokuto
***
Spring Song by Lucy Maud Montgomery
Hark, I hear a robin calling! List, the wind is from the south! And the orchard-bloom is falling Sweet as kisses on the mouth.
In the dreamy vale of beeches Fair and faint is woven mist, And the river's orient reaches Are the palest amethyst.
Every limpid brook is singing Of the lure of April days; Every piney glen is ringing With the maddest roundelays.
Come and let us seek together Springtime lore of daffodils, Giving to the golden weather Greeting on the sun-warm hills.
Ours shall be the moonrise stealing Through the birches ivory-white; Ours shall be the mystic healing Of the velvet-footed night.
Ours shall be the gypsy winding Of the path with violets blue, Ours at last the wizard finding Of the land where dreams come true.
***
Hazy moon -- The pine passing through Passing through
— Issa
***
Afflictions of the mind Resembling moonlit haze; It’s one of those nights.
— Natsume Soseki
***
The bell from far away How it moves along in its coming Through the spring haze!
— Onitsura
***
To pluck is a pity To leave is a pity Ah, this violet!
— Naojo
***
How many, many things they call to mind These cherry blossoms!
— Basho
***
In the city fields Contemplating cherry trees. . . Strangers are like friends.
— Issa ***
The cherry blossoms Put the whole world Under a tree
— Watsujin
***
The wind falls, The mountains are clear! Now the frogs
— Oemaru ***
Under the hazy moon, Water and sky are obscured By the frog
— Buson
***
The Frog by William Henry Dawson
Have you ever wished when fretting 'Bout the chilly air of spring, When the days are longer getting And the frogs begin to sing, Have you ever wished that you could Just change places with the frog— Let him shoulder all your trouble And then leave you on the log, In the middle of the mill-pond, Nothing in the world to do? Have you wished you could change places, You be frog and frog be you? He don't fret 'bout rainy weather; If the sun shines he don't cry; He just takes it all together; Happy wet and happy dry.
***
Pear petals fall in a slight wind on Qingming Day, Men and women, old and young, take a trip to look for spring. When the wonderful music and songs ended at sunset, Golden orioles fly through thousands of willows freely.
— Wu Weixin
***
Visiting the graves The old dog Leads the way
— Issa
***
The Great Buddha Dozing, dozing All the spring day
— Shiki ***
A swallow flew out of The nose Of the great Buddha
— Issa ***
By when the thaw comes The first sun is mine The first kiss of April is mine! Rose buds in a vase Leaf and leaf I watch it!
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