Posted in Place, Poetry, Practice, Wake Up, tagged cities, micropoetry, Minneapolis at night, night owls, rivers on May 11, 2013 | 1 Comment »
Minneapolis At Night: Crossing The Mississippi, Droid Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, April 2013, photos © 2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Lost city of lakes—
an Instagram river ignites
your Polaroid skies.
Mississippi churning
across the dark drive home
a mist quietly settles.
-posted on red Ravine, Saturday, May 11th, 2013
Posted in Food, Nature, Place, Practice, Seasons, Writing Topics, tagged an apple a day, healthy snacks, history of the Ambrosia apple, history of the Honeycrisp apple, history of the KIKU apple, images of apples, kinds of apples, Seven Deadly Sins, the practice of writing, variety, writing about apples, writing about food, writing topic on March 3, 2013 | 1 Comment »
The Honeycrisp Apple, Archive 365, Droid Shots, The Minnesota Landscape Arboretum, Chaska, Minnesota, September 2012, photos © 2012-2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Apples were a crisp, healthy snack when I was growing up. The apple varieties I was most familiar with then were Red Delicious and Granny Smiths. On a recent trip to the grocery store, I was introduced to two apples I had never tasted before: the KIKU and the Ambrosia. If you draw a thermometer and add a scale from sweet to tart, here’s where they fit in: SWEET — KIKU, Fuji, Ambrosia, Gala, Jonagold, Cameo, Golden Delicious, Red Delicious, Honeycrisp, Kanzi, Braeburn, Pink Lady, Granny Smith — TART.
Apples are closely linked to place, and many of us are familiar with the Gala from New Zealand or the Fuji from Japan (both developed in the 1930s). In the history of the apple industry, the three varieties I favor are relatively new to the world. The Ambrosia originated in the 1990s in the Similkameen Valley of British Columbia, Canada where the Mother Tree still lives. Local favorite the Honeycrisp was developed by the University of Minnesota and introduced in 1991. The Honeycrisp is a cross between a Macoun and a Honeygold (the Honeygold itself a cross between the Golden Delicious and Haralson). The KIKU came about in 1990 when Luis Braun, the South Tyrolean apple expert, was traveling through Japan and discovered a branch in an orchard, which a few years later would become the sweet KIKU apple.
What’s your favorite apple?
Where does your mind go when I say apple? Is it your first bite of a lunchtime snack, a trip where you picked orchard apples with your family, or the smell of fresh apple pie right out of the oven (check out this great apple pie recipe from ybonesy: 1-2-3! Apple Pie Gluten-Free!). Are you reminded of a computer company? Or perhaps a certain snake and the precursor to the Seven Deadly Sins (another good Writing Topic). Do you believe the adage, An apple a day keeps the doctor away?
Let your mind wander to all the places where apples grow, and capture your impressions in a Writing Practice.
Apple, 15 minutes, Go!
The KIKU Apple, Archive 365, Droid Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, March 2013, photos © 2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
RESOURCES:
History of the Honeycrisp Apple – New Kid On The Block at Wood Orchard Market
History of the Ambrosia Apple - Ambrosia History at Ambrosia Organic
History of the KIKU Apple – Story – 20 Years at Kiku Apple
-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, March 3rd, 2013
Posted in Bones, Dreams, Life, Love, Photography, Poetry, Practice, Wake Up, Writers, tagged Archive 365, haiga, keys, letting go, Letting Go of What Cannot Be Held Back, life lessons, pensive days, reflective, Royal typewriter, senryu, the practice of poetry, the writer's life, turning the key, vintage typewriters on March 2, 2013 | Leave a Comment »
Royal – 152/365, Archive 365, BlackBerry Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota,
February 2011, photos © 2011-2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Midwestern writer
pretending to understand –
what love left behind.
-posted on red Ravine, Saturday, March 2nd, 2013
Posted in Architecture, Art, Great Places To Write, On the Road, Photography, Place, Practice, Structure, Things That Fly, Travel, Vision, Writers, tagged 1994, birdies, Claes Oldenburg, collaborative art, Coosje Van Bruggen, Kansas City, Missouri, museums, museums as inspiration, Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, places I find inspiration, sculptors, sculpture, self-propelled writing retreats, Shuttlecocks, slow walking, Spoonbridge and Cherry, stepping out of silence, symbols, the practice of photography, the practice of writing, the value of slowing down, the value of the Arts, Wight & Wight on January 13, 2013 | 2 Comments »
Shuttlecocks, 1994 – 34/365, Archive 365, Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri, April 2009, photo © 2009-2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
At a writing retreat in 2009, our host took us to the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City, Missouri. Like we had done at museums in New Mexico with Natalie Goldberg (see Diebenkorn Leaves Taos – Museum Walking Lives On), we walked around in silence, then gathered in front of the museum to do Writing Practice. I like the practice of taking photographs in the silence; this photo of the sculpture Shuttlecocks was snapped on a slow walk around the museum grounds. Museums are energizing places to find inspiration for writing and art.
The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art is a neoclassic structure designed by Kansas City architects Wight and Wight. Groundbreaking took place on July 16, 1930. The sculpture Shuttlecocks was created by husband and wife team Claes Oldenburg (American, born Sweden 1929) and Coosje van Bruggen (American, born The Netherlands, 1942), the same pair that created the Minneapolis sculpture, Spoonbridge & Cherry at the Walker (see my foggy winter photograph of Spoonbridge & Cherry in the piece White Elephants On Art). It is the scale of these sculptures that draws me in.
According to Nelson-Atkins, when Oldenburg and van Bruggen were commissioned in 1994 to design a sculpture for the space, they responded to the formality of the original neoclassical building and the green expanse of its lawn by imagining the museum as a badminton net and the lawn as a playing field. The pair designed four birdies or shuttlecocks (made out of aluminum, paint, and fiberglass-reinforced plastic) that were placed as though they had just landed on opposite sides of the net. Each shuttlecock weighs 5,500 pounds, stands nearly 18 feet tall, and has a diameter of 16 feet.
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ARCHIVE 365: Archive 365 is a photo collaboration between skywire7 and QuoinMonkey featuring images from our archives. We will alternate posting once a day in our Flickr sets from July 1st 2012 through June 30th 2013. You can view our photographs at skywire7 Archive 365 set on Flickr and QuoinMonkey Archive 365 set on Flickr.
-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, January 13th, 2013
Posted in Art, Haiku, Practice, Wake Up, tagged Archive 365, haiga, senryu, shadows & light on January 6, 2013 | 7 Comments »
Car Wash – 188/365, Archive 365, BlackBerry Shots, Brooklyn Park, Minnesota, February 2011, photos © 2011-2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
below blue water
underneath her deep veneer—
bundles of wet light.
-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, January 6th, 2013
Posted in Culture, Dreams, Haiku, Holding My Breath, Holidays, Home, Life, Love, Place, Poetry, Practice, Reading, Wake Up, tagged A Child's Christmas in Wales, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Dylan Thomas, haibun, haibun for Dylan Thomas, words to the close & holy darkness on December 25, 2012 | Leave a Comment »
Santa At Holidazzle – 178/365, Archive 365, Droid Shots, December 2012, Downtown Minneapolis, Minnesota, photo © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Christmas Day. Presents opened, eggnog half gone, phone calls East and West. Longing, joy, gratitude, loss. What to leave behind, what to keep. Emptiness. Love.
Reading Dylan Thomas aloud, Christmas Eve. The moon-buried sky over a village churchyard in Laugharne. The close and holy darkness must have haunted him. A child’s sugarplum dreams—tufted hooves flick mediæval snow off the rooftop Castle of Abercorran.
Waiting for Santa—
the frigid windless night
soothes and comforts me.
Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steadily falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept. –Dylan Thomas, A Child’s Christmas in Wales
Laugharne is a town in Carmarthenshire, Wales on the estuary of the River Tâf, and home to Dylan Thomas from 1949 until his death in 1953. Thought to have been an inspiration for the fictional town of Llareggub in Under Milk Wood, the Township was originally known as Abercorran. The name was changed to Laugharne after the English Civil War.
-posted on red Ravine, Tuesday, December 25th, 2012
Posted in Bones, Death, Dreams, Gratitude, Holidays, Nature, Practice, Seasons, Wake Up, tagged Ancient Trees, celebrating Winter Solstice, Christmas traditions, Christmas trees, circle of life, famous trees, future memories, memories of trees, navigating winter, shadows & light, value of trees, Winter Solstice, Yule tree on December 21, 2012 | 6 Comments »
Yule Tree, Minneapolis, Minnesota, photo © 2012
by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
No snow buried the ground the day we cut the Winter Yule. Huffing and puffing, we took turns severing trunk from tangled roots. Last summer we had a landscaper install a French drain that streams into the concave hollow of a rain garden we will plant next spring. The energy company marked the lines before digging; that’s when we discovered the blue spruce growing over our gas line. It would have to be removed.
In mid-December, I said to Liz, “Let’s make the spruce our Yule tree.” The handsaw wasn’t far behind. The tree is almost 4 1/2 feet tall with a wide berth that tapers to a slight curve at the top. She grew from a seedling, probably dropped by a songbird that made a pit stop on the mature spruce nearby. Trunk rings indicate that it took six years for this tree to grow 52 inches with a one and 1/2 inch base. Trees are slow and deliberate. They are the slow walkers of the forest.
Growth Rings, Minneapolis, Minnesota, photo © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Tree lovers like Liz and I will travel great distances to see hardwoods, softwoods, evergreens, and conifers in their prime. We have visited the oldest red and white pines in Itasca State Park in northern Minnesota, birthplace of the Mississippi River. We have sweated under live oaks near Flannery O’Connor’s childhood home in Savannah, photographed an old gingko at the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum in Chaska, and attended a community gathering celebrating the life and death of a 333-year-old Burr Oak near the Franklin Avenue bridge in Minneapolis. On a trip to New Mexico, I stood under the Lawrence tree painted by Georgia O’Keeffe at Kiowa Ranch. In Georgia, my mother and I talked family history under a ginkgo by the Old Government House that was planted in 1791 in commemoration of a visit by George Washington.
Saw, Minneapolis, Minnesota, photo © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Trees are important to the spiritual aspect of our lives. I can’t imagine a world without trees. Today we celebrate the longest night of the year, Winter Solstice. Tuesday we will celebrate Christmas. The blue spruce in our living room leaves an empty space in the garden. Though wistful when she fell, I am joyful that she gleams from our living room window at the darkest time of year. And that her summer-dried bark will be kindling for next winter‘s Solstice fire.
Home Grown Tree, Droid Shots, Minneapolis,
Minnesota,photo © 2012 by Liz Schultz.
All rights reserved.
-posted on red Ravine, Winter Solstice, December 21st, 2012
Posted in Animals & Critters, Body, Death, Haiku, Holding My Breath, Life, Nature, Photography, Poetry, Practice, Things That Fly, Wake Up, tagged dragonflies, haibun, haiga, Marylin Schultz, red Ravine guest writers, shadow of a dragonfly, Tracy Clark on November 23, 2012 | 5 Comments »
By Marylin Schultz
Dragonfly, Cody, Wyoming, photo © 2012 by Tracy Clark. All rights reserved.
Dragonfly
No audible cry do I hear,
but am drawn to see your plight
mired in mud, frozen there.
I offer a small branch of hope.
luminous lapis blue eyes
recognize reprieve in faceted lens,
delicate pattern of wings against
sky and soft distant mountain.
Freed from earthy prison,
this was not your final sunrise
after all.
On my morning path
as though resigned to her fate
patiently waiting.
About Marylin: Marylin (aka oliverowl) is a freelance writer living in Wyoming. She has written essays for a weekly column in the Ventura Star Tribune and collaborated with her grandson on two illustrated books for children. She currently writes with the Cody Writers. Her previous pieces for red Ravine include the travel essay Rollin’ Easy, Writing Practices Kindness and Cloud, and two memoir pieces, Images From The Past, and Two Little Girls & A World At War.
In 2010, Marylin was published in the book, From the Heart — Writing in the Shadow of the Mountain, a collection of work from members of Write On Wyoming (WOW), a group of authors and aspiring writers living in northeastern Wyoming. Her contributions to From the Heart include two works of fiction, To Love Bertie Lou and The Appointment Book, and a collection of haiku, Seasons in Wyoming.
-related to posts: dragonfly revisited — end of summer, first dragonfly, Flying Solo: Dragonfly In Yellow Rain , Dragonfly Wings — It Is Written In The Wind, Shadow Of A Dragonfly, haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52
-posted on red Ravine, Friday, November 23rd, 2012
Posted in Art, Books, On the Road, Photography, Place, Practice, Writers, Writing, tagged Archive 365, books as mentors, love of books, Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, signs, the practice of photography, the value of reading, why reading is important to our culture on October 7, 2012 | 2 Comments »
See The World Without Going Anywhere – 88/365, Archive 365, BlackBerry Shots, May 2010, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, photo © 2010-2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Seen on a walk through Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in 2010. The things that are important are sometimes invisible to the eye. Like the images that develop in the mind and heart when we read.
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ARCHIVE 365: Archive 365 is a photo collaboration between skywire7 and QuoinMonkey featuring images from our archives. We will alternate posting once a day in our Flickr sets from July 1st 2012 through June 30th 2013. You can view our photographs at skywire7 Archive 365 set on Flickr and QuoinMonkey Archive 365 set on Flickr.
-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, October 7th, 2012
Posted in Life, Nature, Personal, Practice, Seasons, Things That Fly, Topic Writing, Writing Practices, tagged balancing work and art, happiness, Life's little pleasures, the nature of work, what is happiness, writing about clouds on August 31, 2012 | 1 Comment »
There is not a cloud in the sky, only a penetrating late summer haze. Who would have known the temperatures would be in the nineties this week, humid and sultry for our day at the Minnesota State Fair. I am not geared to spend time around throngs of people. It’s something I have to get myself prepared for. Once in the right mind set, an introvert can navigate dense crowds with the best of them. But at a high price.
I like learning about clouds. There are scientific details that I will never understand. Still, I like learning the science behind their magic. My vision feels clouded the last few weeks. Leading up to Art-A-Whirl in June, there is a busyness about summer that does not let go until after the Fair. It’s a steady pattern. This year I chose to work on the yard after the arborist came and trimmed the trees. It is work that is yet unfinished. We may take the rest of the mulch and level it out for a shed base where we will store the motorcycles this winter.
Winter. Fall, then Winter. I hesitate to wonder if we will even get any snow clouds this year. Last year, I only shoveled twice. It was the strangest Winter on record. There was no Spring to speak of. The weather immediately turned so hot and humid, we had to spend most of Spring inside. The air is not good to breathe in urban areas when it gets too humid. It’s like a cloud of wet towel around your head and nostrils that follows a long narrow path into your lungs.
I am not making any sense in this practice. That is the nature of practice. I am using it to ground myself this morning, a practice about a cloud to ground a day leading into the Holiday weekend. Labor Day. What is the nature of work? What is the nature of your work. I have had so many different jobs, all leading to a single goal—a creative life of writing, photography, art. There are jobs. And then there is work, a life’s work. Creative work.
I sit in the silence of morning, air conditioner humming in the background. Silence wakes me up. Thoughts penetrate and spur emotions. When I just sit, I feel at home. Thoughts are not always comfortable. Emotions rile. Silence can be lonely. But it is what it is, and on its own terms. It took me a long time to realize that I could not live life on my own terms. I had to live it on life’s terms. That means taking the good with the bad, the difficult with the joyful, and learning to sit with both.
I found an old notebook this morning, a small 4 1/2 by 3 1/2 black book sitting on the piano. Curious, I strolled through the pages of words I had jotted down in 2009. On one leaf was a note from Harpers. In small block print, it read: psychologist revealed that the secret to a happy marriage is accepting that life without suffering is impossible.
Maybe the secret to happiness is being able to hold the struggle and the joy in the same breath. Or maybe it’s realizing that we don’t need to be happy all the time. Why would anyone want that to be their goal.
NOTE: WRITING TOPIC — CLOUD is the latest Writing Topic on red Ravine. QuoinMonkey joined Marylin Schultz and Bob Chrisman in doing a Writing Practice on the topic.
Posted in Family, Holding My Breath, Life, Nature, Personal, Place, Practice, Relationships, Seasons, Skies, Things That Fly, Topic Writing, Weather, Writing Practices, tagged black clouds, clouds, dust bowl, Marylin Schultz, memoir writing, red Ravine Guests, the practice of writing, total darkness, writing about clouds on August 27, 2012 | 10 Comments »
By Marylin Schultz
Clouds of black dirt rolled across the plains of midwest America in the late 1920’s and the 1930’s, giving a generic name to the era, “the dirty thirties,” as well as “the dust bowl” to the affected land. PBS has publicized a Ken Burns’ documentary on that bleak time in our country’s history, and I have a personal story to add, told to me by my mother.
My parents were married in 1932, a brave and hopeful couple, living more on dreams than dollars. Although my father was employed in the insurance company begun by his father in Childress, Texas, before the “crash of 1929,” most of his income came from commissions, and insurance was considered a luxury by many people during those poor economic times. He was in charge of the branch office in Albuquerque.
The first child was born to the couple in 1934. My mother decided to visit her mother who lived in Amarillo. She was on a bus with her infant, about halfway through their journey east, when a cold wind picked up. Off in the distance was an unbelievable sight. In the sky, to the north, a huge black wall seemed to be approaching them. A wave of darkness, reaching from the ground, hundreds of feet into the sky, was rapidly rolling towards them. The driver pulled the bus off of the road and hurried down the aisle with a container of water, shouting an explanation and directions.
“It’s top-soil, comin’ fast, and here’s what you got to do. Dampen your handkerchiefs with this water and hold it over your nose and mouth, ‘else you’ll choke to death!” My mother was terrified, especially for her infant. She carefully dipped two handkerchiefs into the offered water and tied one across her baby’s face and the other across her own. Of course, the tiny infant was upset by the unusual circumstances and began crying. The anxious mother hugged him to her breast and tried to comfort the struggling child.
“Close your eyes,” the driver continued, now back in his seat. “We just got to wait it out and hope it don’t take long to pass by us.”
The black cloud was now upon them. It was darker than a moonless night; absolute, total darkness. The bitter, cold wind shook the bus. With the eerie whistling of the wind came muffled screams and moans of some of the passengers. The few minutes it took for the cloud to move beyond the bus, seemed like a long journey down into the depths of hell and back!
The welcome relief of stillness and daylight lasted several minutes, before anyone spoke.
“Everyone okay back there?” the driver called out. Then, like a flood, the comments came forth. Exclamations of the incredible experience filled the air. Dirty faces now emerged, but with grins that showed how no one minded “a little dirt,” because they all survived the momentary terror!
Many years later, my mother and I were tourists in the Black Hills of South Dakota, being guided through a deep cave. The tour guide, as part of his usual lecture, turned off the lights to let us experience the total darkness. However, he did not tell the group ahead of time, that this was his intention. The result of being plunged, once more, into total darkness, my Mom grabbed my arm and screamed! When the light was turned on, she gave a brief, embarrassed explanation of the fright she had experienced so long ago.
NOTE: WRITING TOPIC — CLOUD is the latest Writing Topic on red Ravine. Frequent guest writer Marylin Schultz is joining QuoinMonkey and Bob Chrisman in doing a Writing Practice on the topic.
Posted in Nature, Place, Practice, Seasons, Skies, Things That Fly, Topic Writing, Wake Up, Weather, Writing Practices, tagged Bob Chrisman, change of seasons, clouds, drought, missing the rain, red Ravine Guests, summer heat, the practice of writing, trees, turning leaves, writing about clouds on August 26, 2012 | 2 Comments »
By Bob Chrisman
Clouds disappear in the night sky here in the city. Before the sun sat, gray clouds had covered the sky and now I can’t see anything except a dark gray sky. If I go outside and sit on the steps I’ll be able to see the cloud cover because the spotlight from the disowned Frank Lloyd Wright on the Plaza will shine off the clouds and I’ll know if the clouds have gone away.
The summer has been free of cloud for the most part. We look with anticipation at any cloud that floats across the sky. Rain? Will it bring showers? The cloud floats by and leaves the ground dry.
The clouds have passed over us, except for a rare sprinkle here and there. You can almost hear the trees sigh with relief as any water, no matter how little, falls on them. They swallow it up and beg for more, but this summer, more has not come their way.
The edges of the leaves have dehydrated as though the moisture had leaked out of them—some leaf vampires have attacked all the leaves on every tree. The victims of these vampires turn brown and fall to the ground. Color has left the leaves and turned them to a dull green. A few have turned a pale yellow, but for the most part only shades of brown are visible on the trees.
We will have rain tonight. That’s what the weather people say. Showers. But, at almost 9 p.m. the air is warm and still. The cicadas saw away in the trees outside, a deafening chorus that arrived early this year.
Everything has come early this year: the heat, the drought, the turning leaves. The only thing that hasn’t come at all is a cloud to relieve the thirsty earth.
NOTE: WRITING TOPIC — CLOUD is the latest Writing Topic on red Ravine. Frequent guest writer Bob Chrisman is joining QuoinMonkey in doing a Writing Practice on the topic.
Posted in 25 Things, Photography, Place, Practice, Skies, Structure, Things That Fly, Vision, Wake Up, Weather, Word Of The Day, Writing Topics, tagged alto, cirrus, clouds, cloudy, cumulus, fun facts about clouds, Luke Howard, meteorology, names of clouds, nimbus, photos of clouds, sky, stratus, the practice of writing, types of clouds, weather patterns, WMO, writing about clouds on August 21, 2012 | 4 Comments »
Missing Ely’s Sky – 23/365, Archive 365, Droid Shots, Ely, Minnesota, photo © 2012 by Liz Schultz. All rights reserved.
Taos, New Mexico, photo © 2007-2012 QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Clouds are connectors. We see cloud formations as recognizable, weather predicting puffs of air. Clouds are classified using a Latin Linnean system based on a book written by a London pharmacist, Quaker, and amateur meteorologist named Luke Howard. In 1803, he wrote The Modifications of Clouds naming the various cloud structures he had studied.
New Hope, Minnesota, photo © 2010-2012 QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
The terms used by Howard were readily accepted by the meteorological community and detailed in The International Cloud Atlas, published by the World Meteorological Organization in 1896. They are still used across the world today.
The World Meteorological Organization (WMO) extended Luke Howard’s classifications into 10 main groups of clouds, called genera. These are divided into three levels – cloud low (CL), cloud medium (CM) and cloud high (CH) – according to the part of the atmosphere in which they are usually found. Types of clouds can be categorized by height and are divided up by the following names:
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| Cloud level (ft) | Cloud type |
|---|---|
| High clouds – (CH) Base usually 20,000 ft or above | |
| Medium clouds – (CM) Base usually between 6,500 and 20,000 ft | |
| Low clouds – (CL) Base usually below 6,500 ft |
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The names of clouds are based on their height as well as their appearance. Common cloud names are derived from Latin:
Shadow Leaves, Dusk On The Mississippi, photos © 2007-
2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
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What do you think of when you say the word cloud? Do you see the Universe, fog hanging on the mountains, the sky over the prairie? How many types of clouds can you name. Or maybe cloud to you is not that literal. Is your iced tea cloudy; are there clouds in your coffee? Is there a cloud over your day or your mood? Does your past cloud your vision of the future?
Get out your fast writing pens and write the Topic Cloud at the top of your spiral notebook (or start tapping away on your computer or Smartphone).
You can write a haiku, tanka, or gogyohka practice and post it in the comments.
Or you may be surprised at what you discover when you follow the rules of Writing Practice —- Cloud, 10 minutes, Go!
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Cloud Spotting Guide — UK Met Office
Cloud Types for Observers — Reading the Sky — UK Met Office
Common Cloud Names, Shapes, & Altitudes – Georgia Tech
Cotton Cloudiness, Top Of The Cedar Avenue Bridge, photo ©
2008-2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
-posted on red Ravine, Tuesday, August 21st, 2012
Posted in Art, Culture, On the Road, Photography, Place, Practice, Work, tagged Archive 365, Bill Defenbaugh, Ely, Ely Greenstone Public Art Project, miners, Miners Lake, Minnesota artists, Minnesota history, Pioneer Mine, the value of public art on July 24, 2012 | 4 Comments »
Miners Mural – Ely, Minnesota – 22/365, Archive 365, Droid Shots, Ely, Minnesota, July 2011, photo © 2011-2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
When I passed this mural yesterday on the corner of Sheridan Street and Central Avenue, I was reminded that I had a photograph in my archives from the trip North last year. The art catches my eye every year when I visit Ely, Minnesota for an annual trip to the North American Bear Center. Ely was a thriving mining town 50 to 100 years ago, with rumbling steam locomotives that pulled train loads of iron ore over to Lake Superior to be shipped out of the Midwest. The town of Ely was named after Samuel B. Ely, a miner from Michigan who never actually visited there.
Most of the mines have closed now. On the north side of town, the bones of Pioneer Mine stand tall over the abandoned quarry where tons of iron ore were extracted by a thriving community of miners; it is now a large body of water called Miners Lake. The mural is one of many around Ely that honor its mining past. It was painted by artist Bill Defenbaugh, part of the Ely Greenstone Public Art Project.
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ARCHIVE 365 is a photo collaboration between skywire7 and QuoinMonkey featuring images from our archives. We will alternate posting once a day in our Flickr sets from July 1st 2012 through June 30th 2013. You can view our photographs at skywire7 Archive 365 set on Flickr and QuoinMonkey Archive 365 set on Flickr.
-posted on red Ravine, Tuesday, July 24th, 2012. Related to posts: MN Black Bear Den Cam: Will Lily Have Cubs? and Jewel Under The Bear Moon
Posted in Animals & Critters, On the Road, Photography, Place, Practice, Relationships, tagged black bears, Ely, honey, Minnesota, North American Bear Center, summer in Minnesota on July 18, 2012 | 2 Comments »
Honey Bear – 18/365, Archive 365, BlackBerry Shots, North American Bear Center, Ely, Minnesota, August 2010, photo © 2010-2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
It’s almost time for the annual trip to Ely. We’ll be visiting the North American Bear Center and gathering with friends we have met from across the country, and the world. The goal is outreach and education about black bears. Honey is one of my favorites at the NABC. If you’re driving down Sheridan Street, you might see us waving at the webcam.
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ARCHIVE 365 is a photo collaboration between skywire7 and QuoinMonkey featuring images from our archives. We will alternate posting once a day in our Flickr sets from July 1st 2012 through June 30th 2013. You can view our photographs at skywire7 Archive 365 set on Flickr and QuoinMonkey Archive 365 set on Flickr.
-posted on red Ravine, Wednesday, July 18, 2012. Related to posts: MN Black Bear Den Cam: Will Lily Have Cubs? and Jewel Under The Bear Moon
Posted in Animals & Critters, Gratitude, Holding My Breath, Laughing, Life, Love, Personal, Practice, Relationships, tagged Elizabeth Statmore, forever dog, Fromage, joy, Kresge's, Labradoodles, love & loss, miracles, pets, synchronicity, the practice of writing, Topper, transitions, Turtles, writing through grief on July 17, 2012 | 2 Comments »
By Elizabeth Statmore
Sunday morning, my second without Fromage. All I’ve wanted to do all week was look at profiles of rescue dogs. During standardized testing I searched Petfinder and Craigslist, reading about different available dogs and looking into their eyes. There are so many dogs who need homes, and the hole in my heart feels so huge.
But we need to get a hypoallergenic dog this time. It was a lucky miracle that David was not allergic to Fromage. So I started searching breed rescues, looking for Goldendoodles and Labradoodles who needed rescuing.
There aren’t that many breed rescue groups for doodles, in spite of the fact that they are one of the most popular breeds around these days. That means so many dogs who get given up for being too big, too active, etc. People give dogs up for the weirdest reasons. They get bored with the dog or they’re moving, so they say they have to give up the dog. They wouldn’t give up their children if they were moving, I think, but I can’t be sure.
So I started looking up Labradoodle breeders to inquire after adult dogs who might need re-homing or rescue. And I came upon Golden Gate Labradoodles just south of here, so I e-mailed Kristin the owner/breeder, to ask about rescues.
And she told me the most wonderful news I have heard all week.
They rarely get returns, since they breed first and foremost for temperament and they screen adopters carefully. But they do have a Guardian Program for their breeding dogs, and there’s one adult male they’ve recently added to their program whom they adore but who really deserves to have his own guardian family and home.
His name is Topper.
Topper was also the name of my very first pet — a dime store turtle from Kresge’s. I loved that turtle. I cared for him endlessly, fed him and petted him and made adventures for him in his little dime store turtle bowl with the red diving board and the green plastic palm tree on the central island oasis. I remember all of this vividly because he was the most interactive pet I had until we got our Schnauzer Cappy.
My eyes bugged out when I read that. I did a double-take.
Kristin forwarded me the information on their guardian program as well as some information about Topper as a family dog. It’s basically a foster-to-own program, in which the dog lives with you in your home as your pet, and a few times a year he has a breeding “gig,” for which you drive him either to the breeder or to the specialized repro vet. For male dogs, this is a pretty minor affair, dog sex being what it is — which is to say, quick and dirty (or in the case of the repro vet, very sanitary). When the dog’s breeding career comes to an end in a few years (probably four or five), ownership gets transferred, he gets neutered, and he lives with you as your forever dog.
They have come to love him dearly but their home pack consists of a number of already-estabished dogs in their program, and Kristin feels like it’s not fair to Topper, who deserves to be the center of attention in a family — the most-loved dog in his pack. So she’s been looking for the right family of owner-guardians to match him with.
She forwarded a link to his profile on their web site and my heart bloomed open. He could not be more different from Fromage — fluffy, non-shedding, mellow, confident, laid back. He’s the color of cafe au lait — referred to in Australian Labradoodle parlance as “cafe,” a diluted coffee color, almost taupe, with a non-shedding coat but the same eager, loving chocolate eyes I am looking for.
Kristin said the best way to ask more questions about Topper and/or the guardian program would be to call her. She gave me her cell phone number and said she hoped to talk to me soon.
I called her yesterday afternoon.
We talked for two hours.
In my original inquiry message, I explained that we had recently lost our beloved 15 ½ year old dog, Fromage. I included David’s collage of photos and told her my story of how I’d rescued him and how we had loved him.
She received this message on May 18th, 2012 — Topper’s second birthday.
On the phone we talked about everything — training and dog-loving philosophy, Topper’s and Fromage’s personalities, and our home set-up.
She and I bonded deeply. We love our dogs in very similar and compatible ways.
I told her it was clear to me that Fromage had held on as long as he could to take care of us, but that he just couldn’t do it any more. But I told her that I knew in my bones — and in my feet — that he wants us to adopt another dog who can take care of us. He needs a new dog to take over the work of rescuing us. It took him thirteen and a half years to raise us, and he doesn’t want all that good work to go to waste.
All of this clearly resonated with her. She wants to move toward the next step as much as I do.
I told David about it and he is open to it. Since I’m the primary caregiver, he is looking to me to lead. And since I am the crazy one, he is looking for me to set the pace.
I will probably go over and meet Topper after school one day this week. They don’t live far from my school. We talked about my timing, with graduation and summer coming, and having that be the best time for me to integrate a new dog into our household.
We would give a deposit that would be refunded gradually over time as certain milestones get met. Then once his breeding career is finished, in maybe five or so years, the last portion of that deposit would go towards his neutering fee and he’d be transferred over to us for forever.
This feels like a miracle.
Topper & Elizabeth, Home At Last, San Francisco, California, June 2012, photo © 2012 by David Bassin. All rights reserved.
About Elizabeth: Elizabeth Statmore is a San Francisco-based writer and teacher of writing and mathematics. She is a long-time practitioner and teacher of Writing Practice, which she learned from Natalie Goldberg. A frequent contributor to KQED-FM, Elizabeth’s last posts for red Ravine include Seed Starting, a piece about writers as gardeners, and Writing The “Remembering Grace Paley” Piece — a step-by-step tutorial on how she turned a raw piece of writing into a finished radio commentary. Elizabeth was also one of our first guest writers, contributing the post Abandoned Is… Fromage was her dog and spirit guide of almost fourteen years.
Healing is Part III in a series of three Writing Practices about the love and loss of Fromage. Parts I and II are Long and The Gifts Of Trash Night.
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