- Hawthorn Hill
Hawthorn Hill: The owl, the woodcock and the cuckoo
New Year’s day I headed out for my customary four-mile walk. The onset of a new year has never captivated my celebratory imagination. I agree with Thoreau that waking is a daily effort to throw off sleep and one of the ways I do that is by walking.
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Poetry and planting seed
There has always been a great deal of heated debate about the value of poetry. For me poetry has always provided a very useful service. It abstracts life in such a way that it is possible to stand back a few feet from immediate experience and see it anew through the unparalleled beauty of poetic language.
Crows, ravens, joy, wisdom
Most nights during the spring and summer months Gabby and I sit on the deck to relax after working in the gardens all day.
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Connel Creek litter is a disgrace
Because several of the back roads that I like to walk are not plowed during the winter, walking them until now has been impossible.
- Hawthorn Hill: Reflections Several days ago the health care bill passed. I am glad that it did. It is certainly not a perfect bill and there are aspects of it, especially such shenanigans as the ``Cornhusker Kickback,’’ that rankle. But anyone familiar with any political process, be it village or national politics, knows that in order to get anything done deals are made, compromises are forged, and lofty aspirations often fall prey to more modest, politically achievable results.
- Hawthorn Hill: Cutting back This is a cutting back year for us up here on the hill. The universe may be expanding, but down here on planet earth there is an insistent inner voice that says, like it or not old man, the time has come to stop creating more work for yourself no matter how much you enjoy the fruits of your self-inflicted labors. One of winter’s perennial tricks is casting a veil of forgetfulness over the previous year’s labors. In the past, I would look out my study window about this time of year and imagine all kinds of new projects.
- Up on Hawthorn Hill: He must be at least 100! If beauty is in the eyes of the beholder then it appears that estimates of an individual’s age operate in the same manner.
- Hawthorn Hill: Prefers listening over talking It is no secret to my closest friends that I am not much of a conversationalist. Perhaps I am a reaction to a mother who loved conversation and ranked it right up there with other forms of expression that she revered: theater and art. Ironically, so long as I can stay awake, and no matter how vibrant any conversation might be, my preference has always been for listening.
- Hawthorn Hill: Handed down memories of dad This essay will appear one day after my father’s birthday. I do not have much that is concrete to hang on to since he died when I was two and a half, sixty-three years ago.
- Hawthorn Hill: Issues and the arguments that follow All too often we mire ourselves in unnecessary arguments and debates. There is of course a certain intellectual enjoyment that comes with that particular territory. I admit that there are times when I delight in arguing in defense of an opposing viewpoint just for the pleasure of the game.
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- Hawthorn Hill: The owl, the woodcock and the cuckoo