Monday, 30 December 2013
ICH Blog: Exploring Our Roots: A Heritage Inventory of Newfo...
ICH Blog: Exploring Our Roots: A Heritage Inventory of Newfo...: In 2011, the Heritage Foundation of Newfoundland and Labrador (HFNL) hosted the agricultural-themed folklife festival, Seeds to Supper, ...
Sunday, 17 November 2013
The Song My Paddle Sings
The Song My Paddle Sings
E. Pauline Johnson (1862–1913)
WEST wind, blow from your prairie nest,
Blow from the mountains, blow from the west.
The sail is idle, the sailor too;
O wind of the west, we wait for you!
Blow, blow!
I have wooed you so,
But never a favor you bestow.
You rock your cradle the hills between,
But scorn to notice my white lateen.
I stow the sail and unship the mast:
I wooed you long, but my wooing’s past;
My paddle will lull you into rest:
O drowsy wind of the drowsy west,
Sleep, sleep!
By your mountains steep,
Or down where the prairie grasses sweep,
Now fold in slumber your laggard wings,
For soft is the song my paddle sings.
August is laughing across the sky,
Laughing while paddle, canoe and I
Drift, drift,
Where the hills uplift
On either side of the current swift.
The river rolls in its rocky bed,
My paddle is plying its way ahead,
Dip, dip,
When the waters flip
In foam as over their breast we slip.
And oh, the river runs swifter now;
The eddies circle about my bow:
Swirl, swirl!
How the ripples curl
In many a dangerous pool awhirl!
And far to forward the rapids roar,
Fretting their margin for evermore;
Dash, dash,
With a mighty crash,
They seethe and boil and bound and splash.
Be strong, O paddle! be brave, canoe!
The reckless waves you must plunge into.
Reel, reel,
On your trembling keel,
But never a fear my craft will feel.
We ’ve raced the rapids; we ’re far ahead:
The river slips through its silent bed.
Sway, sway,
As the bubbles spray
And fall in tinkling tunes away.
And up on the hills against the sky,
A fir tree rocking its lullaby
Swings, swings,
Its emerald wings,
Swelling the song that my paddle sings.
Saturday, 2 November 2013
The Mountain Ash
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The Mountain Ash
The mountain ash is red today
against the fir green hill
The berries on the naked bough
are hanging low and still
The sparrows have all gone away
and alder leaves are down
The brooks run dark and lonely now
and brackens withered brown
Come climb the hill this autumn day
to search for tarnished gold
That will reflect in memory
when you and I are old
Life never gives us long enough
to do the things we love
So let us gently thread the path
with mountain ash above
Friday, 1 November 2013
Don't get rid of those leaves - make garden-enriching leaf mold instead | MNN - Mother Nature Network
Here's some of my leaf mold,this stuff is gardeners gold
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