This gallery contains 18 photos.
This summer has been a time of short jaunts to familiar places. Like revising a poem or story, revisiting a place offers an opportunity to “re-see” a place I think I know. This certainly happened on each of my trips … Continue reading
Summers mean local produce is in abundance here. Our family been part of the Community Supported Agricultural movement (CSA) for the better part of two decades–since before we ever heard that recent dictionary entry: locavore. In a CSA, consumers buy a share of the harvest prior to the planting season, then share in the abundance of the just-picked harvest and the drama of the weather’s impact on the crops. Depending on the week and the year, we will be surprised by a mix of vegetables, greens, herbs, and even sometimes flowers or fruits. Part of the pleasure is discovering the flavors of new varieties of old favorites (tomatoes) or learning about entirely new delicacies to cook (Celeriac? Tomatillo? What do I do with these?)
Above is a photograph I snapped by chance as I went to pick up this week’s share at Big Woods Farm CSA. Right now, our refrigerator is full of the freshest and most flavorful cucumbers, zucchinis, carrots, beets, and greens, as well as a just-blended dressing of cilantro and lime juice. And the kitchen counter holds an enormous bowl of various types and colors of tomatoes. This year, thanks to a new cookbook from the Duluth Grill, I am experimenting with making my own ketchup.
Making Our First Batch of Ketchup with Three Varieties of Tomatoes
If you don’t already lean toward the delicious and healthful and environmentally sound choice of organic food, you might be interested in the resources on the Local Harvest website, everything from farmers’ markets to CSAs in your own area. By supporting local growers, you also help to keep small producers–the new family farms–in the business of serving their neighbors and supporting their families. In addition, you reduce carbon emissions and prevent genetically modified organisms from entering the food chain, all while enhancing your own well-being and pleasing your palate. For us, this is a bargain no matter what angle we look at.
The one challenge we’ve found is making good use of all this abundance. Some of the fresh pickings that we can’t eat during the week, we give away to our friends and neighbors. We also preserve food by blanching and freezing it. It is time-consuming, but very satisfying to see the freezer fill up with grated zucchini and partially baked winter squashes (for breads, muffins, and stews), and with bell peppers, beans, onions, carrots, tomatoes, corn, and herbs (for soups, stir fries, and casseroles).
From Field to Doorstep: Beans from Big Woods Farm CSA
This year, we are also freezing blueberries, peaches, and apples–these last from trees planted by Tim and his siblings on the farm they grew up on.
First Step: Freezing and Stewing 20 lbs of Michigan Blueberries
We also seek out other local growers when we can. One favorite example is just down the road: Lorence’s Berry Farm. We depend upon their strawberries, raspberries, and asparagus in season, and also enjoy their frozen berries, jams, and syrups. 
Julia’s Gluten-free Pizza with Cherry Tomatoes, Basil, and Rice Cheese
Julia, a dedicated environmentalist (who has recently instituted a composting program for our kitchen) proved that we can take good, fresh food on the road. There will be more on our trip to Duluth in an upcoming post, but here is a photo of the ready-to-bake pizza she created in a hotel room with only a microwave oven–gluten-free and dairy-free, no less–using basil and cherry tomatoes from our first vegetable delivery from Big Woods Farm.
Using local produce from small farms and gardens grows on us each year a bit more. We continue to learn of new options and also to become better (more imaginative and healthful) cooks. And we’re curious about your discoveries! Please let us know your favorite sources, your plans for next season.
As for us, we have a scheme for growing hard-to-find Yellow Indian Woman soup beans at a well-cared-for garden we know about–stay tuned!
Now, for more on the poetry of the garden:
Cruciferous
Silvered cabbages sparkle with dew,
appear like treasure in the field rows.
Peas twine along the chicken wire,
studded with fat purple blooms.
Sweet onions pulse toward the surface,
Their fragrant tops the green of park benches.
At the corner of my vision, lies a thin, black hose –
No, it’s a snake weaving through the baby beets.
Raspberries glitter, cherries dance.
Asparagus has gone to seed, red berries bejeweling
those tops like fluffy Christmas trees, while corn silk
drapes wet, sweet, unripe. A blush
of yellow-orange begins to gild the pumpkins
under the dragonfly-blue haze of August.
I think how this garden feeds my eye,
all of me, passes through me in many ways – death,
rot, renewal, and new fruit. I pick a nasturtium,
tuck it behind my ear, head up the hill, then pause—
there is a small rattling in the bluebird house.
Suddenly, the surprise of a rounded blue head, and
a rosy breast, flushed
like an embarrassed cheek or ripe peach:
duet tints of happiness.
Leslie Schultz
Thank you for reading this! If you think of someone else who might enjoy it, please forward it to them. And, if you are not already a subscriber, I invite you to subscribe to the Wednesday posts I am sending out each week–it’s easy, it’s free, and I won’t share your address with anyone.
Other News:
I was thrilled to learn that my sonnet, “Tintern Church of England School for Girls”, was named one of three “Top Choice” selections for the 2013 Great River Shakespeare Festival/Maria W. Faust Sonnet competition. I am interested that this news came soon after my post on not “pre-rejecting myself or my work”, because I wrote this sonnet thirty years ago. Although I have sent it out a number of times, it had not yet found its audience–until now! Click HERE to read all the winning sonnets.
And remember the Mars Haiku contest? The winners are in! Thank you to those who voted for my entry; although it was not one of the top choices those selected from 12,530 valid entries, I believe it will still keep those winners company on the DVD that will orbit the Red Planet. Thank you!
Roses in front of the beautiful Northfield Public Library
This August, Tim and I celebrate our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary: the silver one. It is true that we each have a few silver hairs, but, honestly, it simply doesn’t seem that long to us, despite documentary proof:
We’ve shared a number of adventures thus far, including getting to know the surprise party planner pictured above between us. (That surprise party for our last anniversary was the most delightful party ever–wonderful company, delicious food, and a perfect setting. Thank you, Julia! Thank you, Ellen!) Even the dress I wore (my great-grandmother’s gown, brought back from the brink with refurbishment in 1988) had some adventures in its last year of 2010. After decades in a dark box, it got a chance to see the world before leaving it:
Although the dress is gone–the netting rotted beyond repair before its Viking funeral send-off on our twenty-second anniversary–our adventures continue. I couldn’t bear to throw it out, but it didn’t make sense to keep it in a box when it could no longer be worn. Our ceremony to celebrate and honor the dress gave us a sense of new possibilities and a tangible metaphor for the necessity of submitting to those changes life insists upon.
(Photo note: what appears to be the sun setting is actually the full moon rising!)
Later this month, Tim and I are planning an urban adventure together. We’re staying a short time at a luxurious hotel and giving ourselves the rare luxury of unplanned time–many ideas for things to see and do but nothing actually scheduled! (Julia and Peanut will sojourn in the country with friends.)
And we look forward to all the new discoveries on the road together toward our golden celebration in 2038. Here is a poem I wrote in honor of our twentieth anniversary.
Celebration
The champagne cork lifts off, sails toward a night
sky littered with stars. Probably it lands
on the grass, perhaps on the roof of the shed.
No longer bottled up, sharp smoke disperses.
We bring our bubbling glasses together,
raise them in honor of each other, our friends,
our cherished place on Earth, cheering, “Here, here!”
The beautiful silver flight of the knife
ends with a thud, sunders a crisp melon
under the sweet rising moon of August.
We’re surrounded by intergalactic cold,
an uncertain economic climate,
political tumult. Yesterday, hail
strafed this peaceful town and its lush gardens,
yet we are calmed in all this whirling by knowing
in our universe there is no down or up.
Just this one central moment,
this warm hand, this sweet breath, this sip of home.
Thank you for reading this! If you think of someone else who might enjoy it, please forward it to them. And, if you are not already a subscriber, I invite you to subscribe to the Wednesday posts I am sending out each week–it’s easy, it’s free, and I won’t share your address with anyone.
Other News
We are beginning to make plans for Julia’s freshman year of high school. One highlight–among many–is the chance to study again with a master teacher. Julia Denne is offering an online course on master works of short fiction from 19th century Russian writers. After studying Tolstoy’s War and Peace in depth last year with Julia Denne, our Julia is interested in the wide variety offered by this new syllabus: writers from Pushkin to Chekhov are represented. Online discussions are sure to be lively. Take a look at www.bytheonionsea.com.
Like any artist, I love to create the work I do, and I love to share it with others through publications, exhibitions, and sales. Below are some photos of artists in Northfield who are proudly standing by copies of their winning entries to the 2013 Sidewalk Public Poetry competition. Acceptance feels terrific!
Intellectually, I know that rejection is also part of the process of submitting work, but – let’s be honest – rejection always stings.
Sometimes I’ve let the stings of past rejections prevent me from going to the effort of sending work out. If you are an artist, you know how it goes. To remind myself that my job is to support, even champion my own work—and to cheer you on as you pursue an audience for your own creativity–I am sharing an illustrated version of an essay I wrote a few years ago.
PRE-APPROVED!
Like many writers, what I find most grueling is the labor of sending work out to prospective publishers. Writing itself is filled with exciting unknowns. I wonder what an engaging character will say next and when the storyline will twist under my hands like a live thing. But the submissions process is riddled with the uncertainty of whether “they” will like what I have done.
Frankly, what has stopped me in my tracks all too often is fear: fear of rejection by the nameless and faceless out there, the editors, contest judges, agents. As one veteran novelist in my writers’ group said, “It never gets easier. It’s always donkey work.” And so, I have slogged along and often bogged down, leaving the manuscript unsent.
Last week, I was sorting the mail, scanning for replies to my latest attempts to place my work. I found one politely-worded rejection letter. Then I shifted my focus and found something else: in another marketplace I am assured of approval. Not literary, but financial. In the computerized and calculating corporate minds of multinational entities, I am “Pre-approved” for massive cash advances and flights of consumer frolicking. The interest is guaranteed. Plus, my identity will be absolutely protected. Wow! They must really like me – or at least my FICO score, the credit track record I’ve built up over the past twenty-five years. Paradoxically, what keeps them coming is my reflexive and steadfast rejection of them.
This unsolicited approval got me thinking. On the one hand, I am offered a Triple Diamond Mastercard for my history of financial solvency. On the other hand, I also have a history of literary accomplishment, including some small prizes, publications, and public readings. Why, then, do I so often “pre-reject” myself when it comes to my artistic life, where my real riches lie?
Yet, for me, outside approval of any kind barely registers. Years ago, as a twenty-something teacher of freshman composition at a state college in the deep South, I had sixty students who ranged from those who were polite, gifted, and articulate to those who were steadfastly disengaged and unable to make subjects and verbs agree. Of student evaluations at the end of the term, I recall only the negative one, and that verbatim: “Well, I guess she’s okay as a teacher, but I don’t like the way she dresses.” Ouch! A glancing blow, nothing to do with my teaching, but intended to wound and it did draw blood. The fifty-nine approving evaluations? I dismissed those as mere politeness.
I know I am not alone in having rather thin skin when it comes to sending out my poetry, fiction, and personal essays. There is only the thinnest of boundaries between me and my work. While tact is important, and I do not need or desire to bare all on the page, nonetheless I find that personal honesty is essential for a powerful piece. To be happy with my work, I must say what I really think, dwell on what moves me deeply.
Work for clients is distinctly different. I have enjoyed the financial rewards I earned from writing for nonprofit organizations for the past two decades (the formative years for my shining FICO score). I have been privileged to assist fine institutions and inspiring people gain support for their work. My years as a writing consultant have been wonderfully satisfying on many levels, including freedom and finances, but they have also created a split for me between art and money, between private and public, that I am consciously trying to bridge. For business writing I have developed a deft touch, even a certain flair, but it is not my own art, and it has come at a cost: erasing my personality. Honest but persuasive business writing is essentially ghostwriting, because the personal point of view must be subsumed by the needs and voice of the organization.
To compound this, in recent years my artistic subject matter revolves around coming to terms with my family and community in order to understand myself. To be offering material fraught with the delicate nerve-endings of childhood perplexities and current preoccupations makes me that much more sensitive to the seemingly frosty atmosphere of the submission process. My habit is to by-pass the deep freeze that might be performed by strangers on my work by placing it immediately in my own cryogenic storage container (that bookshelf near my office door).
A few years ago, I became aware of my tendency to deflect praise. Maybe I thought it was the only way to attract more? In any case, I assigned myself three new steps. First, I forced myself to smile and say, “Thank you,” to compliments rather than brush them aside. Second, I listened and remembered. Third, I captured the compliments that sounded sincere, writing them down on an index file card and putting them in a file box. Today, that box is about half full. The compliments have come from strangers, friends, and family, and they range from the skin-deep to the soulful: “That jacket is the exact same green as your eyes—so pretty! (from a visual artist helping me choose art supplies); “You are a born teacher – I love your voice!” (from a student in a yoga class I taught); “Your poetry has roots in the unseen world” (from another poet); and – my favorite – “Mom, you are the best mom in the history of the universe, including aliens!” (from my then six-year-old daughter). I look through this box occasionally, and it is getting a little easier to read good things about myself, to recognize that other people value my life and my work.
So, today, I’ve decided to extend myself a special, unlimited offer. I am offering it to you, too. It reads like this:
“CONGRATULATIONS! Because of your excellent history and unparalled possibilities, you have been given a blank page. Fill it in with any amount of insight. Share it with those you know. Then share it with strangers. Enjoy what they share in return. The exchange rate will fluctuate, but the value of the page will increase. By accepting this offer of pre-approval, you have lifetime protection from identity theft. Rather, your identity will be stronger than ever, impossible to fake. Remember: you alone determine the prime interest.
Other News
Late summer always make me think of daylilies. They aren’t flowers I knew as a girl. The first year I lived in Lake Charles, Louisiana, in an old rented house with overgrown flower beds, I encountered the daylily for the first time.
I had moved to Lake Charles to enter an M.F.A. program in poetry at McNeese State University. That same year, I first read a poem by Adrienne Rich that still resonates with me. It is titled “I Am in Danger — Sir”, a quote from a letter Emily Dickinson wrote to a respected editor, Thomas Higginson, who had major reservations about her work. In the body of the poem are these lines,
“…gardening the daylily,
wiping the wine glass stem…”
that continue to enchant me. They speak to the daily attention to small things that make a difference, that add up over time, tiny packets of effective effort that carry intention from the realm of wishing into concrete accomplishment. Every morning in its season, the daylily opens a new blossom; the gardener reaches up and removes the spend bloom from the day before. Similarly, to share work, an artist need to be the creative plant and the attentive gardener.
This year, my intention is to tame the submission process by doing just a little bit each day.
An Interview with Marilyn Larson
Marilyn Larson is an artist, ceremonialist, and labyrinth maker who lives in Minneapolis. She has been building labyrinths since 1996 and conducting research on the Chartres Cathedral Labyrinth since 2003. As a founding member and Education Chair of the Labyrinth Society, she curated the Labyrinths for Peace exhibit in the Cannon Rotunda of the U.S. House of Representatives with Sandra Wasko-Flood in 2000. Labyrinths on the lawn of the U.S. Capitol were concurrent as well. She has been commissioned to create labyrinths in many places in the U.S., including at two for Carleton College (see photo above) and one for United Theological Seminary, both in Minnesota. Her canvas labyrinths are available for rent through Wisdom Ways Center in St. Paul. (See some of these beautiful designs in the photos below.) I would like to acknowledge the generosity of Carleton College, Wisdom Ways, and the Amherst H. Wilder Foundation in granting me permission to publish their photographs of labyrinths they commissioned from Marilyn Larson.
I’ve known Marilyn Larson since 1996. Labyrinths and mutual friends brought us together. (Scroll to the end for the story of the labyrinth magic on the day we met!) Since then, Marilyn helped Tim and me to create a labyrinth in our garden; Marilyn painted a labyrinth-inspired family tree for our daughter; and Marilyn and I collaborated on A Pocket Guide to Labyrinths in 2001; we are both delighted that this small publication is now in its fifth printing.
Recently, Marilyn and I connected at Hennepin County Medical Center. I was keen to see her latest projects: a serenely beautiful labyrinth commissioned by HCMC for their Spiritual Care Center and a display of Marilyn’s works on paper and canvas in the nearby gallery. This exhibit officially opened on June 13 and will be up through August 29, 2013. During our visit, I was able to ask Marilyn some questions about her explorations of this multi-faceted and fascinating form.
Question: “Would you define the labyrinth form?”
Patterns found in nature are reflected in walkable art called labyrinths. A sacred space is created each time we trace the form of a labyrinth with eyes, fingers, or feet. A labyrinth is an enclosed meandering path that leads into a center and out again. Like the meandering movement of a river that revitalizes water, the ever-turning, rhythmical walk of a labyrinth calls forth clarity. A labyrinth is also a mirror and a listening device. Intentions set upon entering the image invite response. It offers time for reflection and renewal.
Labyrinths have been found worldwide over the past 5,000 years. First carved in rock, painted on pottery, stamped on coins, or marked on the ground with stones, they are also found in fresco or mosaic, on church ceilings and cathedral floors. Whether woven in baskets or cut into turf, these ancient designs now stimulate contemporary creative expression.
There is a revival of interest in the use of labyrinths as meditative, ceremonial, and celebratory devices. They currently find expression as permanent pieces in stone or tile as well as portable painted canvas labyrinths. Temporary constructions are made with flowers and surveyor’s flags or are mown in grass. They can be directly drawn in sand or snow. Contemporary variations of classic designs have emerged as well. Wherever found, labyrinths continue to offer an opportunity to experience a pace that can bring inner peace.
Question: “How did you begin working with the labyrinth form?”
In 1985 I had a vivid dream of walking a mown path that had seven stations with colored tents. Then, in 1989, I began to take regular walks in the Arboretum at Carleton College. I was especially drawn to a meandering path between an oak tree and a pink granite boulder. I noticed it had seven turns. I began to walk toward the boulder with a question in mind and to listen for an answer on the way back to the oak.
Then, in 1996, a friend asked for help making a labyrinth in Northfield. She had walked one on canvas. I kept thinking that it should be outside, on the ground, so I went to the Hill of Three Oaks, also part of the Carleton Arboretum. I had the intention of making a Chartres-style labyrinth on the little hill there. Meanwhile, a friend gave me a video of artist Marty Cain’s work which explained how to dowse a labyrinth pattern. I made a set of dowsing rods out of coat hangers and went out with a drawing of a seven-circuit style (the kind Cain works with) and a Chartres style, and I followed the procedures. I asked, “Does the earth want a labyrinth here?” When the answer was “yes”, I asked which pattern was appropriate. Much to my surprise, the response was the seven-circuit style. Then I asked where it should be located, and, again to my surprise, the answer was not the hill but a depression next to the hill. As I dowsed the outlines, I received the third surprise: the indications were for an enormous labyrinth with a diameter of 93 feet! Actually, I thought I must have made a mistake! Later I discovered that the elder, Larry Cloud Morgan who was going to lead a ceremony there in commemoration of the Harmonic Convergence, was in a wheel chair. It turned out that the paths were just the right width for a wheelchair. That was confirmation that information was correct. Another important piece of information was that during the dowsing and from walking it afterwards (perhaps 60 times in three months) I experienced healing of problems stemming from a chronic illness I had contracted in 1982. My heart and lungs improved; I gain new stamina and strength.
That fall, working in ceremonial ways to clarify my intentions, I realized that what I wanted to do was to learn more. I wanted to study with Marty Cain, Alex Champion, and other experts. And events unfolded so that by February of 1997 I was at a conference with these very people. In 1998, I was invited to help create the Labyrinth Society, and I served as its founding Education chair.
The Society’s first project was a massive undertaking called “Labyrinths for Peace 2000”. There is certainly ample red tape in Washington, but we managed to have a display of photographs and other art work in the Cannon Rotunda of the House of Representatives; in conjunction with that exhibit, we also marked labyrinth forms on the east lawn of the U.S. Capitol and hosted a walk for inner peace. From there, the exhibit travelled to the Sumner School Museum. Under the curatorship of Sandra Wasko Flood, the exhibit is still traveling.
Since then, I have continued to explore the form in many ways and places, including two trips to Chartres, France to work with the elaborate labyrinth on the floor of the Cathedral.
Question: “What attracted you to this project at Hennepin County Medical Center?”
Hennepin County Medical Center is one of Minnesota’s key trauma centers. The patients brought here are in need of expert medical attention, but often true healing requires more. With their establishment of the Spiritual Care Center, HCMC is communicating to patients, families, and staff that their care is comprehensive and embraces the whole person. Having a labyrinth freely available, to be walked by anyone at any time, is a powerful way to promote healing and inner peace—not just for patients and families, but for the staff, too.
Question: “On your labyrinth path there have been lots of interesting twists, turns, and surprises, but no wrong steps. What do you think is next for you?”
I plan to continue to make labyrinths—for personal and public use, to be walked with feet, or traced with the hands or eyes, in permanent forms and in more ephemeral materials. I welcome opportunities to teach others how to make and use labyrinths—this powerful pattern helps each person to find his or her own personal rhythms. I also plan to return to Chartres Cathedral to continue my research. And I am continuing work on a film project that has the idea of the labyrinth as an integral part. The Manzanita Sisters is a film that documents the dreams of women who step into their roles as healers, artists, and educators. So that is another way to share my ideas about how the labyrinth—as a pattern and a tool—is a living library that helps each of us to access the information we need
Wilder Foundation Labyrinth – The Amherst H. Wilder Foundation is a nonprofit community organization serving children, families and older adults in the east metro since 1906.
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The Story of the Snow Labyrinth: The Day I Met Marilyn Larson
In 1996, Tim and I moved to Northfield. That fall, we enjoyed walking the large labyrinth at the Carleton arboretum, and in November of that year I met Marilyn Larson. We were brought together by mutual acquaintances who kept urging us to connect. The day we finally had tea was a magical one. The first snowfall started. Marilyn shared that she was planning to walk the Carleton labyrinth (the first one she had fashioned), since on that day the star cluster of the Seven Sisters—the Pleiades—would be overhead at midnight. According to the Hopi tradition, this meant that the story telling season had begun.
Now, I am not a night owl, but I agreed to meet Marilyn at her place at 11:45 p.m. It had snowed more than a foot during the intervening hours. We knew that the labyrinth path would be covered over, but it was such a beautiful night we decided to walk over anyway. As we approached the large expanse of field at the foot of the Hill of Three Oaks, indeed, we saw an unbroken field of new-fallen snow. Marilyn, who had walked the gigantic labyrinth, with seven circuits and a diameter of 93 feet dozens of times, stopped.
“This is the gateway,” she said.
“I bet you could walk it by memory,” I said.
Marilyn started walking, breaking a path in the snow. I followed close behind, keeping my eyes on the back of her parka. It took a long time. When we got to the center, Marilyn stopped. We both turned and there, spread out on the slope of the hill was the perfect outline of a flawless form, a combination of labyrinth and snow angel. It was perfectly quiet. After a time, I took out a small votive candle made of beeswax and lit it, then placed it in the center, sheltering it in a nest of new snow. Heavy clouds obscured the sky, but we knew that above them the stars were overhead. After a few moments of quiet, we left the center, retracing our steps, leaving the candle to burn out like a fallen star.
The next morning, I returned. I was fairly certain that romping dogs or cross-country skiers had distorted the pattern…but no! It was just as it had been the evening before, down to the tiny flame flickering at its heart.
Other News
For more photos and information on the Hennepin County Medical Center labyrinth, please click on this link: http://www.hcmc.org/services Then click on “Spiritual Care” to find more photos and information.
You can rent a canvas labyrinth designed and painted by Marilyn Larson through www.wisdomwayscenter.org. A Pocket Guide to Labyrinths is available at the Hennepin County Medical Center gift shop, the Carondelet Center in St. Paul, Minnesota (www.carondeletcenter.org), Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, California (http://theshop.gracecathedral.org/Labyrinth_Items), and from Marilyn Larson.
Readers interested commissioning a labyrinth or purchasing original art work can reach her at:
Marilyn Larson
P.O. Box 2610
Minneapolis, MN 55402