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.
August 22 - September 6In 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. Fading Heat Rediscovered Alexis & Kit Listen and subscribe on Apple and Spotify.Fading Heat Spotify Companion Playlist 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. Poems Featured in this PodcastPlant a Garden, by Edgar GuestIf your purse no longer bulgesand you’ve lost your golden treasure,If at times you think you’re lonelyand 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 forget to work and plant a garden!If it’s drama that you sigh for,plant a garden and you’ll get itYou will know the thrill of battlefighting foes that will beset itIf you long for entertainment andfor pageantry most glowing,Plant a garden and this summer spendyour time with green things growing.If it’s comradeship you sight for,learn the fellowship of daisies.You will come to know your neighborby the blossoms that he raises;If you’d get away from boredomand find new delights to look for,Learn the joy of budding pansieswhich you’ve kept a special nook for.If you ever think of dyingand you fear to wake tomorrowPlant a garden! It will cure youof your melancholy sorrowOnce you’ve learned to know peonies,petunias, and roses,You will find every morningsome 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 scentOf 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 thereThe seeds that we have sown.We love our little garden,And tend it with such care,You will not find a faced leafOr blighted blossom there.-- Beatrix Potter***Isabella, or The Pot of Basil by John KeatsAnd 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 ConklingSun-flowers, stop growing!If you touch the sky where those clouds are passingLike 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 foreverIf you brush against that blueEver so softly!***Tomatoes by Pablo NerudaThe streetfilled with tomatoes,midday,summer,light ishalvedlikeatomato,its juicerunsthrough the streets.In December,unabated,the tomatoinvadesthe kitchen,it enters at lunchtime,takesits easeon countertops,among glasses,butter dishes,blue saltcellars.It shedsits own light,benign majesty.Unfortunately, we mustmurder it:the knifesinksinto living flesh,redviscera,a coolsun,profound,inexhaustible,populates the saladsof Chile,happily, it is wedto the clear onion,and to celebrate the unionwepouroil,essentialchild of the olive,onto its halved hemispheres,pepperaddsits fragrance,salt, its magnetism;it is the weddingof the day,parsleyhoistsits flag,potatoesbubble vigorously,the aromaof the roastknocksat the door,it's time!come on!and, onthe table, at the midpointof summer,the tomato,star of earth,recurrentand fertilestar,displaysits convolutions,its canals,its remarkable amplitudeand abundance,no pit,no husk,no leaves or thorns,the tomato offersits giftor fiery colorand cool completeness.***Tall nettles cover up, as they have doneThese many springs, the rusty harrow, the ploughLong 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 flowerI like the dust on the nettles, never lostExcept to prove the sweetness of a shower.-- Edward Thomas***The Aster Flower by John Gould FletcherPale on its stalk, the aster flowerExhales 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 homewardsIn the distance are singing songs of you.Purple and gold, the aster flowerIs an image of my autumnal love:Its golden centre is like a torchTo 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 astersIn my garden,It is the butterflies gleamingLike crowns of kings and queens!It isn't alone purpleAnd 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 wasa dragonflyhallelujahin sungleam.-- Anonymous***Today I saw the dragonflyCome from the wells where he did lie.An inner impulse rent the veilOf his old husk: from head to tailCame out clear plates of sapphire mail.He dried his wings: like gauze they grew;Thro’ crofts and pastures wet with dewA living flash of light he flew.Alfred Tennyson***A Dragonfly, by Eleanor FarjeonWhen the heat of summerMade drowsy the land,A dragonfly cameAnd sat on my hand,With its blue jointed body,And wings like spun glass,It lit on my fingersAs though they were grass.***alert eyesalways open --dragonfly — Issa***The start of autumnis always decided byThe red dragonfly–Kaya Shirao***Over the flowing waterchasing 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 chapterFlying on Iridescent Wings: Dragonflies in Japan’s Imagination by Selena HoySunflower from UIC Heritage GardenAll About Asters by Fine GardeningThe Heirloom Gardener by John Forti Visual Examples of Seasonal Words Garlic Zucchini Red dragonfly Vegetable Gardens Late summer grass Nightshade Tomato Aster Basil Music Featured in this EpisodeWheel of Fortune (with Les Gauchers Orchestra), Lee MaddefordGoldberg Variations BWV 998, 28 & 29Dill Pickles, Heftone Banjo OrchestraShimmer, KrackatoaQuintet for Piano and Winds, 2 Larghetto by W.A. MozartAcross the Tappen Zee, Glen Jones and Laura BairdBach Prelude & Fugue 7, John Lewis GrantPorto Largo, Alexandre BateirasThe Woods, and a Late Summer Dusk, AxletreePictures of the Floating World, BogongAka Tombo, Chris Whittaker
The Beginning of Autumn Rediscovered
Aug 06, 2024
Show notes
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
Sweltering Heat Rediscovered
Jul 23, 2024
Show notes
July 22 - August 6
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
Show notes
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
Summer Solstice Rediscovered
Jun 22, 2024
Show notes
June 20 - July 7In 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 Solstice Rediscovered Alexis & Kit Listen and subscribe on Apple and Spotify.Want the music to last all mini-season long? Check out our companion playlist on Spotify for this episode.Summer SolsticeSpotify Companion Playlist Poems Featured in this EpisodeSummer, 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 awayComes flooding back with a ripply cheer,Into every bare inlet and creek and bay.We may shut our eyes, but we can not help knowingThat 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 backFor 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 MeyerAt very long last the summer is here!It's barbecue time with coolers of beer,Watermelon slices for children at playHydrants will soon be exploding their spray! Laughter is heard from the tables outdoorsAs merchandise beckons from neighboring stores. Business booms for my man on the streetHis 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 citadelOf some fierce faith, some heaven-affronting error.Rude-built, as if young Titans on this woldOnce played with ponderous blocks a striding giantHad brought from oversea, till child more boldTumbled their temple down with foot defiant.***Excerpt from “Goblin Market” by Christina RossettiMorning and eveningMaids 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 togetherIn 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 handsmine, or my grandmother’s?Blackberry season— Kit(inspired by Margaret Atwood’s "Blackberries")***Excerpt from “Blueberries” by Robert FrostBlueberries 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 HeartsShe made some tarts,All on a summer's dayThe Knave of HeartsHe stole those tarts,And took them clean away.The King of HeartsCalled for the tarts,And beat the knave full sore;The Knave of HeartsBrought back the tarts,And vowed he'd steal no more.— Anonymous***A handful of cherriesShe 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 orchardOf cherries to pluck.— Wilfrid Wilson Gibson***“Les Temps des Cerises” - words by Jean-Baptiste ClémentWhen are in the time of cherries The gay nightingale and the mockingbird rejoice together.The pretty girls have folly in their headsAnd the lovers sun in their hearts.When we sing the time of the cherriesThe 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 BryantA 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 plantsAre smitten; even the dark sun-loving maizeFaints 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 menDrop by the sunstroke in the populous town:As if the Day of Fire had dawned, and sentIts deadly breath into the firmament.***Plum-wine making completeA cat arrives— Murayama Furusato***Aging plum wineMade for someone— Nihei Yoko***In her pajamasMom 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 basinthey nod to each other -gourds and eggplants — Yosa Buson***kneading eggplants…purple on salt remainslike light after the sunset— Yabuki Nobuhiko***The parent beeits honey being stolenbuzzes near — Issa***The Song of the Bee, by Marian DouglasBuzz! 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 sunnyHe's getting his honey;In days that are cloudyHe'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 rosesMakes 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 lightTill the coming of night,He's singing and toilingThe summer day through.Oh! we may get weary,And think work is dreary;'Tis harder by farTo have nothing to do.***Chopsticks floatIn the waterthe end of the somen nagashi slide— Hakko Yokoyama***Into the flow of the somen NagashiChopsticksSome skillful, others clumsy— Yamada Yoshiyuki***Nagashi somenI am eatingWhat 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 midnightBreathes sweet thoughts everywhere,But most where trees are sendingTheir breezy boughs on high,Or stooping low are lendingA shelter from the sky.And there in those wild bowersA lovely form is laid;Green grass and dew-steeped flowersWave gently round her head.***Seasonal Recipes:By kigo:Blueberries: Blueberry Tiramisu “Bluemisu”Gooseberries: Gooseberry, Meadowsweet, and Wild Strawberry JellyPlums: Plum Barbecue SauceApricots: Apricot CompoteEggplant: Grilled Eggplant - or - Eggplant ShigiyakiCucumber: Cucumber and Tomato Salad“Gone Fishin’”: Basil Rosemary Grilled Trout Music Featured in this EpisodeA Midsummer Night’s Dream, Overture via MusOpenMidsummer Meadow Party by Lobo LocoThe Butterfly, Kids on the Mountain by SlanteClarinet Quintet in A Major, K. 581 performed by Musicians from MalboroAmericana Jam by The Underscore OrkestraSummer, Movt. 1, Allefro non molto by Antonio Vivaldi performed by John HarrisonHoneysuckle Rose by Fats Waller performed by Chris WhittakerLes Temps Des Cerises performed by Chris WhittakerFlight of the Bumble Bee via Wikimedia CommonsCalm by Zylo-ZikoA Midsummer Night’s Dream, Nocturne via MusOpenVisual Examples of Seasonal Words Blackberries (Copy) Blueberry Picking (Copy) Juneberries (Copy) Apricots (Copy) Damson plum (Copy) Gone Fishing (Copy) Eggplants (Copy) Grilled Eggplants (Copy) Somen Nagashi (Copy) Nashi Somen (Copy)
The Time of Planting Grain Rediscovered
Jun 07, 2024
Show notes
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.
The Time of Planting Grains Rediscovered
Alexis & Kit
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
May 21 - June 5Join 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. Fine Weather Rediscovered Alexis & Kit Listen and subscribe on Apple and Spotify.Want the music to last all mini-season long? Check out our companion playlist on Spotify for this episode.Fine Weather Companion Playlist Poems & Prose Featured in this Episode“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. NesbitI'll plant and water, sow and weed,Till not an inch of earth shows brown,And take a vow of each small seedTo 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 ClarkLife did not bring me silken gowns,Nor jewels for my hair,Nor signs of gabled foreign townsIn 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 wingsWhile 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 robethe pleasant breezewraps me up-- Nakamura Teijo***A seasonal change of clothing--Travelers through the green fieldsSlight dots in white.-- Yosa Buson***that worm-eaten fanlooks 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 mornA 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 heartIn profuse strains of unpremeditated art.Higher still and higherFrom the earth thou springestLike a cloud of fire;The blue deep thou wingest,And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.. . . Better than all measuresOf delightful sound,Better than all treasuresThat in books are found,Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!Teach me half the gladnessThat thy brain must know,Such harmonious madnessFrom my lips would flowThe world should listen then, as I am listening now.***May Song, by E. NesbitBIRDS in the green of my gardenBlackbirds and throstle and wren,Wet your dear wings in the tears that are Spring'sAnd 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 nightingale brown,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 lupinesStudded, amid the dewy green of the hillsTrimmed, with the wispy grey and white cloudsPinned, against the fresh blue of the skyBillowing, up and up,Mysterious, castle in the airOf childhood— Alexis***From the car seatI spyRegal 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 bowlPop, pop, pop go the broadbeansGrandma and I sit***Weeds by Edna St. Vincent MillayWhite with daisies and red with sorrelAnd 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 seeIs 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 bringsThe baying of a pack athirst,May sleep the sleep of blessèd things,The blood too bright, the brow accurst.***Why, he was met even nowAs mad as the vexed sea, singing aloudCrowned with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds,With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,Darnel, and all the idle weeds that growIn 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 BlytonLadybird, you’re very neatFrom 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 nightTo make it shine so gay and bright,Or do you keep a tiny fayWho rubs it up for you each day?Beneath your shiny back there lieThe 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 WynneIn the grassA thousand little people pass,And all about a myriad little eyes look out,For there are houses every sideWhere the little folks abide,Where the little folks take teaOn a grass blade near a tree;Where they hold their Sabbath meetings,Pass each other, giving greetings,So remember when you passThrough the grass;Little folks are everywhere;Walk quite softly, take great careLest you hurt them unaware,Lest the giant that is YOUPull a house down with his shoe,Pull a house down, roof and all,Killing children, great and small;So the wee eyes look at youAs you walk the meadows through,So remember when you passThrough the grass!***Garden Dusk by Grace Hazard ConklingThis stillness made of azureAnd veiled with lavenderMust be my daylight gardenWhere all the pigeons were!Blue dusk upon my eyelids,Your drifting moods discloseThe 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 youAt rising of the moonA glory dawns predestinedOf old to banish youAnd bind you fast with rainbowsIn dungeons of the dew.And who will then rememberYour cool and gossamer art?Ah, never moon may exileYour beauty from my heart! Music Heard in this EpisodePaul Laraia, Theme of Fine Weather I & IIBerceuse by Frederick Chopin, performed by Christine HartleyBach, Awake the Voice Commands, BusoniOpus 1, part 4, adagio con dolore (Vaterlands-Bluthen)Ludwig von Beethoven, Sonata WaldsteinUS Coast Guard Band: At the Jazz Band BallDebussy, Pour Les AgrementsDebussy, Preludes Book 2 Paul LauriaViolist 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
Show notes
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
Show notes
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
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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
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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
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The bell from far away How it moves along in its coming Through the spring haze!
— Onitsura
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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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